To understand why that question won’t leave me be, you’ve got to ride back a minute. 1998. The television I played it on wasn’t even mine, some hand-me-down set wrapped in that fake wood paneling every house down here seemed to own back then. That cartridge, though, I guarded like it was gold. The title screen would fade out, Link would take off galloping across Hyrule Field, and I swear the whole room would go dead quiet behind me. My nephew froze mid-sentence. Open space stretched wider than anything we’d touched before. Z-targeting rewired how a generation swung a sword. Turning night into day with a tune, calling a horse, unlocking the Door of Time with a melody, all of it read as straight witchcraft to a boy raised on side-scrollers.

Here’s what nobody young enough to miss it truly grasps. That adventure wasn’t merely good. It rewrote the rulebook. Countless 3D action titles that followed owe it a debt, whether the designers cop to it or not. Combat, puzzle rhythm, the sense of a place that breathes while your back is turned, every piece helped shape a blueprint that developers would study for years. People still argue it’s the finest ever made, and I won’t stand here calling them fools.

Which carries me to the sweaty part. Nintendo says they’re rebuilding the whole thing. Richer models, lighting that behaves like actual sunlight, and the bold gamble of performers lending voices to characters who spent decades communicating through text boxes. My eyebrow climbed the second that last detail hit.

Think about our boy in green for a beat. Link still isn’t talking, and that’s important. His silence lets you pour your own breath into the adventure, your own grit, your own reason for storming the final castle. A champion who stays quiet becomes a mirror. You slip inside him. What has changed is the world surrounding that silence. People who once lived inside dialogue boxes now have performers giving them voices. Maybe that makes Hyrule feel more alive. Maybe it crowds out some of the imagination we supplied ourselves. That’s the gamble that worries me, and if you were there, odds are it worries you too.

Then again, picture Navi shrieking in my ear every twelve seconds, and a slice of me wonders whether a genuine performance might sand down some jank we all quietly tolerated. Nostalgia lies to us, fam. We cling to the wonder and conveniently bury the aggravation.

The controls, though? Right there sits my hope. That old three-pronged controller was an alien relic, a gadget dreamed up by someone who’d never shaken a human hand. Camera movement amounted to a prayer. Aiming a slingshot meant wrestling plastic that fought back. Proper sticks, responsive buttons, and a camera you can actually steer without cussing, none of that tampers with a landmark. Nintendo is even adding dedicated jump and dash commands, giving players more freedom to move through Hyrule. It finally hands the thing the body it always deserved.

History hands me reasons to exhale, if I’m honest. The company has walked this stretch before and mostly treated us right. Wind Waker in high definition looked like a canvas come alive. Twilight Princess got its flowers. Ocarina of Time itself received a remarkable makeover on the Nintendo 3DS back in 2011, complete with improved visuals and updated controls. Even that Link’s Awakening redo from 2019 spun a Game Boy gem into a toy box you wanted to crawl inside. These creators know the material carries weight. They’ve brought enough classics back to life over the years to earn a sliver of faith.

Faith, though, isn’t a blank check. See, a gulf separates polishing a jewel from swapping it for a flashier fake. A redo can pile on resolution and misplace its spirit. More pixels, less heartbeat. I’ve watched cherished properties get the glow-up and limp out the far side resembling a wax dummy, technically dazzling and stone dead inside. Nobody craves a Hyrule that gleams yet forgets why we fell for it.

The word better keeps shifting on me the deeper I dig. A fresh wave of Black kids who never gripped an N64 controller is about to meet the hero for the very first time, and they’ll meet him through this window, not mine. For them, voiced scenes and silky movement won’t register as betrayal. They’ll read as the floor, the baseline, the norm. The weight of my memories means nothing to a twelve-year-old discovering the Water Temple raw. Maybe that’s the actual point. You don’t restore a monument for the crowd already in love with it. The rebuild exists for the next wave, so they get to tumble just as hard as we did.

I keep settling into an odd spot, somewhere between a believer and a bouncer guarding the door. One half of me wants to shield what we held, to protect the 1998 version like a family recipe nobody better touch. The other half knows art frozen in amber eventually quits breathing. A song gets covered. Stories get retold. Each generation earns its own doorway into the greatness we take for granted.

