Dinosaur Storm

At Sega of America Headquarters, the president's office was blasting air conditioning, but Tom Kalinske still found it unbearably hot.

He slammed a report that had just been faxed from the Sales Department onto the table, so hard that the coffee cup jumped.

"That's fantastic!" Tom grabbed a large gulp of ice water from the table, his voice slightly hoarse from excitement. "Sega-CD, that's Sega-CD! In just this week, we sold 30,000 units! That's more than the total for the past three months!"

It's worth noting that the Sega-CD, as a peripheral for the Mega Drive, has always been in a lukewarm state due to a lack of games that United States like and its high price.

After all, there aren't many hardcore United States gamers interested in Japanese RPGs or visual novels. Even a masterpiece like Chrono Trigger didn't resonate with many United States, let alone Sakura Wars.

Who would have thought that a few dinosaurs would bring it back to life?

"As expected." Nakayama Takuya sat on the sofa, flipping through another report on cartridge sales. "As long as the content is good enough, the hardware requirements don't matter. Compared to that, the cartridge sales figures are truly astonishing, aren't they?"

Bernard nodded with a wry smile, pointing to the bolded number. "Two million boxes in the first week. That's because our new batch of goods hasn't cleared customs at the Port of San Francisco yet. The warehouse's phones have been ringing off the hook, and some distributors have even parked their trucks outside the San Francisco warehouse, saying they won't leave until they see the goods."

Two million boxes.

This is not just a number; it's two million Krillin that flew out of United States' wallets, accumulating into an astonishing cash flow on Sega's books.

And this Dinosaur Storm has only just reached its most intense moment.

The night in Los Angeles had not yet faded, and in an executive room at the Hilton Hotel Sunset Boulevard, the lights were still on.

Matsui Tadashi, a senior editor at Weekly Famitsu, frantically pounded on the heavy fax machine while stuffing a cold sandwich into his mouth.

The room was filled with smoke, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts.

"Damn it, these United States ' fax machines are slower than tortoises!" Matsui cursed, his tone revealing his deep frustration.

The photographer, Kobayashi, was packing rolls of film into a light-proof bag, his eyes etched with deep dark circles. "Stop complaining, Matsui- san. Do you know how many people in Tokyo are waiting for this article? The editor-in-chief was yelling at me on the phone just now; he said if we can't send the photos back before printing tomorrow morning, we'll have to swim back to Japan."

Indeed, this business trip was too sudden and too crazy.

Just a week ago, Sega Tokyo Headquarters sent a short fax to major gaming media outlets, containing only one line:

The Jurassic Park MD and Sega-CD versions will be released simultaneously with the film in North America and major markets worldwide.

This explosion stunned the entire Japan gaming industry.

In their eagerness to get the first scoop, Matsui and Kobayashi were put on a flight to Los Angeles by their editor-in-chief before they could even pack their bags properly.

Without even adjusting to the time difference after landing, I rushed straight to the Cinerama Dome.

"To be honest, Matsui- san," Kobayashi stopped what he was doing, lit a cigarette, "Do you really think that game is that amazing?"

I saw those foreigners screaming like pigs being slaughtered.

"Whether it's miraculous or not, I don't know, but I do know that Sega's games are a sure thing." Matsui stared at the newly typed title on the screen—<Dinosaur Storm: Sega's Hollywood Ambition>—a cold smile creeping onto his lips. "Didn't you see it on set? The way Spielberg had his arm around Executive Director Nakayama's shoulder, they looked like long-lost brothers. That's Spielberg! And that game footage—"

Matsui paused, the scene from the demo area flashing through his mind.

The Tyrannosaurus Rex, driven by the MD's not-so-top-of-the-line processor, actually came across as having a lifelike texture.

There were no jerky frame drops; the tension of the muscles stretched out left even this seasoned editor, who had seen countless games, dumbfounded.

"Mark Cearney is a monster," Matsui exclaimed. "I heard he invented this technology. Just how many of these cutting-edge technologies does Sega have up his sleeve?"

"No matter how many are hidden, this issue of the magazine is bound to sell out." Kobayashi carefully sealed the last photo, a picture of Nakayama Takuya, Tom Kalinske, and Spielberg at the premiere, with a huge Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton in the background.

Tokyo, editorial department of Weekly Famitsu.

In front of four monitors, several of the most outspoken senior editors gripped the controllers, their expressions as focused as if they were defusing a bomb.

On the screen, a velociraptor, using the cover of the grass, cunningly circled around to the protagonist's flank.

"I've figured out your tricks, you beast." The editor in charge of the action game section muttered, his thumb about to press the jump button, but the dinosaur didn't charge straight at him like a traditional game AI. Instead, it paused, its hind leg muscles suddenly contracted, and it used the reaction force to change direction and pounce.

"Click." The screen turned blood red.

"This assessment—is it for real?" The editor slammed the controller on the table, not out of anger, but out of utter disbelief. He rubbed his aching wrist and turned to his editor-in-chief, Hirokazu Hamamura. "This thing can even run? Did Mark Cearney shove a coprocessor into the cartridge?"

Hirokazu Hamamura didn't reply; instead, he drew a heavy circle on the evaluation sheet.

"9 points. The visual presentation surpasses the limits of 16-bit consoles; the smoothness of the animation is simply unbelievable for this era."

The other three editors also revealed their scores one after another.

9 points, 9 points, 9 points.

Total score 36 points, Platinum Hall of Fame.

It's worth noting that in the Japan gaming industry, "Western production" plus "movie adaptation" is usually equated with "electronic waste." But this time, Sega, following "Clear and Present Danger" and "Hook," has once again used its sheer strength to refute this association.

As soon as that issue of Famitsu was released, the huge Tyrannosaurus Rex logo on the cover attracted everyone's attention.

Coupled with Matsui's feature article from Los Angeles, "Spielberg ' Amazement: When Dinosaurs Burst Through the Screen," the entire Akihabara arcade was abuzz with excitement.

Outside the MesseSanoh game store, the demo area was crowded with students who had just finished school.

"Hey, look! That Tyrannosaurus Rex is drooling!"

"Really? Let me play a round! Don't die too quickly!"

"This game is too difficult! That jump just now required precise timing; it's based on a hardcore action game."

The store manager stood behind the cash register, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at the rows of empty shelves. Sega had provided ample stock this time, but it couldn't keep up with the overwhelming enthusiasm of the gamers.

Many people haven't even seen the movie, but they've already been captivated by the game's compelling art style and challenging difficulty.