The clamor of Los Angeles gradually died down as E3 came to an end.
The ripples had only just begun to spread.
In the editorial office, the old wall-mounted air conditioner buzzed as if it could no longer bear the strain.
The layout software ran with agonizing difficulty on the 486 computer; every time they dragged an image, it froze for several seconds.
David tossed a stack of freshly developed photos onto Paul's desk.
The one on top showed the endless line stretching out in front of Nintendo's booth.
"The editor-in-chief has spoken. The 'Most Anticipated Games of 1997' list is going to be a double-page front-page spread." David pulled over a folding chair and sat down. "And it needs an in-depth analysis of Carmack's universal engine too. Nobody's getting off work tonight."
Paul stuffed half a doughnut into his mouth and grumbled indistinctly, "Anticipation list? This stuff is getting more and more ridiculous. Look at the top ten—half of them don't even have a playable hands-on demo. Square's Final Fantasy VII only showed a few CG screenshots, not even a battle interface leaked, and players on the BBS are already hyping it up as the number-one next-generation RPG. You can make the list just by relying on a few pictures?"
"That's the rule now." David rapped his knuckles against the desktop. "After last year's and this year's E3, players' appetites have been completely changed. They've fully accepted this business model."
E3 painted the big pie, then used the following year—or even longer—to let players slowly eat it.
Over a development cycle that lasted two or three years, game companies needed to maintain the heat.
A few pieces of concept art, a short CG clip, or an interview with the producer could keep players arguing on the major forums for