Several programmers reported loudly, their voices brimming with barely concealed excitement.
When had first launched in the previous life, Blizzard had severely underestimated player enthusiasm. Combined with inadequate optimization of the underlying code, the servers had crashed repeatedly, leaving players grumbling bitterly and nearly turning the launch into a public relations disaster.
But in this life, everything was different.
After Sega North America acquired a stake, it not only provided exceptionally ample development funding; more importantly, it had pulled strings to bring Silicon Valley Online's elite technical teams deeply into the development of 's underlying architecture.
Silicon Valley Online possessed industry-leading experience, years ahead of its peers, in handling high-concurrency network requests and underlying data packets.
They had helped Blizzard completely rewrite portions of its network synchronization code and provided more stable, better-distributed server nodes.
"The technical lunatics Sega sent over are absolute geniuses—" David stared at the steady data and could not help muttering, "The underlying logic they built can handle it even if the player count doubles again."
"What's the situation with customer service?" Mike set down his paper cup and let out a long breath.
"The phones haven't stopped ringing." The customer service supervisor walked over, wearily rubbing his temples, though there was a smile at the corners of his mouth. "But basically, none of it is our problem. It's all players getting disconnected because their home dial-up networks are unstable, then calling in to complain. Some are even asking how to sell blue gear for a good price."
Mike finally relaxed, feeling the back he had kept tense all night was soaked through with cold sweat.
"Tell customer service to answer patiently. For network issues, shove the blame straight onto the telecom operators." Mike smiled and patted the supervisor on the shoulder.
David Brevik leaned back