He was a die-hard 3DO fan.
Back then, he'd spent six hundred dollars on the console, firmly believing in the multimedia interactive future Hawkins had envisioned.
Over the past few years, aside from a handful of Full Motion Video games, the machine had mostly served as an expensive CD player.
Meridian 59 was his last hope.
The TV screen flickered, and the game's title appeared.
Kevin picked up the controller and, following the manual's instructions, plugged the phone line into the network module on the back of the console.
The dial tone rang, followed by a harsh burst of electronic static. Connection successful.
He entered his credit card number on the registration screen and agreed to the monthly $9.99 subscription.
He entered the game.
First-person perspective, rough polygonal modeling.
A few players clad in medieval armor were running around the plaza.
Kevin controlled his character to take two steps forward.
The latency was high, and the image had a slight tearing effect.
Still, seeing real, live players on the TV screen filled some of the void left by the long wait.
His roommate pushed open the door, holding a few pieces of mail freshly retrieved from the mailbox and a new issue of Computer Gaming World.
"Your magazine," the roommate said, tossing it onto the coffee table. "By the way, I've got some bad news."
Kevin stared at the NPC dialogue box on the screen. "What? The landlord's raising the rent?"
"Worse." His roommate pointed to the magazine cover. "The father of your precious machine just sold it."
Kevin's hands froze on the controller.
He picked up the magazine.
The cover featured a black-and-white bust of Trip Hawkins, flanked by a bold red headline: The Twilight of 3DO: The End of the Hardware Era.
The article detailed the inside story of 3DO dismantling its hardware department and selling its M2 technology to Matsushita.
Kevin flipped to the inner pages, reading the three-page in-depth report word for word.
The monotonous background music of Meridian 59 droned from the television. In the bottom right corner of the screen, the network connection indicator light continued to blink.
He had just linked his credit card and paid the first month's subscription fee.
An absurd reality now stared him in the face.
He was playing an online console game developed by a company that had already abandoned its own hardware platform.
"How much longer will this game survive?" Kevin asked, pointing to the TV screen, addressing both his roommate and himself.
His roommate shrugged. "Who knows? The servers could shut down next month for all we know. They're selling off assets just to make payroll."
Kevin looked at the newly created character on the screen.
The appeal of an online game lay in long-term character development and social accumulation.
The platform itself was already dead. Continuing to invest time and money into it was nothing more than pure charity.
The sunk cost was too high.
He sighed, walked over to the TV, and pressed the power button on the console.
The screen went black.
The machine, which had once represented the next generation, emitted a low mechanical hum before falling completely silent.
Kevin unplugged the phone line from the back of the console.
"Quitting?" his roommate asked.
"Go call the bank and cancel the automatic credit card payments." Kevin tossed the controller into a drawer and glanced at the dust-covered Pentium PC in the corner. "And while you're at it, go to the computer mall and buy a better graphics card. You said that Dungeons & Dragons Online on go.com was pretty good, right?"
His roommate grinned. "A wise choice. Our guild is short a Paladin who can tank damage. The monthly sub is still $9.99, and Sega and Silicon Valley Online's servers are way more reliable than this piece of junk."
Kevin pulled out the computer chair, sat down, and pressed the power switch on the tower.
The fan whirred to life.
The Windows 95 startup screen lit up.
A similar scene was unfolding among 3D0 players all across America.
The burned CDs and boxed copies of Meridian 59 were being shipped and stocked as scheduled. Retail shelves were filled with this title, hailed as the pioneer of the MMORPG genre.
Sales were abysmal.
It wasn't that players had lost interest in online games; they had lost faith in the 3D0 platform. The negative fallout from the hardware's discontinuation had directly crippled software sales.
Players who had been on the fence tightened their purse strings the moment they saw the news.
Money is the most honest ballot.
The potential paying customers who should have been playing Meridian 59 were instead flocking to the PC platform in droves, desperate for a stable operating environment.
Redwood City, Silicon Valley Online Headquarters.
Frank Marshall leaned back in his office chair, flipping through the weekly report the Marketing Department had just submitted.
Meridian 59 had launched simultaneously on PC and console, but the market reaction was starkly polarized.
The console version was completely ignored, with major retailers slashing prices to clear out their remaining stock.
The PC version performed better, but player retention was low.
The Technical Director knocked and entered, carrying several printed data charts.
"Since yesterday afternoon, the number of new users has exceeded our normal projections by 30%," the Technical Director said, tapping a few keys on the keyboard to bring up a set of cross-comparison data. "What's noteworthy is that over half of this new batch of registered accounts selected 'Have owned a game console' when filling out the questionnaire."
Frank lifted his coffee cup and took a sip.
The zero-sum game of the business world was just that brutal.
With 3D0 falling, the vacated market share was immediately devoured.
The monthly subscription user pool for Dungeons & Dragons Online was seeing yet another wave of expansion.
"Prepare to expand the servers," Frank said, setting down his cup. "These refugees need a stable home. We'll provide them with the best online environment. Tell the Marketing Department to post more PC hardware configuration guides and keyboard-and-mouse tutorials on the forums, specifically targeting these console players."
He watched the online user count fluctuate on the screen.
The curtain falling on the old era inevitably accompanied the establishment of a new order.
The players had voted with their feet, completing the shift of the electronic entertainment center of gravity.
Sega Headquarters, Ōta Ward, Tokyo.
Oguchi Hisao knocked on Takuya Nakayama's office door, holding the briefing sent back from the North American branch.
"Managing Director, the news from North America has been confirmed." Oguchi placed the briefing on the desk. "The first-week sales data for Meridian 59 is terrible. The news of 3D0 exiting the hardware market completely destroyed players' confidence in the game."
Takuya Nakayama picked up the briefing and glanced at the sales estimates.
"As expected," Takuya said, closing the document. "No player will invest time and money into a platform that could be shut down at any moment. Online games aren't selling optical discs; they're selling a long-term service commitment."
"Frank is moving quickly," Oguchi added. "Silicon Valley Online has already launched a promotion for new players on the forums. A huge number of players who were originally planning to try Meridian 59 have switched to Dungeons & Dragons Online. Our Passport registration numbers are seeing a new wave of growth."