by [name redacted]
Phantasy Star II, on a Game Boy. How surreal.
Here we’ve got one of the most important videogames of all time, prohibitively expensive at release for the then-new Sega Genesis. Now the game rests on a 1-1/2″ x 2-1/4″ silicon wafer, shouldered by both its predecessor and its successor. Together, the three games now go for less than thirty dollars, and are accessible anywhere you can tote your Hello-Kitty-pink Gameboy Advance.
I love all of these pop-up ads. “Is PORNOGRAPHY saved on your PC? Stop wondering and check now!”
Like I really need help to figure out where my porn is.
Here’s the value of the impression of near-infinite possibilities in a game world or system (“world” being a generalized term from here on out) — they give the impression that there is more to the world at hand than what the player is directly being fed; that something exists outside of whatever specific tasks lie in the player’s path. This creates a sense of place, and of being within that place.
As a result, the player becomes more involved and atached to his or her actions — and those actions become more enjoyable and interesting. The game becomes more personal due to this sense of being; you can say that the game world has a deeper personality — that it is greater than a simple reach of understanding. Just as a character becomes more interesting and “real” as his or her personality becomes more complex. Just as either complexity or near complete mystery make a character more fascinating. Either way, it’s difficult to entirely pigeonhole the character.
Next topic.
Is it just me, or are Nintendo’s major games starting to all feel very similar? I got this when playing Metroid. I realized at some point that it feels like Super Mario World, or Zelda 3. They’re starting to mush together now. Distinct and interesting characters and slightly different mechanics are about all that separate them. Same concept almost exactly; made out of the same elements. Super Bomb and Speed Boost blocks are exactly the same as bricks and Question Mark Blocks and Exclamation Blocks and… it goes on. Castlevania, although it lately tries hard to mimic the Nintendo style of design, still manages to feel a little different. Not necessarily better, but at least it still kind of works on its own rule set. It ends up at about the same place, but through a slightly different combination of elements.
To step on a tangent here: the recent games are obviously inspired by Nintendo’s style as much as they are by the earlier action-based Castlevania. The games are a little less refined and focused, however. There is a wide variety of items which serve no really useful and special purpose (even for the sake of collection, which is itself becoming a tiresome goal). The level design is good, but disorganized. New weapons and abilities are often neglected outside of a few specialized situations. There’s a lot of clutter, put to little use. And yet, they are competent (Igarashi’s more so than those of They Who One Were Kobe). In the case of HoD, even somewhat organic.
I don’t think I’m going to include many more items than will be actually be useful, in my own game.
Next topic.
PC-style adventure games work on more or less the same set of concepts as the console-style adventure, only the setbacks are of a different nature. Less action-oriented problem solving. In the Lucasfilm/Sierra games, puzzles tend to be item- and riddle-based. In the Myst style, they tend to be wholly environmental and logical in nature. There is no real inventory, as in the other styles of game. One’s tools are all in one’s own mind, and in what mental devices one is able to cobble together from the enironment at hand.
The Lucas-type, character-based adventures are a little more clumsy and less pure, in a sense; they rely on physical items as the machines, or often merely as the keys to other machines. They lay everything out for the player, and all one is expected to do is figure out what goes where, and how (logically or not). Bring item x to locatino y in order to open door z. The more interesting mechanics tend to be a little more sophisticated; they involve deciphering the use of certain machines, either within the inventory or the environment.
Occasionally there is the element of deciding what action to take with these machines, upping the player’s involvement, but also the potential frustration if the game isn’t designed well enough to deal with its own system. This is a carry-over from the Infocom and Zork days.
The console-style adventure has more of a tendency to be action-based. Environmental and mechanical logic puzzles are rare, although inventory-based “key” puzzles are not uncommon. Often, however, the “keys” are integrated into the character. Rather than existing as random icons, they become facets of the character or additions to its moveset.
The “doors” which are opened (machines operated) with these keys often — at least in the Nintendo system — are in the obvious default shape of blocks. All manner of blocks! A relatively pure example of this mechanic is Mario. A combination of this concept with an inventory would be Zelda. A halfway point is Metroid — where items are gradually accumulated, but add directly to the character mechanics rather than an inventory.
Biohazard is an incoherent amalgam of the inventory-based Lucasfism-style game with a second mechanism, that links resource management with an awkward battle system. Where this becomes frustrating is in the combination of action and scarcity. The game does not control very well, and is based around surprising the player with difficult-to-manage situations. Due to much earlier errors and indiscretions, it is not at all uncommon to become stuck in a stalmate of sorts where the player has no recourse but failure. The player can become trapped in a very real way, causing all of his or her dedication and patience to come to nothing.
This is poor design. There should always be a mechanism for escape and eventual progress. This is similar to the flaws in a powerup-based shooter like Gradius; one mistake, and it can be next to impossible to recovr. The difference is, in Gradius it is usually possible — if incredibly difficult — to build one’s self back up to where one used to be. In a well-balanced fighting game, a player with little remaining health should still be capable of winning, given enough skill. This isn’t always the case with Biohazard.
What makes a game like Mario or Zelda or Metroid so satisfying, conceptually, is the variety in its callenges, and in how ineffably they blend togeter as pieces of a larger coherent whole. That is, the integral elements of each system all tie into a common scope of reference, making each independent system merely one aspect of interaction with the game world given.
If simple exploration on its own isn’t enough in Metroid, one has a gradually-expanding set of character based “keys” to use, and one knows that related “doors” might potentially be anywhere. If none of these abilities are enough, there is an implicit trust between the player and the game that a later ability will solve the problem. If there are no more abilities to be gotten, then the solution must be something that the player has overlooked.
Where Metroid Fusion failsm ir at least pushes its luck, is by either breaking or stretching that trust which has been built up through three previous games as well as by the inherent makeup of Fusion itself. The player is often trapped through the course of the game, occasionally in a precarious situation, with only one unobvious, difficult-to-detect, means of escape — either to safety or simply to further progress. The game is somewhat redeemed by allowing that escape, but such frustration is trying on the player. After a few situations like this, it becomes obvious that something is just not right with what the game is asking of the player. It’s abusive.
Ultimately, the game can be beaten by anyone with the perseverence, and every item can be obtained — a crucial point of Metroid’s appeal — however the game doesn’t always play fair.
Beyond this, the puzzles have become terribly overt and incongruous. They’re clever, sure, but obviously contrived to fill a formula. The entire body of the game carries this mark of contrivance. Fusion feels like Nintendo By Numbers; pieced together by a design team either rushed, lazy, inexperienced with a game of this sort (and yet observant of its obvious qualities).
The game is clever; not creative. The surrounding elements and the game concept are creative (in terms of the new elements introduced, and the elegant reinvention that they necessitated). This is part of what makes the game so confusing, for me.
And I’m tired. And my copy of Phantasy Star Collection has actually moved from its resting spot in New Orleans, where its’ been for over a week. Now it’s been sitting in Portland since last night. They didn’t bother to bring it over today, for whatever reason. Hm.
I haven’t been around much (in the sense that I have, but just haven’t been communicative), but to make up for that I’ve actually sort of been doing things! Kind of! Maybe! I guess!
Beyond the things which are actually interesting: this will all look pretty familiar to nearly anyone reading me today, but that article of mine is up on Insert Credit. It was supposed to be a review, except that it took so long to scrunge together that it has transformed into a “feature”.