Will this one clear the bar? Honestly, I can’t say, and anybody swearing they’re certain is peddling something. Every piece looks right on paper. Nintendo knows this world better than anybody. But the soul of that original lived in more than its components, in a current you can’t bottle or patch in later, and that current is exactly what I’ll be hunting the moment I press start.

Come November, I’ll be posted up with the lights dimmed, just like ’98, ocarina within reach. Should my chest tighten the way it did when that open plain first unfurled, they’ll have done the impossible. If it plays like a stranger wearing my childhood’s face, well, we’ve got our answer right there too. Either way, I’m copping it day one. Some legends you simply have to witness again, flaws and all.

Staff Writer; Jay Baker

An older blerd with a lifelong love for anime, comics, manga, and gaming… Writing for fans who still believe great stories can come from a screen, a page, or a controller…

He can be contacted at JayBaker@AfroGamers.com.

Red and Blue gave you a fixed roster. One hundred and fifty-one creatures, and every single one earned a slot in your head. Kids could rattle off Bulbasaur to Mew without blinking. That number mattered because it was finite. You could work toward completing the original Pokédex, even if the elusive Mew remained a mystery to most players. “Gotta catch ’em all” wasn’t marketing fluff back then. It was a real goal you could see and chase down.

Here’s the clever part. Buy one copy and you literally could not fill your Pokédex alone. Red locked away Ekans and Arbok. Blue hid Sandshrew and Vulpix. Game Freak built the need for cooperation right into the design, then handed you the solution: a friend with the other box. Suddenly, the schoolyard turned into a marketplace. You needed people. That was the whole idea.

Which brings us to that gray cord. The link cable was a small miracle of plastic and copper. You plugged two handhelds together, sat shoulder to shoulder, and watched pixels stroll from one system to the next. No WiFi, no cloud, no account login. Trading meant showing up in person, sitting close, and trusting the other person not to yank the connection in the middle of an exchange. Anybody who lived through it remembers the panic of a bad link.

And oh, the stories. Every lunch table had a kid swearing up and down that he knew the truth. Move the truck near the S.S. Anne and Mew appears. Fill all 150 slots and something secret unlocks. Follow some mysterious sequence of button presses and the game rewards you big. Most of it was pure fiction, passed mouth to mouth like folklore. But that was the beauty of the era. Before you could Google an answer in two seconds flat, mystery had room to breathe. A single rumor could live for months.

Now here’s the twist that kept the whole myth machine running. A few of those tales weren’t tales at all. MissingNo., that garbled blob lurking off the Cinnabar coast, was the real deal. Follow the right steps, surf along the eastern shoreline, and collide with a corrupted mess of a sprite. Suddenly, the item sitting in your sixth Bag slot multiplied out of nowhere. Half the room swore it was a hoax right up until they watched it unfold on their own screen. That smear of broken code earned its legend status for one reason. People could actually prove it.

Strip away the nostalgia and the bones still hold. Combat ran on a rock paper scissors logic anybody could grasp in a minute yet spend years mastering. Fire beats grass, water douses fire, grass drinks up water, and the loop kept unfolding into deeper territory. The difficulty respected you. No coddling, no glowing arrows pointing the way. You got a town, a rival, a starter, and the freedom to explore Kanto, one new route at a time.

Speaking of that rival. Gary. Blue. Whatever you named him. He showed up right when you were low on potions and high on confidence, always with that grin, always with a team a notch above yours. Beating him settled something. And before any of that, you had to make a call nobody prepared you for. Bulbasaur, Charmander, or Squirtle. Folks still defend their pick like it says something about who they are. Charmander loyalists took the rough road early. Squirtle folks played it smart. Bulbasaur heads breezed through the opening two gyms and never once apologized for it.

What these carts kicked off is almost tough to measure now. A trading card empire. An anime that ran what felt like forever. A phone app in 2016 that had grown folks bumping into light poles chasing digital critters through the park. None of it happens without those original Game Boy adventures. Some guy named Satoshi Tajiri liked catching insects as a kid, and that hobby of his eventually helped inspire a franchise recognized around the world.

