Dinosaurs Are Coming

Nakayama Takuya took his suit jacket from the hanger and casually dialed his secretary's internal line. "Book me the earliest flight to San Francisco. Also, tell Tom to get that big guy ready; I want to inspect it."

In June, Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park will be released.

As someone who has been reborn, Takuya understands better than anyone what this movie means.

It wasn't just a box office hit; it was a milestone that completely transformed the Hollywood special effects industry.

Dinosaurs will be money-printing machines for the next year.

Sega is holding this hot potato; if they mess it up, even without Spielberg's intervention, the players' criticism would flood Sega of America Headquarters.

Fortunately, Mark Cerny was in charge initially.

Although this tech genius had been summoned back to Tokyo by Takuya's order Takuya was now burning the midnight oil working on the Model 2 prototype and a bunch of MIPS chips, he didn't leave in a hurry.

Long before Mark arrived, he had already completed the game design and most of the functional verification for Jurassic Park.

In particular, the reverse kinematics program that made the Tyrannosaurus Rex and Velociraptor run so lifelike was practically squeezing every last drop of performance out of the Motorola 68000 processor in the MD.

This is why Takuya dared to confidently transfer Mark away. The toughest nut to crack had already been chewed up by Mark, and the remaining tasks of filling in levels and creating art textures were entirely handled by the programmers at the United States branch who had been trained by Mark.

The San Francisco sunlight was somewhat dazzling, filtering through the gaps in the blinds and dappling the carpet in the president's office at Sega of America Headquarters.

Nakayama Takuya sat on the sofa, toying with a heavy black cassette tape that had just come off the production line.

This is the MD version of Jurassic Park, and the ROM it contains has an astonishingly large capacity, enough to make accountants in the Finance Department tremble with fear when looking at cost reports.

"To be honest, you were absolutely determined to do a simultaneous release back then." Nakayama Takuya tossed the cartridge up and caught it, looking at Tom behind his desk. "My original plan was brilliant: to exclusivity the Sega-CD version for two months, using the movie's popularity to force those hesitant players to spend money on peripherals."

This is also the successful path that Chrono Trigger has just proven – let high-end players reap the rewards first, then let the general public have a taste, and incidentally boost CD player sales as well.

Tom, busy adding the third sugar cube to his coffee, stopped what he was doing upon hearing this, looked up and grinned. "Takuya, that method might work in Japan, or maybe for RPGs that require slow and careful reading. But in United States? Ha, the players here don't have much better memories than goldfish."

He picked up his coffee, walked over to the single sofa opposite Takuya, and sat down. His tone became pragmatic and sharp. "Action games are like fast food; they're all about the thrill." Imagine a player just leaving the movie theater, their head still ringing with the roar of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. If you tell them, "Hey, you need a US dollar 300 CD player to play," or "You have to wait two more months for a cartridge version," do you believe they'll just turn around and rent a VHS tape to watch the Terminator?

Competition in the United States market is as brutal as a meat grinder.

The world's top entertainment products are all vying for a piece of the action here, trying to squeeze into the weekend schedules of young people.

Hot topics are like wildfires in California —they come and go quickly.

Once the movie's run is over and the hype has died down, if you bring out a cold cassette tape, even if it's made of gold, nobody will bother to look at it.

Synchronization is required.

We must seize the moment when Spielberg has the audience's adrenaline pumping and shove the game into their hands.

"So that's how we created this monster." Takuya pointed to the cartridge in his hand and smiled helplessly. "To avoid cutting corners, we crammed such a large capacity into the Mega Drive cartridge. The cost is significantly higher than the Chrono Trigger, and the price will probably be record-breaking."

Typically, cartridge versions are mass-market "affordable" versions, and it's common for them to have reduced image quality.

However, in order to preserve Mark Cearney's stunning reverse kinematics effect and make the dinosaurs run like puppets, the MD version didn't dare to make any changes to the visuals.

This means that although the MD version lacks the CD-quality John Williams soundtrack, fully voiced dialogue, and cinematic cutscenes of the Sega-CD version, the core experience is almost identical, yet the price has to be increased.

"Price increase? That's no problem." Tom waved his hand dismissively. "Look out the window, the Soviet Union has collapsed, the Cold War is over, and United States now think they're the kings of the world. The economy is recovering, the stock market is booming, and even the gas station clerks have a few Krillin in their pockets. As long as the stuff is cool enough, spending an extra ten or twenty US dollar is nothing to them."

That blind optimism is spreading across the continent; the consumerist frenzy has only just begun.

"Hearing you say that, I don't need to worry about inventory buildup anymore." Takuya stood up and straightened the hem of his suit jacket. "Let's go, let's go to Hollywood and see how Steven and the others are doing with their preparations."

The California sun baked the asphalt until it was scorching hot. The black Lincoln sedan smoothly drove into Burbank and finally stopped in front of Universal Pictures ' iconic archway.

"These Hollywood guys are guarding this roll of film like it's a nuclear launch code."

As soon as he got out of the car, Tom Kalinske couldn't help but loosen his tie, his tone carrying a hint of helpless displeasure.

As the head of Sega of America, he was used to a wild marketing style, but this time, Universal Pictures put Sega under layers of constraints.

"No explosions, no screams, and we're not even allowed to use any offensive slogans on TV," Tom complained to Bernard beside him. "They even have to censor our posters."

Bernard Stolar, on the other hand, appeared calm and composed. He straightened his suit, a standard gesture of an old-school Hollywood gentleman.

"Tom, you have to understand Steven. This isn't just a movie; this is dinosaurs, living dinosaurs." Bernard pointed to the heavily guarded studio building not far away. "My friend at Industrial Light & Magic told me that when he first saw the rendered footage of a Tyrannosaurus Rex roaring in the rain, he even forgot to breathe. Universal has staked everything on this; they won't allow any commercial promotion that even looks a little cheap."

Nakayama Takuya walked between the two, and simply smiled upon hearing this.

He certainly knew what Universal was afraid of.

In an era when CGI technology was just beginning, Jurassic Park was a huge gamble.