Me? I don’t like it. Cluttered, disjointed. The review, that is. Next time I’ll be working with fresh ideas, so it should go a bit more smoothly. And Brandon says the response has been good, whatever that means, so there’s room for even more out of whence this particular article didn’t come!
Also not sure why he linked the site, twice.
So. Um. E3? Tim made sure that it’s clear that he’s going. Am I going? I have the option, right in front of me. I won’t have to pay for a hotel, in theory. I just have to figure out how to get there.
Why haven’t I gotten my macaroni and cheese, yet? Tell me. I must know.
P.S.:
Is it just me or does Dmitri Dmitrievich Shostakovich rock the socks off the… uh, guards of Fort Knox? It’s all in the timing.
Yesss… I think perhaps I shall throw together that review. After looking through my usual collection of sites, I’ve come to the conclusion that almost no one else writing about the game has more than sixty percent of a personal clue toward the subject at hand. Come to think of it, it’s actually rather rare that I see more than a few mediocre hints at background knowledge — or even a strong desire to grap the inner essence of a particular work — in the analysis of those who would consider themselves to be game critics.
Even on fan-run sites, I feel like I’m running through a consumer reports analysis — more often than not, by someone without a whit of either aesthetic discipline or deep background in the essence of gaming. I’m not trying to sound pretentious here, as greatly as I might neverhteless be succeeding at it. I just mean — well, hell. You get the obvious hacks, but as often as not the people you’ll find reviewing movies in any respectable sense have some kind of claim to authoritativeness (whether or not their opinions end up being valid in the end). Yes, they’ve seen Citizen Kane and the works of Kurosawa and Wilder and Hitchcock. They’ll agree to the genius of Buster Keaton, and at least one Marx Brothers movie will be in their top five list of favourite comedies. They’ll understand pacing, framing, and they’ll have most of the tiresome “rules” of cinema memorized, so as to amuse themselves by checking them off during the more mundane features imposed upon their time. They might disagree as to what makes a great movie, but they’ll at least be qualified to have a public opinion.
This is, I fear, yet another extension of the current attitude toward gaming as an expressive medium. At best, videogames are generally considered little more than a profitable form of enterttainment. Even Miyamoto, of all people, considers it a mistake to think that videogames can be art. Hell, art isn’t in the object; it isn’t in the medium; it’s in the method. And frankly, although still immature, videogames have more expressive potential than any other medium out there. Hell, some of the most cherished art in the world was originally intended as crass, throwaway entertainment. I’m not about to compare Yu Suzuki to Shakespeare here, but you see what I’m getting at.
But that’s exactly what makes decent coverage all the more important — we’re at the early stage of a form of human expression quite possible greater than any previously devised. Even now it’s usually pretty easy to separate the pure throwaway entertainment from the worthwhile experiences. And then compare a developer like Treasure or Sega’s United Game Artists to the likes of Square or (ugh) say, Take-Two Interactive. There are some very different motivations going on here. Then check out a company like SNK. How do you explain them?
There’s so much humanity here that it seems amazing that it could be overlooked. And yet no, all people see are machines. It’s worse than the flak that electronic artists and musicians used to get up until a few years ago, since at least people are well used to the visual and aural arts. Again, the medium is still in its birthing throws. Look at the pain film has gone through. Some people even now still don’t comprehend photography as an artistic medium — and there will be any number of excuses, from the ignorant to the elite. But behind all of it, you still have humans pulling the levers. And as often as not, they’ve got something to say. In some cases it might just be “give us money!” In others, it’s a deep respect for the fans. In other cases you’ve got individuals working their butts off to form and maintain fleshed-out, vibrant universes.
Shenmue is art. Anyone who can’t appreciate it on that level will probably not be impressed. And you know how people have reacted to this game — particularly in the US. I could slap every single person I hear trash the game because of how supposedly boring it is, or because it doesn’t cater to his or her every whim. Christ, people. To appreciate art, you have to take it at its own level! But then we’re back to where we started. Videogames are meant to be entertainment. Even Miyamoto will tell you this. But you know what? Miyamoto is an artist. He’s a slacker art school kid who was hired as a favor to a relative who worked at Nintendo in the early ’80s. He’s not an engineer. Whether he chooses to admit or believe it himself, what he creates is as often art as it is entertaining. Never trust the artist to judge his own work, people. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about; he’s only the conduit for his vision.
And damn my ass, I forgot that I’m supposededly working.
If there’s one word to succinctly describe me, I bleef it could very well be pedantic.
I’m not sure why such a realization brings me the comfort that it appears to. Yet.
There.
Edit:
Well, in some respects anyway.
Okay, so the story with Eolith is that at the time they initially signed their contract with SNK, Eolith was the number one game company in Korea. Of course, they’d only made a couple of really dinky-looking arcade games, so I guess an earlier rumour (that I’d forgotten) about them being the first game company in Korea doesn’t seem all that unfounded. (There have been several to follow in the last couple of years, but this is generally all very new to Korea.)
SNK’s games have always, always been popular in Asia and South America. Those have traditionally been their biggest markets. This is why it was such a big deal for Megaking to get that distribution deal with SNK somewhere near the end. Megaking was another aspiring Korean game company, and being associated with SNK did them wonders.
The same goes with Eolith. Since SNK’s R&D staff was all gone, and the King of Fighters series was “ended”, so to speak, it was left for someone to pick up. Aruze were cleaning house at the time, raping SNK of everything which might have made them a passing profit. So there would never be a better opportunity.
And so Eolith jumped the gun and picked up the license. And that’s what it is — a license. In other words, Eolith were officially making their own game, based upon SNK’s characters and designs. They just felt it wisest to continue in the tradition and make this game the next chapter in the established series.
Of course, Eolith… are not skilled game designers. Which is why they hired Brezza — SNK’s old R&D staff — to design the game for them. They wanted to make 2001 as close to an official KoF game as possible, only with their name on it.
And then Sun popped up and offered to publish the game. They were also made of ex-SNK staff. So the game would be developed by ex-SNK staff and distributed by ex-SNK staff. And Eolith would get the credit (especially since no one knew who Brezza or Sun were at the time). Everyone seemed okay with that.
But then what happened, of course, is Playmore grabbed up all of SNK’s properties and started organizing things. There was a period toward the end when Aruze just sold or licensed out SNK’s properties to whomsoever offered. Playmore put an end to this, and made sure it was well-known that they owned all of SNK’s material and effectively now were the new SNK. They were in charge, and would appreciate all of their property back now.
So the nature of their relationship with Eolith became a little strange. Because Brezza and Sun (along with Noise Factory) became part of the Playmore group, the game essentially is being designed by Playmore now. Eolith are contractually involved, and theoretically are in control of the project — this is their game, not SNK/Playmore’s. But for the most part it’s just a show. Eolith get the right to be a figurehead, and the less they do to muck things up the better. Luckily, they know enough to keep their mouths shut.
Megaking’s involvement with Metal Slug seems similar, except for a couple of factors. One, they actually seem to be doing some of the work along with Noise Factory. Two, they’re a lot more important to Playmore than Eolith ever could be. Megaking and Playmore together are who formed the various SNK NEOGEO branches, with the idea that Megaking would be intrinsically involved with the main Korean branch. So they’re not just cashing-in, as Eolith are. They want to be a part of things.