You’d think all that would bury the debut. Hundreds of new critters since, full color, 3D towns you can spin the camera around in. And yet the old one refuses to sit down. Some of that is just how firsts work. They dig in and stay. But it runs deeper than sentiment. Those early adventures asked you to imagine, to fill the gaps the hardware left wide open. Grainy sprites forced your brain to supply the coloring. Silence between chiptune bleeps left space for wonder. Tight limits sparked creativity in a way that polish sometimes smothers.

Three decades later, the pull hasn’t faded one bit. Somewhere right now a parent is handing a wide eyed kid a worn cartridge, watching them meet Oak and pick their first Pokémon, and the cycle keeps spinning. Those first 151 aren’t a pile of dead code rotting on old silicon. They’re the thing you and some kid you haven’t seen in twenty years can still bond over in a single sentence. A tiny gray box held a whole world once. Wild part is, boot it up today and the world’s still in there.

Staff Writer; Jay Baker

An older blerd with a lifelong love for anime, comics, manga, and gaming… Writing for fans who still believe great stories can come from a screen, a page, or a controller…

He can be contacted at JayBaker@AfroGamers.com.

Somebody had to say it. For over thirty years the pitch has been the same. He moves. He blurs. He taps his foot when you leave him standing still too long, like he has somewhere better to be. Most of the commercials, box art and cartoon openings leaned heavily on that one hook. Sega built an entire mascot around momentum, attitude and shoes that could outrun a Ferrari.

And I love that pitch. Grew up on it. Sat cross legged on the carpet with a Genesis controller in my hand and a bowl of cereal going soggy next to me because I was too locked in to eat. That drop through the loop when the screen can barely keep up? Church. Genuinely. But here is the thing I figured out somewhere around my fourth or fifth time through Sonic 3 & Knuckles, and it took me embarrassingly long to admit it.

The best moments in these adventures almost never happen while you are holding right.

They happen when you stop.

Think about how these worlds are actually built. Nobody talks about this enough. A Sonic stage is not a hallway. It is a layer cake. There is a top route for the players who earn it, a middle route where most folks end up and a bottom route full of water, spikes and quiet suffering. The classic developers designed those maps like cities, with alleys, shortcuts and back doors, and then trusted you to be curious enough to find them. Sega’s own modern manual for the classic games acknowledges that each act contains multiple routes and encourages players to explore their surroundings.

Hydrocity has passages you will never see if you are only trying to reach the exit. Flying Battery is stacked with little rooms and vertical detours that reward the person willing to backtrack. Lava Reef hides an entire mood shift in its second half, but you will miss much of what makes the area work if you refuse to slow your roll and look around. You cannot find all of that at top velocity. It is physically impossible. Half the time, the camera cannot even show it to you.

So what actually happens when you sprint through?

You get thrown into a spike pit you never saw coming, you take a hit, your rings scatter like coins out of a busted piggy bank, and you spend the next ten seconds doing the panic scramble to grab one back before the badnik gets you again.

Call it what it is. Gambling, not mastery.

The punishment loop is quietly, patiently telling you something the marketing never would. Learn the place first. The blazing runs come later, as a reward.

Here is the part that gets lost in the discourse. People argue about whether Sonic is supposed to be quick or whether the platforming should be tighter, and both camps miss it. The velocity was never the content. It was the payoff.

You earn the right to fly through Chemical Plant by first walking it, dying in it, memorizing where the purple chemicals rise and learning where the tubes spit you out. Then, on run number nine, you thread the whole zone without touching the brakes and it feels like you unlocked something in yourself.

That feeling is the real product.

It just does not fit on a poster.

Sonic CD understood this better than almost anything else in the catalog, and I will fight about it. Its whole design philosophy is built around exploration. You have the Past, Present, Good Future and Bad Future, with the condition of the future shaped by what you accomplish elsewhere in time.

One route toward the ending you want asks you to travel into the Past during the first two acts of each zone and hunt down Eggman’s machines. Destroying those machines removes them from the future and helps create the Good Future for that area. The other route is collecting all seven Time Stones by entering and completing the special stages. Either way, the game keeps pushing you to do more than charge toward the nearest exit.

