Wetware save technology, you might say

Meyer rushed to the apartment door at the first opportunity.

Lin Lixin could understand his caution. A wholesale price of four thousand dollars was not something any arcade operator could readily agree to.

Especially not Meyer, an exceptionally cautious Jew, who certainly would not risk placing an order before seeing the prototype.

"Mr. Lin, is this the legendary 'Contra'?"

The moment he stepped inside, he saw the very thing he had been longing for.

The cabinet had clearly been built by hand by Lin Lixin and the others, and several sketches lay scattered across a low table nearby.

"That's right, but we've been pressed for time, so we haven't finalized the cabinet design yet."

Lin Lixin nodded, casually picked up one of the sketches, and handed it to Meyer.

Meyer glanced at it. It depicted a muscular tough guy in a tank top, a black band tied around his head. One look at those piercing eyes told him this was no one to mess with.

Beneath the tough guy were the large letters "Contra."

The "C#" in particular had been styled into flames, making it look especially trendy.

The longer Meyer studied the burly man's face, the more familiar it looked. Then he clapped his hands hard, his eyes widening.

"Arnold Schwarzenegger! So the rumor was true?!"

Word on every street and alley was that Schwarzenegger, who had just starred in "Conan the Destroyer," was planning to endorse a video game.

At first, everyone had treated it as nothing more than a little entertainment gossip.

But as time passed, the story gained flesh and bones, sounding increasingly credible, even describing the circumstances at the time in detail.

This had his fans frantic. Who didn't know what kind of state video games were in these days?

To put it bluntly, endorsing video games meant grabbing money without a shred of dignity and standing against the general public.

Making such a choice while his career was on the rise was practically digging away at his own foundations.

"That's right." Lin Lixin seemed entirely unconcerned and admitted it outright. "We've already signed an endorsement agreement with Mr. Schwarzenegger."

Without discussing it further, he switched on Contra and gestured for Meyer to give it a try.

Meyer considered himself a successful arcade operator.

He had chosen to ride the wave during the golden age when video games were at their most prosperous, becoming one of California's largest arcade operators in just a few years.

He had seen many arcade games-practically every arcade game in the world.

But he had never seen anything like Contra.

It was like a game from the future. From its graphics to its game design, every component was exceptionally polished, even perfect.

Meyer noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.

"Mr. Lin, I can pay a fifty-percent deposit up front, as long as we can formally sign an exclusive supply agreement!"

To put it plainly, if this thing really went out for bids, securing it at this price would be nothing but a fool's dream.

Meyer was a businessman who knew his trade. During his play session just now, he had already worked out the machine's hardware cost.

At the current price, Lin Lixin would receive over a thousand dollars in net profit for every unit sold.

But Meyer did not mind in the slightest, because even then, the profit margin left for him was still frighteningly large.

With Contra's extraordinary quality backing it up, their collaboration met with no obstacles whatsoever.

Yet once they had settled the details, Meyer did not leave. Instead, he stared at the machine before him for a long while, then suddenly spoke.

"Mr. Lin, how many stages does Contra have in total?"

Lin Lixin raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised by Meyer's perceptiveness.

Arcade machines differed from home consoles. Their earnings were closely tied to how often players inserted coins and how long each play session lasted.

Unlike Tetris, Contra was a game with a complex storyline, made up of multiple stages.

For an ordinary player, making it all the way to the end would be difficult without half an hour, or even an hour.

"Eight stages in total, plus a final boss."

"That's too long."

Meyer frowned slightly.

He did not think a long game was a bad thing, but commercially speaking, it was indeed a mark against it.

"Mr. Lin, arcade machines aren't home consoles. Most people can't spare such a long stretch of free time to spend on this."

It was not like Tetris, where players could simply leave if something urgent came up and, at worst, start another game.

If they had to leave midway through, they would have to start all over again the next time they played.

That posed a potential threat to players' enthusiasm.

"You mean... develop a save system for the arcade machine?"

Lin Lixin understood what Meyer meant and rubbed his chin, sinking into thought.

Before long, he found a very suitable solution.

"I understand. Wait for my good news."

Hearing Lin Lixin's crisp, decisive answer, Meyer froze for a moment, but said nothing more.

Faced with an all-capable money tree, there was only one thing he needed to do: trust!

That night, after returning from watching the shop, Sam listened to Lin Lixin's account and scratched his head.

"Saving? On an arcade machine? Are you kidding me?"

How many people used an arcade machine every day? As the one responsible for watching the shop, Sam already had a clear understanding of that.

That beloved original Tetris machine of his, these days... sigh.

"If you're going to store data for everyone, how much storage capacity would that take?"

"You're right, Sam."

Lin Lixin did not deny this, but he had no intention of using that sort of modern save technology either.

He patted Sam on the shoulder, strode straight into Sam's bedroom, and searched through his collection of game cartridges.

Credit where credit was due, Sam's game collection was certainly comprehensive.

Even for games released after the Atari Shock, he had gritted his teeth and scraped together enough to buy a few.

Lin Lixin found a cartridge labeled "Survival Island" on the shelf.

It was a game released in 1983, which was last year.

"Huh? I have this thing?"

Sam stared blankly at the cartridge's cover for several seconds.

Ever since the Atari Shock, he had played video games much less frequently.

For him, buying game cartridges had often become purely a matter of collecting.

"What about this game? Don't tell me..."

"Exactly." Lin Lixin nodded and inserted it into the Atari 2600. "This game has a save feature."

"But... how is that possible? This machine doesn't have any writable storage."

Sam was a grassroots geek, after all, and immediately spotted the problem.

The Atari 2600 was not a computer. It had no ability to write data at all.

"Of course not, so they didn't store the save in the console either."

Lin Lixin smiled and navigated the game screen to the "Load" function.

The words [Enter Code] appeared on the screen, prompting the player to enter something.

Below them were two rows of numerical input fields, totaling twelve digits.

"They stored the save in the player's brain."