I’ve a feeling these kinds of deals are going to be very limited in the future, what with Playmore in the picture. After 2002, I don’t see why they have any need to renew their contract with Eolith unless Eolith agree to some sort of funding scheme. Otherwise they’re not really adding anything. I can see how Playmore might throw Megaking a few bones, but the thing is, Megaking are already involved in SNK NEOGEO Korea. So they’re in the picture anyway. And yet on the third hand, they actually helped in development. So if they were to continue developing for Playmore, that would save on some Brezza and Noise staff and resources.
It’s just lucky that Eolith were intelligent in how they chose to exploit their license. Actually, it’s astounding that things turned out as well as they seem to have done, all around. Playmore jumped in quickly enough to keep the wolves at bay and to make sure everyone who already had claims to some of SNK’s properties, was behaving.
I’ve not yet eaten today. This situation will now be remedied.
Galloping deities. I just realized that I’ve spent seven and a half hours doing nothing but staring at the screen, researching one random bit of stuff after another. The only constant strain was that it all tended to be centered around SNK in whatever manner — filtering out precisely what the intricacies of Eolith’s contract was with SNK when it was originally signed, what the Crystal System really was and why it’s never been used aside from that one soccer game out of Evoga (too complex to get into here, but I think I understand now). Rediscovering the names (which were mentioned to me dozens of times in the past, but my mind is a sieve for details like this) of all of SNK’s primary artists aside from Shinkirou (Tonko, I remembered at least). Sifting through the details of SNK’s bankruptsy and how it happened as it did. (Aruze is the scum of the earth, that’s how.)
And I am exhausted. If only I could put this kind of focus to work for the forces of good.
One slightly more entertaining-to-someone-other-than-me item, though, than other things I’ve learned today; the art to KoF2002 is apparently being done by the team of Hiroaki and Nona.
Okay, so that means nothing to you? It didn’t do a lot for me at first, either. I knew that Nona was the artist from KoF2001, and I mostly dug what he did for that game even if it rubbed a lot of other people the wrong way. So, fine. But who’s this Hiroaki? I learned he did the art for Bukiri One. That also didn’t mean much to me, although I knew one of the Another Strikers from KoF2000 had his origin there.
Finally I remembered the SNK art book that 
Shepard sent along with his other game stuff. I flipped to the end, and looked through the Buriri-One illustrations. It’s then that an earlier comment hit me. It hadn’t entirely registered, or maybe I wasn’t yet entirely sure whether to believe it.
This is the guy who did the art for KoF2000. And he’s fantastic. I mean, I thought that Tonko’s art for Last Blade and Mark of the Wolves was great. Heck, Tonko’s art was some of the first SNK artwork that really appealed to me. But Hiroaki is… I mean, jeez! (If my head weren’t throbbing right now, I’d look up a few examples again — but all of those windows are now closed. I might do so later, if I remember.) If you’ve seen KoF2000 (particularly some of the pictures in the art gallery), you’ll know what I mean.
So. Nona is still doing the character art, although he’s evidentially been instructed to tone down the weirdness quotient a bit. This is all fine by me, as his art has a certain grittiness and malease which I feel suits KoF perfectly and which the series has been lacking for a long while. His art is frankly just a little disturbing at times. I don’t think I want to know what else he draws in his free time. But aside from his style, he seems to understand, and do a great job at capturing, the personalities of the characters. His freehand art is kind of hit-and-miss, but at least it has personality and life to it. And again it’s certainly distinctive.
Meanwhile, everything else is apparently being handled by Hiroaki. Keep in mind the intro and ending sequences to KoF2000 when I say this. Yes? Yes.
This is the perfect team. I’m eternally grateful that Shinkirou decided to jump ship and move over to Capcom. We’ll never have to deal with his dated, grotesque mannequins again. And yet neither do we have the sharp anime look of ’99 and 2000 — which was nice, but perhaps not entirely appropriate for the intended tone of the series. I’m now really looking forward to seeing how the game turns out from a visual standpoint, as I don’t think there’s ever before been this much potential for the series.
I guess I can live without King. Gripe time is over; now let’s just see what the game does has to offer.
A few days ago I found a new gaming news site. I thought it was pretty keen for the kinds of news covered, and for the way some of the previews and reviews were written. Then I happened onto the editorials. The first one I hit, was just terrific.Some time later I came to another interesting article. I hadn’t been paying much attention at first, but after a couple of pages I realized that the writing style seemed familiar. I checked, and indeed it was by the same guy as the last one I’d liked.
I had already, a few hours before, shot off a quick note to one of the site’s editors, commending him on what a keen place he’d set up. (This email subsequently returned to me in a few days’ time, for whatever reason.) Following the day’s whims, I decided to do similarly with this author. I was lazy, however, and simply suggested that he refer to what I’d said in my earlier mail to the editor.
This, as a more rational person would expect, led to a confused reply. I responded to his response, saying what I should have said to begin with, and over the next few days a brief rapport followed. He mentioned that he was writing a book and asked if I’d like to read it. I asked if its opening scene involved noodles in any way. Somewhat to his amazement, it did. In fact, he’d apparently just written that part in.
Point is, after a bit of procrastination I finally logged into the account he mentioned and downloaded the version of his manuscript that he indicated. I didn’t really intend to look at it right off; I was feeling woozy and contemplating either a nap or some nourishment. Or King of Fighters. But I opened the file up anyway, to make sure that it had downloaded correctly. I re-read the first page (which he’d sent earlier to prove his point about the noodles).
By the next time I really noticed, I was already on page thirty-four. This thing is a little silly, although that’s mostly intentional. It, however, is quite thoroughly enjoyable. I’m particularly impressed with the manner in which he seems to punctuate otherwise-straight scenes with unexpected hiccups in tone. The timing is generally well-balanced, such that at about the time I feel compelled to get up and do something else, a new idea pops up to reel me back in again. It’s difficult to escape. And it seems reasonably clever so far.
Will hold further comment until I get further in. But this is sort of interesting.
I just went to a meeting and listened to a couple of directors talk about how to make actors and screenplays work together. They kept reminding everyone that no one in Hollywood reads, and how to get around that if what you’re trying to do is write. I will not divulge the secrets here. I think this guy is on the right path, though.
I tried to write about this a bit in a more professional manner, thinking perhaps I could submit a review to the KJ (and I bet they’d print it, too). But I’m just not in the mood, and I’ve found whenever I try to do something seriously, it just never gets done. But I want to talk about the game, so here I am — talking about it.
Although I knew quite well that the game was released yesterday or so, I was still surprised when I was awakened by the UPS guy this morning. I honestly didn’t believe I’d ever hold the game — much more than in the case of Shenmue and Shenmue II, respectively. The time was simply far past for King of Fighters 2000 to be released on any consumer platform outside the Neo-Geo, and although the Dreamcast was the obvious platform, its own time is long gone.
I never expected the game to be announced, and up until the time I held it in my hands I had trouble entirely believing the story. This whole Playmore thing from the outset is more like some kind of a fairy tale than anything I expect to be able to touch. But no, Playmore does apparently exist. SNK is alive again, sort of. And for some reason they’re still supporting Sega’s hardware. And the packaging is neat-o.
Really, this is just like all of SNK’s packaging in the past — well, their Japanese stuff, anyway. Actually even in the US, SNK were one of the few publishers to print full-colour manuals for their Dreamcast games. It’s just that their packaging and advertising was incredibly tacky — and Agetec picked up on that, destroying the beautiful Mark of the Wolves cover art in the region 1 release.