That means combing corners. Climbing into strange nooks. Bouncing off springs that initially look decorative. Building enough speed in just the right place to trigger a time warp. The entire premise punishes tunnel vision and rewards the player who treats the map like a place instead of a track.

Folks call CD the weird one because the flow gets interrupted. Nah. CD is the honest one. It told the truth about what these worlds want from you.

Then you have the special stages, which are basically Sega admitting the whole thing out loud. Blue Spheres in Sonic 3 & Knuckles is not about hustle. It is a pattern recognition puzzle wearing a tracksuit. You have to plan turns, watch the grid and resist the urge to get greedy, because the moment you touch a red sphere, the attempt is over.

The giant rings that lead to those stages are hidden inside rooms and passageways, meaning you often have to explore the main levels before you can even attempt the challenge. Successfully collecting every blue sphere in a special stage earns a Chaos Emerald. Gather all seven and Sonic can transform into Super Sonic.

Reach the latter half of the combined adventure and those Chaos Emeralds open another hunt, this time for the Super Emeralds and the ability to become Hyper Sonic. Read that again. Some of the ultimate rewards for the fastest character in games are locked behind patience, precision, memory and pattern recognition.

I do not think that is an accident.

Sonic Mania knew. Whatever else you want to say about that love letter of a title, Christian Whitehead and the development teams clearly played these things the way I played them. Every zone got stuffed with secrets, alternate paths and dumb little jokes tucked into corners you would only reach by poking around.

Press Garden has things in it I did not see until my third playthrough. Studiopolis is basically a theme park you are invited to wander through. Giant rings sit in odd corners waiting on you. Encore Mode rearranges familiar stages with altered layouts, object placement and hazards, pushing you to reconsider areas you thought you already understood.

The whole package quietly says what the Genesis days always said.

Come back. Look again. There is more here.

The 3D era wobbled whenever it forgot this. At its weakest, the series chased the highlight reel with boost pads, rails, quick time prompts and long straightaways where you mostly held one button and watched the spectacle unfold.

Some of those entries are genuinely fun for an afternoon. I am not going to pretend otherwise. But too often they feel like rides instead of places.

You experience the rush, you clap, you move on.

Alternate paths and collectibles still exist in several 3D releases, but the most automated sections flatten the depth that made the old stages worth studying. Nobody is writing forum posts twenty years later about which route through a completely automated boost corridor they prefer because, in that moment, there is barely a route to choose.

There is a tube and you are in it.

Meanwhile people are still, in the year of our Lord 2026, arguing about the barrel in Carnival Night.

Still.

That thing has outlived multiple console generations purely because it made a whole nation of kids stop moving and think. The answer was simple once you knew it. Stand on the barrel and press up and down in rhythm with its movement. Yet the game barely communicated that solution, leaving countless children jumping, spinning and blaming the controller.

Was it good design? Debatable.

Was it clearly explained? Absolutely not.

Was it memorable?

Ask anyone who was there.

And Sonic Adventure 2, for all its jank, gave us the Chao Garden. Let me talk my talk for a second. The Chao Garden may be the most beloved part of that entire release, and it is the exact opposite of the brand.

It is a quiet little yard where you hatch and raise small creatures, give them animals, interact with them, watch their personalities change and prepare them for competitions. Sega itself described the garden as a quiet, comfortable place filled with greenery, a pond and access to the Chao races.

There is no exploding highway demanding that you run forward. No military truck chasing you down a San Francisco hill. No rail hanging over outer space.

You can feed a Chao fruit, pet it, watch it wander around and see how it develops depending on which characters spend time with it. Chao raised around Sonic, Tails and Knuckles can develop differently from those spending time with Shadow, Rouge and Eggman. Their appearances and personalities change according to how they are treated.

Plenty of players remember spending as much time in that garden as they did running the action stages. Grown folks still ask for the feature back whenever a new Sonic project is announced.

What does it tell you that one of the most cherished parts of the marquee 3D entry is the part where everybody settles down?

I think about that a lot.

None of this means the hedgehog should be slow. That would be silly, and it would betray the whole feel of the character. The way he leans into a run, the physics catch him and momentum starts doing the work for you is essential. The rolling, the slopes and the way a good drop turns into free acceleration are part of the soul of it.