My point is, it’s really well-done. It’s along the lines of what SNK were doing toward the end of their life; KoF’99, Mark of the Wolves, Last Blade 2, etcetera. Nice cover art; nice disc art; nice tray art (both sides), well-made manual. Very clean, classy, and elegant.
That evaluation, I could pretty much extend to the entire production. The DC port of 2000 is essentially what you’d expect it to be, only a little bit better in most places. It’s not anywhere as good as the ports of KoF’98 and ’99 (Dream Match 1999 and Evolution, respectively), as a lot of work went into each of those to make them native Dreamcast games and more than just a couple of ports. But I think it’s safe to say that there’s more here than in any of SNK’s other Dreamcast efforts (Cool Cool Toon aside).
In both earlier KoF games, SNK added 3D backgrounds. ’98 had a new — and long — animated introduction added, drawn, apparently, by the person who did the character art in ’99. While ’99 lacked this extra touch, it was generally a much more, well, evolved package. The concept of “Another Strikers” was pioneered here, and a store system was set up where one could purchase a large handful of additional striker-only characters, from most of the remaining cast of ’98 who got left out in this chapter to Fio, from Metal Slug. ’99 also got a snazzy new interface and an incomplete-but-still-useful inline move list which could be brought up at any time (as in Capcom’s recent efforts).
This port of 2000, meanwhile, hovers a little closer to MotW and Last Blade 2 in terms of overall effect and apparent effort. As with every other Neo-Geo game ported to the DC (aside from KoF’98), there’s a long pause at the outset while what must be a large part of the original Neo-Geo ROM set is dumped into memory. After that, unless one exits Neo-Geo territory (such as to the art gallery and puzzle mode), there are virtually no load times at all after startup. And as usual, Playmore has removed the typical Neo-Geo “How To Play” introductions to every play mode in the game. Why this is seen as a necessity for every Neo-Geo port, I don’t know. I find that they add a lot of personality to the game; just watch Kyo’s and Shingo’s demonstration in ’98 to see what I mean.
Also as with every other Neo-Geo port (and this was a bit of a surprise to me), Playmore was kind enough to lace an arranged soundtrack into this new port. One has the option to switch back to “original sound” — as with Mark of the Wolves — but I wouldn’t advise it in this case. Somehow in the transition, the excellent Neo-Geo music has become muffled and tinny, and has aquired a slight, yet (to-me) disconcerting reverberation. The sound level is also below all of of the sound effects and voices, somewhat killing the drama in Kyo’s theme, for instance.
I’m a little annoyed with these developments, as the original Neo-Geo music has a certain coarse, gritty edge to it which is almost entirely absent in the arranged score — and I think in some ways it fits the game’s visuals somewhat better. Nevertheless, the arranged soundtrack is fantastic on its own merits. There are details to the music which I never picked up from the original soundtrack, and it’s a lot more obvious what the music ties are to the score from ’99.
While I think overall ’99 has the more interesting score, 2000 certainly has one of the three best soundtracks of any King of Fighters game. It’s similar in style to ’99, and is in many ways more polished — think of the music in Sonic the Hedgehog 2, in comparison to the first game. Some people might disagree with me on both counts, and figure that the more polished music in the second game is superior. I’d be in no place to make claims against them, as the music is still terrific all around.
(One thing over which I think there will be zero debate is the new Garou theme. This marks the first instance where the Fatal Fury team’s music actually blends into the rest of the score — and it’s just fantastic. It is, by freakin’ Flea Man leaps and bounds, the best theme this team has ever had in a KoF game.)
And in this case, the mix is very crisp and clear — and each theme goes on for far longer than I’d expect. I think most major tracks must be at least three or four minutes in length before the loop. This is especially impressive when one looks at the travesty which is KoF2001’s soundtrack. But we’ll face that monster when we get to it.
I don’t think the voices and sound effects were resampled for the Dreamcast version, as they obviously were in ’99. It’s not that they’re of a poor quality, but I think they must have been directly lifted off of the Neo-Geo cartridge rather than from the original recordings. They sound fine; the acting quality is of typical SNK standards, and the effects are varied. I’m just saying.
In terms of what’s unique to this port, the most ballyhooed new addition takes the form of a whole bucketload of new stages which have been added to the game. One of the largest complaints I keep seeing about the original version of KoF2000 has to do with its backgrounds. For one, people seem to feel that there aren’t enough of them. People also seem to generally agree that the stages in 2000 are a huge step down from what we saw in the previous game — washed-out in terms of palette, and generally uninspired.
I’m not sure I agree with this evaluation; although ’99 certainly had some of the most stunning backdrops in the series, I’m not sure what that has to do with 2000. As it is, there are several native stages in this game which I find entirely impressive. The thing is, the ones which strike my fancy are the ones others tend to point out as lame while the ones which bore me are the ones which seem to amaze everyone else. I guess that’s pretty typical.
Nevertheless, it is true that some more variety is needed — and if nothing else, variety is what we now have. The new stages are all in fact old ones, rehashed from everything from Fatal Fury (all three subseries) to every previous edition of King of Fighters even to Samurai Spirits/Shodown in one instance. (Beyond this, for some reason the VMU save/load screen is taken (I believe) almost directly from Mark of the Wolves. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know. But I knew. So I did.)
The rationale for these stages is that they’re all tied to various “Another Striker” characters present in the game. For those not familiar with the more recent KoF mechanisms, a “Striker” is an extra team member who can be called in at any point to contribute a single attack of some sort during a battle — very much like what one sees in the Marvel vs. Capcom games. Usually this striker will consist of one of your standard team’s members. For instance, if one were to choose the Hero team (K’, Maxima, Ramon, Vanessa), one could choose the first three characters as fighters and Vanessa as the Striker. Or, since she’s neat and Ramon is annoying, thrust him into the Striker role instead.
In the DC port of KoF’99 and in any version of 2000, there are also what are known as “Another Striker” characters; they serve no purpose but to be strikers, and aren’t actually playable within the game. They’re more of a fun addition than anything really useful, as they allow cameos of all sorts of odd characters from SNK’s arsenal who don’t otherwise get a chance to show up in the game proper.
In the DC version of 2000, whenever one is fighting against an opponent who has an “Another Striker”, a particular background stage will generally be tied to that striker. For instance, I mentioned Samurai Spirits a couple of paragraphs ago. The reason that there’s (apparently; I’ve not yet seen it — perhaps it needs to be unlocked?) a stage representing that game is that Nakoruru is one of the extra Strikers present in the game.
I’m not sure if this means that when Awakened Kaede is chosen as a Striker, the background will switch to a stage from Last Blade, but it seems likely. The thing I’ve noticed is that none of the “odd” characters — the ones from other series not immediately related to King of Fighters — have any of their stages available from the outset; when they’re chosen, the round defaults to a random native level from 2000. I’ve read, however, that there are more stages to unlock later in the game — so we’ll see, I guess.
Anyway, the new backgrounds do help a lot in terms of spicing things up. The only problem is — well, problems are, I should say — the varying sources of the original rounds. You see, some of the backgrounds are really dated. I mean, really dated. Fatal Fury 1 dated. It’s not uncommon to see highly-shaded, bloated, brightly-hued cartoon characters cheering the fighters on. Often the scales are all messed-up (consider how large the character sprites are in the Real Bout games, in comparison to KoF), and invariably all of the neat line-scrolling and interactive background elements (including round intros) have been removed entirely. This leaves a lot of the early KoF and most of the FF levels looking a little flatter than I remember them. Beyond this, the earlier KoF backdrops were often framed to take into account the “benched” team members on each side, standing off to the side, cheering and jeering at the ongoing battle. Since this detail has been oddly removed from the series ever since ’99, the backgrounds again are left looking a little more bare than they were probably intended.
Still, it’s kind of neat to have the stages around. I just wish SNK had at least kept the silly line scrolling. Would it really have taken up that much more space?
There’s one other addition to the game, which hasn’t received a lot of attention; a new puzzle mode has been added, in the gallery submenu. There are three separate galleries for the game, containing Shinkirou’s annoying character drawings, promotional art and posters, various sketches, and so on. More art (and perhaps other secrets) are unlocked by completing a series of sliding-panel puzzles. I realize how lame this instinctively might sound, but I actually find the puzzles to be kind of entertaining, in a Minesweeper-ish way.
It’s a neat escape from the redundant nature of the various fighting modes, and it’s actually executed a little better than I thought it would be. There are satisfying sound effects accompanying every action, and tiles can be rotated to the left and right as well as shifted in any direction. When the final tile is slid or rotated to its right position, there’s again an entirely satisfying flash and fanfare — and from then on, that piece of art will be viewable in the gallery. I’ve only completed about a dozen puzzles so far, so I really don’t know what else (if anything) is hidden in there. But I’m glad Playmore decided to add it, even if I can’t figure out why they would have.
Something else I could have mentioned earlier is that the game seems to be entirely in English now, save the plot and ending quotes. The menus and striker names and everything. I guess I can just turn to a FAQ if I want to know what’s going on in each of the teams’ endings, but I’m glad to see how navigable everything else remains. The only bit of Japanese I’ve even seen in the game, aside from the above, is in the aforementioned VMU management screen. At first it’s a little confusing whether one has saved the game correctly, as there isn’t even a VMU chirp as a signal — but that only takes a few moments to figure out.
One annoying omission, coming off of ’99, is the lack of any sort of a movelist within the game itself. The manual, again, is great — but even as incomplete as the lists were in the previous game, the fact that they were there was incredibly helpful. I have no idea how to play Ramon, for instance. I could look up a FAQ, or try to decipher the kanji in the manual, but it would just be nice to be able to press two buttons and pull up some help, y’know? I suppose the original Neo-Geo game didn’t have one, and it was more of a bonus that one was ever included in Evolution — but darn it all.
Beyond an analysis of the game itself, there are only a few more random details to mention. First off, I’ve played King of Fighters 2000 pretty extensively in NeoRageX. The romset is a little corrupted, so none of the menus or ending quotes are legible — but that just makes it all the more compelling to pick up the Dreamcast version, as if I wouldn’t have jumped at it anyway.
The thing is, for some reason Mai’s chest received a makeover from ’99 to this game. In ’99, she was still as boingy as ever — perhaps even more than before. In 2000, however, something was wrong. It took me a while to figure out what, aside from that she seemed stiffer than I remembered. But then it dawned on me — her body might as well have been made out of wood during its idle animation. Her bounce was kept in all of her other movemets, but when she stands still in the US Neo-Geo version, her boobs might as well be painted on. Her entire body is stiff. I just assumed that the designers intended to change her animation a bit, but due to a rushed schedule forgot to add the frames back in before the game was yanked from their hands and they were disbanded.
This tiny detail left the game feeling incomplete to me. It could have been any character’s animation sequence, but how could they forget Mai’s bounce? And what’s more, why did Eolith forget to put it back in in KoF2001?
Well, see what I really know. After playing this version of 2000 for an hour or two, I realized that Mai was boingy once more — and how. I think she’s trying to compete with the Dead or Alive girls now (I’m speaking of the original game here). At first I was even more impressed with Playmore’s attention to detail than I already had been — but then I had a thought. I went back into my emulator and I switched it to emulate Japanese regional coding. I booted up KoF2000, and lo and behold — all the boing one could ever need.
All I have to say now is that this is perhaps the most retarded bit of censoring I’ve seen yet in an SNK game. The white blood I can understand, though it seems needless to me considering how cartoony everything is anyway and what the nature of the game is. The removal of all of King’s references to alcohol has seemed a weird to me, considering the fact that Chin exists — but again I’ve more or less understood why the changes were made, as little as I agreed with them either aesthetically or in spirit. But — just, why?!
A disconcerting change, in its small and harmless way, is the removal of all previous instances of SNK’s logo in the introduction and menu system, and its replacement with that of Playmore. Now, I’m not sure what to think of this — as KoF2000 is not a Playmore game. They might own the rights to it now, but it was developed by SNK. They deserve the credit, I think. And what’s more, Playmore’s logo is strangely-shaped, and it’s mostly green and yellow. SNK’s logo is simple, sleek, and blue. It’s icy. It’s stylish. It blends into almost anything. Playmore’s logo pops out like the packaging to a Fisher-Price toy.
KoF2000 has perhaps the keenest intro sequence in the series, and there’s one key moment (in an intricately-timed orchestration of images) where the screen fades to black, save a small, quiet, subtle “SNK” logo — which then quickly vanishes. This has now been replaced with “Playmore Presents”… and, well, it’s jarring. I almost laughed the first time I saw it, as it was so unexpected. I guess it’s not a big deal, but it seems little strange to me.
Lastly, I never actually made it through the game on my emulator — so I’d never seen the credit sequence before. Just to mention, KoF2000 has a really neat set of credits. Perhaps I’d best not get expectations up too much, but they mirror the opening sequence pretty well in how they’re arranged. And then…
Hmm.
Remember how at the end of Sonic Adventure 2, there’s that quote? How does it go… something like “Another day brings a new dream… But for now… Rest easy, heroes”. Seeing everything that was going on with both the series and Sonicteam and Sega at the time — this is a kind of a poignant way to end things.
Well, after the obligatory “CONGRATURATION!” (Really, I think they must do this on purpose) — most SNK games end with the same message: “THANKS TO: ALL SNK STAFF”. And then, sometimes, there’s another bit tacked on — “AND YOU!”
This time, there’s just a pause and a black screen — and then the game prints out “Thank you all with love.”
…
Now, consider this. This is the final game by the original KoF team. They were disbanded immediately afterward. I don’t know if SNK made another game in-house after this. And it was released in late 2000, after the US, European, and Asian branches of SNK shut down. After the NGPC was pulled from the market. After they’d filed for bankruptcy. They continued to taper off for a little under another year before closing last fall. But this was really the end.
It might sound a little silly, but this final message kind of touches me, in a way. I’m not really going to say any more about it, but I thought it worth throwing out there.
Now for the game: It’s NESTS-era King of Fighters. It doesn’t play as well as either ’99 or 2001, in my opinion. It’s a little unbalanced, and the teams are set up kind of strangely. It’s an in-between game, in the series. But it’s still King of Fighters, so it’s still better than most stuff you’re going to find in the genre.
It’s probably the pinnacle of the series in terms of presentation. It just doesn’t get any better than this; 1999 was a step in this direction, and 2001 was several steps down. The art style is great, the interfaces and atmosphere are highly polished; the music is (as mentioned) terrific, and smooth.