What I am saying is that the thrill only lands because it sits on top of understanding.

Velocity without knowledge is just noise and lost rings.

Velocity with knowledge is jazz.

So the next time you boot up one of these games, try something. Take the low road. Go left. Climb to that ledge that looks like nothing. Reach the point in Angel Island where the fire spreads, the music changes and the whole zone seems to rewrite itself around you.

Poke at the walls.

Get curious about the plumbing.

The old ten minute clock may punish you for it, depending on which version and mode you are playing. In Sonic Origins, Classic Mode preserves the original ten minute time limit, while Anniversary Mode removes that deadline and some of the pressure attached to it.

You may lose a life. You may find a giant ring. You may also finally see the place.

Such is the trade the series has been offering since 1991, and the funny thing is Sega never needed to say all of it out loud. The company sold us the hustle and hid the depth underneath, like a parent slipping vegetables into the macaroni and cheese.

More than thirty years later, we are still peeling back layers in worlds we thought we knew by heart.

Not bad for a mascot everybody thinks is only about one thing.

Staff Writer; Greg Tucker

GT is an old-school blerd who loves anime, comics, manga, video games, and collecting indie Black comic books.

Contact him at: GregT@AfroGamers.com.

Understand where I stand before you write me off. I gave both games a full treatment. Scaled every cliff worth scaling, glided off ledges I had no business leaping from, cooked enough questionable meals to worry any health inspector. So this is no drive by from somebody who bounced after an hour. This is a lifelong Zelda fan who invested deeply, admired plenty, and still finished with a strange sensation of having eaten a gorgeous plate that somehow left him wanting.

An older Hyrule never left me wanting. It ran smaller, and that was precisely its strength.

Rewind to my N64 days for a second. When little me stepped out into that field in Ocarina of Time, it looked like an edge of our earth. It was not. You could jog across it in a few minutes. Yet every stretch of it sat there on purpose. Roads bent so your eye caught a drawbridge. A lonely tree hid a hole in dirt because some designer decided a secret belonged right there. Nothing was padding. That land had an author behind it, like a record where every track had to scrap for its slot.

And because it stayed compact, it lived in me. I can still sketch Kakariko from memory. That well you drain to crawl into a nasty little crypt underneath. A graveyard where Dampé drags you racing through pitch dark. That windmill spinning a looping tune that squatted in my skull for a solid decade. Zora’s Domain hidden past a waterfall that opened when you played Zelda’s Lullaby. Malon singing on her ranch while you hopped fences on your horse. Those weren’t pins on a screen. They were neighborhoods, and I knew exactly who lived on each block.

Then Majora’s Mask took that whole idea and got downright freaky with it. Its adventure crammed itself into one doomed town and fields hugging it, all of it ticking down on a three day clock while a grinning moon leaned in like it owed you cash. Because space stayed so tight, Clock Town became a most alive setting Nintendo has ever shipped. You learned its mailman’s route. You chased a heartbroken couple across seventy two hours, sprinting to reunite them before sky came down. That whole quest only lands because a town runs small enough for people to keep habits you can memorize. Squeeze that sandbox and suddenly its grains grow faces.

Somebody in back is already hollering about Wind Waker. Big ocean, endless sailing, gotcha. Nah. Look at how that adventure actually breathes. Its sea is just a hallway. Islands are its rooms, and each one carries its own swagger. Windfall with its shops and gossip and that auction. Dragon Roost pounding its drums. Forest Haven glowing green. Outset, your home, a spot you keep drifting back toward. All that blue water existed to frame a handful of handcrafted destinations. You recall doorways. Never a corridor.

Now here comes a part that really gets folks heated at me.

Old Zelda temples had a soul. That Forest one twisting in on itself with those haunted paintings. A Water one that sent grown men into early retirement over rising tides. That Shadow one, straight nightmare fuel, invisible floors hanging over a pit of bones. Each was a puzzle box built around a single towering idea, capped by a beast that could not have breathed anywhere else. You limped out with a new gadget and a war story.

Hold that up against a hundred and twenty shrines, most of them beige closets, same jingle, same tiny chest waiting inside. I cleared them and forgot them before a door even slid shut. Nothing is wrong with a quick brain teaser here and there. But do not sit across from me and claim a four minute puzzle carves itself into you like a full temple does. Those Divine Beasts tried to be a real thing and landed as fancy party tricks. Cool once. Gone from my head by next Saturday.

Which drags us straight to a bill nobody wants to pay for all that open sky. Its liberty is real. Standing on a summit and gliding wherever your heart aims is gorgeous, and I would be lying to say otherwise. But an ability to go anywhere and an ability to remember where you went are not one currency, and newer games spent that second gift to buy a first.

So answer me honest. Can you name a single road in Breath of the Wild? One specific path like you can trace that walk down from Kakariko into open field? I bet you can picture a mountain shape or a whole region, but individual spots smear together because there are simply too many holding too little meaning apiece. When everything is allowed, nothing gets underlined. That team stepped all the way back to let you write your own legend, which sounds noble until you clock that they stopped writing theirs. A blank page respects you. It also forgets you a second you close it.

Classic Zelda worked like a great mixtape with an order somebody agonized over at three in the morning. Friction was a feature, not a flaw. You could not scale that cliff, so a trail had to wind around it, and that forced detour is precisely why a trip stuck. Limits are no enemy of wonder. Limits are how wonder gets a shape. A grotto only thrills you because a wall was telling you no half a beat earlier.

Twilight Princess grasped this even while chasing a wider canvas. Ordon had chores and neighbors and a pulse before you ever drew a blade, so when darkness rolled over that land it actually cut. A long showdown down an empty street of its Hidden Village hits because its setting was engineered to hit and nothing more. Intention. That is a word I circle back on. Old places stayed tiny because a person decided every yard of them owed a game a job.

So let me put it flat before anybody misquotes me at a barbershop. This is no rose tinted glasses fogging up truth. I do not want blocky textures and stiff controls back. Keep its physics, keep those jaw dropping views, keep letting me ruin a perfectly good pot of stew. What I want is that gorgeous canvas packed back up with a density Zelda used to carry like it was nothing. Hand me a Hyrule I can memorize again. Fewer copy pasted enemy camps, more towns where folks have names and routines and beef. Bring back dungeons with personality. Put a reason behind every fork in a trail.

Because when it is all said and done, a biggest world I ever explored is not one my feet actually crossed. It is one still squatting rent free in my skull nearly thirty years deep, and that little land earned its lease by being compact enough to love top to bottom. Open air handed us somewhere to wander. Old design handed us somewhere to belong, and belonging is what Zelda always did best. Force me to pick and it is not close. I am taking one I can still walk with my eyes shut, every single time.

Staff Writer; Jay Baker

An older blerd with a lifelong love for anime, comics, manga, and gaming… Writing for fans who still believe great stories can come from a screen, a page, or a controller…

He can be contacted at JayBaker@AfroGamers.com.

It’s a slower burn but Little King’s Story even eased that to where it was manageable for players not familiar with RTS. The Wii was meant to reel in all kinds of gamers despite experience, genre preference, or free time. Little King’s Story was somewhat different in that RTS aren’t exactly “I’ll play a bit and come back to it later.”

No, like RPGs, simulation games, and strategy games; once you start it up, you’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going lose time in that day. Again, this game dropped in 2009 and was well-received, so where are the sequels?

Where’s Little King’s Story?

LKS was developed by Cing, a defunct indie developer that went under in 2010, just under a year after releasing this title. Most their titles were on the Nintendo DS with a run of roughly seven years. You could say they got a lot done before shuttering.

Their work included games in the Another Code and Hotel Dusk series as well as the DS debut of Monster Rancher. Of their games Little King’s Story and Monster Rancher DS were the two I played the most.

It was an interesting time in gaming with the Nintendo printing money despite having a home console that was underpowered and lacked the expected features of that period, an approach that has continued into the Switch 2. If anything, Cing should’ve made money as well due to its close working relationship with Nintendo starting in 2005.