A few new characters are introduced; some of them neat (Vanessa!), some of them useless (Hinako) or annoying (Ramon). Many characters have received some large alterations to their movelists, for better or worse (Kyo, Iori). And the last boss, Zero, is typically cheap although — notably — perhaps the least appealing KoF villain I’ve yet (at least, as far as I’m concerned).
The Armor and Counter modes, I find even more annoying and useless than in ’99. I far prefer the old styles of power meters from ’98 and before, and I’m glad Eolith chose to ditch these modes in 2001. They’re just not needed so far as I can see, and yet I keep feeling guilty for not taking more advantage of them. The striker system is a bit more useful than before, though not nearly as refined as it will be in the next game. Everything else feels as it should, to the best I can tell.
Although, unless one has a large and quickly-accessed mental resevoir of kanji, there’s a lot to be missed a lot in this edition, there are a lot of interesting plot developments in 2000. Again, it’s a middle chapter — so nothing really important happens. But we see the introduction of Kula, some important developments with the Psychic Soldiers team, and one of the most shocking turns of events in the series (even if it lacks the drama that perhaps it deserves, in the short time it’s given).
For a rundown, the game has the best SNK presentation you’ll get short of Mark of the Wolves; it’s pretty, it sounds good, it’s got good variety. It’s a little unbalanced, and the teams are set up strangely. The gameplay is as solid as ever, though the mechanics aren’t as evolved (for my brain) as in either ’99 or 2001. The port is perfect in nearly every way, and has several nifty additions. Playmore didn’t put as much work into it as SNK did with the other Dreamcast editions of KoF, but they did a much better job than I expected and better than SNK themselves did with their other Neo-Geo ports.
Playmore are real, and they seem to at least be competent. Now that I have this game in my hands, my respect for them, and what they’re doing, has been solidified. And now I’m really looking forward to what they can do with 2001. Heck, maybe they’ll even be able to fix the soundtrack. I can’t imagine it getting a lot worse…
Okay. I think I’m starting to figure Konami out.
Konami also has a Shanghai-based division, who seems not to do much.
KCEK, KCET, and KCEJ seem to be the three most important divisions. KCET and KCEJ officially like to be called Konami TYO and Konami JPN now, for whatever reason — but I think their original names are less confusing.
There’s a long investigation of the Castlevania series which I dumped onto Lan and Shepard around a month ago. I might dig for that in a bit.
I keep typing these things off to random people as I sort them out in my head. It seems to make more sense, though, to dump them somewhere I can more easily dig for them later. So here this is.
Of course, Bionic Commando is a spin-off of Commando. We know this much.
It seems that the arcade version of Bionic Commando comes first. I saw it once in a LaVerdiers, years ago. I’m not sure if I ever got to play it, though. It’s super-deformed and action-oriented, but familiar. Apparently, Super Joe (from Commando) is the main character.
(As a note, Super Joe also is in a game I’d never seen before by the name of Speed Rumbler. He’s in a car this time, and someone kidnapped his family. It looks like Commando, only… with cars.)
The second game in the series is Bionic Commando for the NES. The main character is Ladd, and he’s out to defeat Hitler and save Super Joe. It’s an action-adventure sort of in the vein of Blaster Master or Metroid, with occasional overhead-view segments to hark back to the original Commando.
The Gameboy version of Bionic Commando (still the same title, yes) comes third. Super Joe has disappeared again while looking for a secret weapon known as “Albatross”. The main character is now Rad Spencer. It appears to play very similarly to the NES version.
Finally we get the Gameboy Color edition, Bionic Commando: Elite Forces. Super Joe’s gone yet again — only now he’s moved up to the title of Commander Joe. Maybe they figured a desk job would keep him from getting taken hostage all the time. No luck, though. Now there are two main characters — a nameless male and a female Bionic Commando, each of whom gets referred to throughout the game by whatever the player dubs them. The female one, with her purple pony-tail, seems to be the one given more focus. Also, the overhead-view throwbacks to the first Commando seem much more elaborate than before.
So:
[Commando]
[Speed Rumbler (?)]
…
Yes, I’m back from Otakon.
I’m playing KoF’99 on my newly-operational Dreamcast. I’m actually using the Psycho Soldier team, which is unusual for me; it’s that I want to play through with each team at least once (and twice, I guess with the Psycho Soldier team — as Kensou has his own special ending).
So the rock falls on Krizalid. Everyone goes running.And then someone comments that they’re trapped. The next line I see is this:
…
I mean, I know SNK’s translations tend to be a bit on the daffy side, but.
Ignoring everything else, why would Bao be reading Sartre? I would peg Iori (or, actually, K’) to be a bit closer to the idea that “hell is other people” than a goofy kid who chases butterflies…
Well, hey. No Exit only has four characters in it. It could be played by one team easily enough. The entire play takes place in a drawing room, so it would fit within a single stage. Maybe we’re onto something here. Once Playmore is done making games for the Neo-Geo, it can become the newest platform for Existentialist theatre!
Why did I never think of this before?!
Of course, on second glance, perhaps King would be better suited for the part of Inez…
Mary, my dear —
I have had the most extraordinary afternoon. I hardly have a solid notion of where to start, but if the aphorisms hold any truth then perhaps the beginning is the best choice.
Certainly you recall the uncommon business I mentioned earlier, with the brusque Dr. Stephen Haustus and his mysterious ways. I met with the fellow today.
As I write this, night is leaking into the early morning. Nevertheless, I feel more compelled to organize my thoughts than to sleep this day. I will ask Scott to cancel my classes for the approaching noontime, although I fear I will be unable to immediately explain to either him or to my students. (I am certain all involved will be thoroughly devastated at the news.)
Following the Doctor’s instructions, I called for a taxi somewhere close after eleven this morning. It appears that my watch has stopped, but while I am unaware of the precise time, it was undoubtedly somewhere in the immediate range of mid-day that I wound myself to the museum.
I had been idly worrying about how to locate the Doctor once I arrived, as neither his call nor his wire were entirely clear. (I am of course generous in this statement.) Furthermore, it had been so long since I had visited the museum that my memory of its layout was clouded. Walking into the lobby, I had just made up my mind to seek the cuneiform exhibit — perhaps for my own amusement more than the sake of logic — when I was greeted with a familiar thunderclap of a voice.
“Professor Astrid.” The voice once more stated. This time, however, there was more colour in its inflection.
Crossing the room toward me, from between a mock sarcophagus and what appeared to be a grossly oversized fern, was a large, shall we say plenitudinous, man. His face was grizzled with a mutton-chopped swath of nearly black hair, and unexpectedly stretched with a thin smile. There was no vest to be found under his jacket, which seemed to leave the picture incomplete — I would have envisioned a watch chain stretching from the upper pocket — but his heavy cane made up for the oversight.
“You are Doctor Haustus?” As usual, I have a talent for voicing the obvious.
By now the Doctor’s figure was close enough that I could make out a heavy glare — a cast that was removed nearly the moment my eyes met his. I must say that this initial look troubled me in some obscure manner — but my uneasiness was easily subsumed once we began our conversation.
“Stephen Haustus, at your service.” His head gave a slight forward bob. “I should apologize for the suddenness with which I chose to summon you.”
“Summon?”
“Beckon, if you prefer. Convoke. Language is more your area than mine. Come, let us remove ourselves from this tourist trap. I have not eaten in hours.”
“I confess that I am a bit confused.”
“Only a bit?” I would not have guessed only minutes earlier that the Doctor was capable of laughter. “We shall have to work on that, shan’t we? But let’s not speak of such things for the moment. You surely know this area more well than I; where might we find a perfect duck?”
It appears that I was right in my earlier suspicion; this Haustus fellow is cagey, but his overall demeanour has quite taken me by surprise. The two of us carved a collective path to the small restaurant a block and a corner away. You must know the name; it’s the one with the weathered clapboards on the inside, and the queer picture of a cat hanging inside the entryway. It still has oil lamps along the walls instead of electric bulbs, and always seems a bit dim inside.
The Doctor seemed indifferent to the eccentricities of the establishment, and barged through the paneled door ahead of me.
We were shown to a table obscured on two respective sides by weathered red brick and a dark, lacquered oak divider. While Haustus took a sturdy chair opposite, I was constrained to slide into a booth seat along this partial wall. Orders were barked to the waitress; the Doctor got his duck, while — having already eaten an adequate breakfast — I passed with an uncomfortably bitter green salad.
In terms of discussion, there was little of repeatable note until the table was put bereft of any measure of edible fare — yet as we ate, I on more than one occasion became conscious of the Doctor’s scrutiny. As his mandibles worked over their meal, Haustus frequently leaned back in his chair, allowing his eyes to do a similar job upon my form. For my part, I did my best to ignore the gaze. I suppose the man was trying as well to see what he could make of me as I, him. From the unusual nature of what he had to say, I can now understand his caution.
“How would you judge yourself as a linguist?” Having become lost in my thoughts over the course of the meal, Haustus’ voice gave me an even greater start than usual.
I was flustered, but I managed a reply. “I have as much to learn as anyone, but I believe I have had at least some degree of success in my studies.” I saw that he was looking for more of an answer than this. “I imagine if you have asked me here then you are familiar with my work. Most recently I have been searching for early traces of the language to develop in ancient Sumer. Although I have yet to receive a wealth of support for my findings, some samples have been brought to my attention which suggest that far from being the first written language, the Sumerian dialect is devolved from some more primary, more sophisticated form.”
“I understand that you might be considered something of a linguo-cryptographer.”
“That might not be as inaccurate a description as many.” I had not thought of myself in such terms, but from the way he phrased it I almost felt like a professional. “Most of the languages I have learned, I have done so with little outside influence.”
Since my mouth was already in motion, I decided to editorialize. “Language theory tends to bore me; there is no way to truly grasp the essence of a thing with the lack of context that comes in an analytic handbag. But yes,” I admitted, “I do have something of a knack for decoding languages that others might find inaccessible.”
Haustus had by now pulled the corners of his mouth into a determined scowl, causing his lower lip to protrude and to fold slightly outward. The Doctor leaned further into his chair and stared through furrowed brow into a distant land above my left ear.
“A man has come to me,” he finally offered, arms folded across his stomach, his eyes maintaining their unfocused glaze. His tone acquired a hitherto-unseen candid quality, although I could swear that it retained a cannily rehearsed type of extemporaneousness. “A patient, if you will. He has recently come down with an unconventional disease of the mind, and several months ago his family saw best to place him in the care of my institution.”
“Is it serious?” A useless question, but I felt obligated to say something.
“A yes and a no,” he shrugged. “One rarely has any clear answers in this field. If you ask whether he is able to go about his business without aid, then yes, to some degree. However, he has become so violent under our custody that he must remain sedated at all times.”
“You say that his disease is a rare one? What is it that’s wrong with this man?” I was becoming curious by now, despite the continued unclarity of Haustus’ intent in this conversation.
“This is where your patience leads.” The Doctor chuckled lightly. “It seems the patient has become lost in his own world. This is a standard reaction, of course, in such modern times as these. Stress will often cause a person to retreat inward, and to make up his own rules; his own universe.”
Haustus ceased his investigation of the surrounding atmosphere and returned his attention to my face, before continuing. “What is unique about this case is the way my patient has chosen to express himself. He has begun to develop an alternate language, undoubtedly entirely of his own creation. Once more, this alone is not unheard-of. What is highly unusual is the complexity and the consistent nature of his language — and a language indeed it appears, albeit none known to any other man I have contacted. These are not merely insane ravings. When the man is sober, he appears to be entirely lucid. It is merely that no one is able to understand his words. I believe that this could be a source for some of his rage.”
Although his story was an engaging one, a certain dissatisfaction had begun to sprout in the center of my mind. “I believe I am coming to understand why you contacted me, and I see how this man might make an interesting study…” I tried to find the most careful words I could immediately gather.
“But ‘why you,’ you ask?”
“Essentially, yes. Surely there must be someone even on staff who can work out some form of communication with the man — if this is what you wish to do. Nearly any patient person should be able to find some way into his head if he is as orderly and consistent as you say.”
“If this were any normal man, I would agree. But I am sure you must sense that there is something greater about this situation than what you describe.”
At this point, the waitress returned to extract our plates. Haustus fell silent until she had left. “You underestimate the complexity of the language. My staff and I have found it entirely impenetrable. Furthermore, his violent tendencies make it difficult to establish any sort of close relationship. Without an exchange, there is no communication.”
I was not sure how much I liked the sound of this, but I allowed him to continue. “Through my studies I feel confident that this man can be cured. If we were able to speak with him, I am certain we could devise a proper treatment for his ailment. Time, however, is not on our side.” Haustus now began to lean forward, pressing his hardened fingers into the table. “The patient is growing more ill by the day, and we fear he has only a short time left to live. As I said, his condition is a rare and baffling one. Even if we are not successful, it would be of incalculable value to science for us to document this sickness in as great a detail as we are able, while we have the chance.”
My expression must have belied my underlying dissatisfaction. Despite all that the Doctor had offered, something still was not sitting right with me.
“The patient is from a very well-respected family. Beyond what I have said, there is a strong… compulsion upon our facility to go to whatever extreme might be necessary, rather than let the story become a public matter.”
Now it all made sense to me. “If this man is as violent as you say, and if he is useless when sedated, then how would you expect even I to be of aid? You must realize that this is not my area of expertise. I have no prior experience of this type of a situation.”
“Nor does anyone else!” The Doctor’s hands became airbourne. “This is a learning experience of a like you will never see again. Of course…” His eyes shone fiercely “… you will be well-reimbursed for your contributions.”
The conversation continued for another hour or more, and despite all of the reservations you would expect, I ultimately agreed. Doctor Haustus said that he would contact me in the coming weeks with more information. I explained to Haustus what large degree of alteration would be in order for my gossamer web of plans, such as to allow for an unexpected project of this magnitude, and have been allowed time to reschedule all of my lectures and meetings. I am simply not able to leave my students in the middle of a semester, but (with providence) the upcoming break should be more than ample time for whatever adventures might be in store.
Heavens — it is already past dawn! I must get my rest if I intend to be able to do anything today. I apologize for the abruptness of my leave, but now that my story is completed I feel unable to keep my eyes open for another moment. Perhaps this sketch of a dragonfly is enough of a payment? If it proves inadequate, I will be pleased to exchange it for another when you return. Both weird and noble, unsettling and beautiful — I am certain the two of you will get along handsomely.
Entomologically yours,
James
Dearest Mary —
I have not heard from you in weeks, now. Have my last three letters not found their mark? Should we consider these as further additions to the transcontinental gorilla-courier tax?