An issue could’ve been the pace at which Nintendo released games (which is still on the sluggish side) but that’s mainly with its first party games. The company takes its time for Mario and Zelda for quality reasons. Think how long it was between Metroid Prime 3 and the fourth entry release in 2025. In that 19-year period, we saw a number of remasters, spinoffs. Mind you, Prime 4 came out roughly four years after the previous main installment Metroid Dread, which is a solid amount of time between main games in a franchise if there are no other major titles being developed.

Again, all of that is for a first-party game being developed by Nintendo’s own development teams. Cing was an indie developer who happened to have a regular working relationship with Ninty. The fate of Little King’s Story was up in the air.

The Game Ended on a Cliffhanger

With Cing shut down, the rights to LKS fell to Marvelous, which published the game in Japan on the Wii. On paper, that looks fine since Marvelous is still putting out games regularly and working on titles in known properties. They’re active but they have a lot on their plate with their own titles and others.

While LKS is one of their titles and proved to be a popular title, that was in 2009-2010. Gaming has changed a lot since then and a title like Little King’s Story might appear dated or unpredictable in performance compared to its tried and true titles Rune Factory, Story of Seasons, and Senran Kagura as well as handling Monster Hunter Stories, No More Heroes, and Valhalla Knights.

Now, I regularly bring up titles that I’d like to see revived and believe that developers technically have a new franchise in an older one if we haven’t seen anything from that franchise in decades. I’m still waiting on Capcom to drop another Beat Down: Fists of Vengeance. However, LKS like Beat Down has gone too long without anything new or fresh to get a franchise going.

It’s unlikely that a Little King’s Story 2 that continues from the game’s ending is developed and we likely won’t see a reboot. It would take Marvelous having a “what’s old is new again” approach similar to TV and film studios with these sitcom revivals and continuations.

Staff Writer; M. Swift

This talented writer is also a podcast host, and comic book fan who loves all things old school. One may also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.

Gaming gives us that and simulation games apply that to occupation and business simulators to great effect. It’s essential to gameplay and keeping players hooked. But this isn’t about status screen UIs or human improvement, we’re looking at three simulators worth diving into right now.

All games but the second are available on PC and console.

Drug Dealer Simulator (Byterunners)

Currently, this has been my primary jam. It’s also my weekend stream starter before getting into some Cyberpunk 2077 shenanigans. Drug Dealer Simulator puts you in the role of a dealer, smuggler, street pharmacist, trafficker, and businessman all in one.

The player is dropped into a city under heavy lockdown with a hard stance against drugs. Eddie, the player’s mentor and plug trains the young trapper on how to do business, get drugs, launder money, and keeps him abreast of story-advancing developments. The narrator fills the player in on more granular aspects while giving an abrasive and humorous take of the trapper’s rise.

While a major aspect is giving out samples and making enough for sales and to hand off to your dealers, I find that the most enjoyable part is actually growing and cooking. Then again, I love crafting in games.

Byterunners have released Drug Dealer Simulator 2 and it looks great but for those who can’t play the sequel, the OG DDS is still a time-eating blast to dive into.

American Truck Simulator (SCS Software)

Honestly, either American Truck Simulator or European Truck Simulator 2 are a great pick for your simulation game session. It exists in this realm of having time limits on deliveries, fines for traffic infractions, and needing to gas up but also being extremely chill.

The most stressful parts tend to come from falling a bit behind on a delivery. Even worse when is cutting it close, being at the destination but being unable to get the truck and trailer in the loading area exactly.

Beyond that, the player mainly  manages their trucking career, handles their skill points, purchase trucks and upgrades. As the game advances and the player makes more cash from deliveries, they can invest in their own trucking company and hire drivers NPC to do deliveries.

There’s also an online mode where players join other truckers for convoys. It’s not a mode I’ve explored heavily but it was fun doing deliveries through Nevada and hearing my fellow trucker lamenting about traffic up ahead.

Of the games in this list, I’d say American/Euro Truck Simulator has the best music. It uses streaming radio in-game and it works perfectly as traveling music with a lot of variety. This is also the game with the most longevity. The games are all addictive and the player might have fun in restarting or advancing their businesses further but the Truck Simulator titles are different in that it’s as close to a perfect balance of chill and challenge.

That goes a long way for simulation games and replay value.