I jest. I realize how busy you are; do not overly trouble yourself on my mere account. I only hope that it is you and not some lower primate who is the eventual target of my affection. I have enough nightmares as it is.
Is Janet faring any more well? I hope this silence does not have the sinister overtone I might be persuaded to imagine.
If you have been following me, you should know of the progress I have been making in my studies. It is not the easiest task to track down those vases. For such a small region as Sumeria, you would think that there would be only so many places to bury pottery. Oh, these crafty ancients. I am beginning to suspect that they left those few shards in plain sight merely to bedevil me. Regardless, Scott and I have made tremendous use of what fragments have been allowed us. I am convinced that this is proof that I have been right all along about the linguistic roots so often you hear me describe. Gilgamesh, nothing.
If this Utu-Etanaa fellow is as trustworthy as he sounds, we have barely even begun our search! Goodness knows what lost knowledge could be uncovered if we could merely break from this Mesopotamian mire. But enough of my grousing; you know the drill more well than even I, it would be safe to assume. There is no reason to blame the nearsighted for their occlusion.
This reminds me of an odd call I received the other day. As I was scrambling to prepare for the Meswick lecture, my phone began to rattle with the fury of a serpent. Although I did not initially intend to answer, as my time was quite limited, its peal did not abate and I was eventually forced to lift the receiver. Annoyance, more than any other sentiment, guided my hand.
I was unsure what to make of the result of this decision, and I was already halfway gone when it came through. It was only earlier today that the incident returned to my attention, when I received a telegram — oh, but wait. First, the phone.
I picked up the phone in a haste, as mentioned. I intended merely to report my situation and to escape as quickly as possible, but the opportunity did not come. The moment the cup was to my ear, a booming voice resounded forth:
“Professor Astrid.” It was more a proclamation than a question.
“Yes?” I replied. My body suddenly felt like a wooden doll, and I could do little but respond. In retrospect, I feel somewhat silly for how easily I was surprised — but again, I had many things on my mind.
“My name is Doctor Stephan Haustus.” The voice continued with a flat, deliberate, oddly uninflected tone. Yes, he used the prefix “Doctor” in reference to himself. At the time, however, it did not nearly seem as inappropriate as it might sound on paper. “I work at the Bloomingdale asylum, and have become familiar with your work through a colleague of mine. We are in need of some assistance.”
I was unsure how to respond. I stood silently for a moment, before pulling myself out of my frozen stupor. “Assistance? Of what nature?”
“It would be best to discuss in person. I will be in town next week; perhaps we could speak in more detail then?”
Although I should have been more bothered, the sheer degree of his audacity had its effect on me. I replied that yes, I will be around for at least the next month. The Doctor said that he would contact me later, with more information — and then came what, at the time, seemed the most unnerving part of the entire strange conversation: he wished me luck with the lecture, before leaving his farewell and hanging up.
For a moment, I stood with the receiver frozen to my ear. Of course I see now that there are many ways Doctor Haustus could have heard of this lecture. It is even possible that knowledge of my presentation was responsible for this colleague of Haustus to have known to mention me at all. It certainly is amusing how the world works, at times.
Further, the Doctor’s tone might be explained in the same way — having unexpectedly caught me before the lecture, he felt in a hurry to make his business known as directly and in as short a time as possible. Although he was certainly rude, he made his point.
After having thought this through. I am now quite tempted to be amused by the whole business. As I said, I received a telegram earlier today. As with the phone call (and indeed as with telegrams in general) it was short and pointed — as well as flat, yellow, and flexible. It simply read as follows:
IN TOWN THURSDAY EIGHT AM STOP
PLEASE MEET RAMBURY MUSEUM AT NOON
OR SOON THEREAFTER STOP
DOCTOR STEPHAN HAUSTUS
I must say that it is lucky I have nothing scheduled for Thursday… Or perhaps I am not as fortunate as I think?
Oh, now I am being facetious. It will doubtfully do great harm to meet with the gentleman. Beyond this, I am curious about the whole mess. As finely as I sift my imagination, I can seem to come up with little reason outside the fanciful why a dusty old linguist such as I would have much to do with a psychiatrist from — come to think of it, where is Bloomingdale asylum? It sounds slightly familiar, but that could well just be my imagination, continuing on its rounds now that I have set it free for other tasks. Perhaps he is working on some new theory of language?
Time draws short, and yet I draw on — which reminds me: I saw one of your paintings in the gallery here, which I had never noticed in the past. It was a small piece, placed uncomfortably between a Degas sketch and some awful geometric disaster, in a lonely corner of the East wing. A boy was weeping over a pigeon which he had evidentially just shot with some kind of a pellet gun. It might just have been me, as I admit I was behind in my sleep when I came across the piece, but the pigeon seemed to have an expression I could only characterize as demonic. I am tempted to believe this is intentional, seeing the source of the painting, but I fear doing so might give me no end of grief — so I will maintain until otherwise notified that I am merely in need of psychiatric help.
Oh, what a coincidence! Now I surely must see the good Doctor. Why, this was your plan all along — was it not?
I pray that you find the time to respond. If not, I fear I will be forced to bore you with such lavish emotional inanity as only I can produce. You have been forewarned. I hope everything is well.
Yours in captivation,
James
Okay.
Developers:
Who Megaking is to SNK:
They also have had partnerships with Tecmo and CSK (the parent company of SEGA and ASCII and ISAO) in the past, just to mention.
Who Eolith is:
Who UNOTac is:
This is an interesting quote, however, from Madman’s Cafe:
Perhaps that explains why an adult Jae Hoon Kim is one of the main characters of KoF Online. Hrm.
Who Brezzasoft is:
Anyway, they’re now the main SNK developer. Eolith and Megaking seem to be perhaps designing their respective games, and pulling together and managing the appropriate resources, while Brezzasoft appear to be doing the bulk of the actual development. This might not be completely accurate, but that’s how it seems right now.
Management:
Who Playmore is:
They have a logo, though!
UPDATE: Oh, duh. They’re another pachinko company. I knew this; I just forgot it entirely. I’m not sure why SNK holds such interest for pachinko corporations…
Who Sun Amusement is:
But as for who they really are, beyond this, I have no leads.
Who SNK NeoGeo (Korea/HongKong) are (and aren’t):
SNK NeoGeo isn’t a developer, and I’m not sure how much power they have. It seems like they were created mostly to act as a hub for everyone else, and to keep SNK alive as an overall name for this business.
My question, now: Does all of this add up to one entity? Are MegaKing, Eolith, Sun Amusement, Playmore, Brezzasoft, and UNOTac now all committed to being limbs of SNK, or do any of them have other agendas? How is all of this organized? The fact that two branches of SNK NeoGeo were formed to manage this mess, is a positive sign. Sun does at least seem pretty deeply involved with SNK affairs for now. Both Eolith and MegaKing seem to be very enthusiastic about their new games — but are they now SNK subsidiaries, or are they just using the licenses for the moment?
I’m not too sure what to make about UNOTac. The whole concept of KoF Online is dodgy to begin with, and its execution looks… strange. I hope some tight reigns are kept on them, and Playmore didn’t just fling out the rights because they were offered enough money for licensing.
I guess that’s my biggest concern. Does all of this add up to something bigger? If so, it could be very promising. Or is this all just a fragile web of contracts and licensing? If so, I’m a little nervous.
I hope everyone is committed to actually making games rather than milking the properties. And I hope everyone is intending to cooperate.
We’ll see what happens, though.