Gas Station Simulator (DRAGO Entertainment)

Now this is a game that increases the stress of cops chasing the player in DDS while also having a chill approach like the Truck Simulator games. Sure, placing and stocking shelves is easy (as someone who has done it, it depends) but keeping the store clean and seeing that tour bus pull up to the gas station is another story.

Most of the week, it’s basic dead end gas station in the desert business. Yeah, there’s an element of shadiness going on as far as cash flow but business is steady and manageable. However, the weirdest things go down in the gas station once the bus rolls in but the player is going to make a wad or two with the bump in business.

Managing inventory, store cleanliness and tending to the service at the pump are the player’s initial duties but eventually workers can be hired to manage that. There is stronger storyline here than in the other two entries and exploration plays a part in that. There are also a few other activities to get into outside of pure business.

What are some of your favorite simulation games and are there any you’re currently playing? Share in the comments!

Staff Writer; James “Metal” Swift Jr.

Gaming since 1989 and headbanging since 1999, James is a talented writer, podcast host, and lifelong comic book fan who loves all things old-school and retro. His passions include RPGs, wrestling, and classic gaming culture. You can also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.

Meanwhile, a gamer could feel strongly about a title and want it modernized or to at least get a sequel—yes, decades after the previous release. Obviously, I’m not a game designer or associated with a developer, so you can guess which group I fall in with this list.

We’re going to look at five titles that could do with a comeback season whether it’s a sequel or a reboot.

Sleeping Dogs (2012, United Front/Square Enix)

Sleeping Dogs is considered the spiritual successor to the True Crime series, a PS2 GTA-clone where the police detective element was the focus. The True Crime series was supposed to have a third entry based again in New York—that later became Hong Kong with United Front’s work on the then unnamed title. However, that was axed by Activision. Mind you, the True Crime: New York City did have some big-name TV and film actors doing voice work for a game that…it flopped, folks.

We’re talking less than 80,000 units sold in its first two weeks. That lets you know that this wasn’t going to meet the budget put into the game at all.

Then United Front came along with what would become Sleeping Dogs after Activision passed on publishing it. The rest is history: it was received very well and presented enough that a sequel wasn’t out of the question. Performance-wise, it sold enough units to warrant exploring a sequel—yet here we are.

The game was supposed to see a sequel which followed the future cases and adventures of Shen and was to feature a mobile gaming aspect that impacted Sleeping Dogs 2’s gameplay. While there is no sequel on the horizon, the license was picked up and is being turned into a film.

Kengo (2000, Genki/Crave)

Let’s get into even older franchises that have seen no recent developments—such as Bushido Blade. Well, let’s go with the spiritual successor: Kengo. While Bushido Blade added a realistic element to the 3D fighting game genre with wounds and bleed outs resulting in victory or defeat, I enjoyed Kengo’s approach of putting the player in the shoes of a traveling swordsman.

This wasn’t going through different parts of a village and slaughtering the opps and their heavies. No, you went from established dojo to established dojo to practice, learn techniques, and apply those techniques in duels. Then you fought the masters of the dojos and eventually participated in the imperial tournament. Outside of the absence of some slice-of-life stuff, this was basically a swordsman simulator.

Now, the third entry was a bit of a bust because it was a garden variety fighting game with swords and we already had Bushido Blade 2 as well as Soulcalibur and Battle Arena Toshiden by that time.

Rival Schools (1997, Capcom)

On the one hand, it’s like—there are enough fighting games out there, do we really need to bring back one from almost 30 years ago? Especially if nothing new is done, it’s just a return of this game’s roster. Capcom even did something new with Street Fighter 6, so a Rival Schools return would have to be something fresh instead of an expensive investment in nostalgia.

I say add aged Rival Schools characters to the Street Fighter roster because Capcom had some great characters from the R.S and Street Fighter EX titles. Batsu? Skullomania? Yes, add them to the roster.

Inindo: Way of the Ninja (1991, Koei)

I can’t say enough good things about this Super Nintendo title. It was like playing as an officer in Romance of the Three Kingdoms in turn-based JRPG. For a game released in 1991, it had features that would make many RPGs worth playing multiple times. The main feature is the recruiting of allies actively forming a rapport with them.

However, some potential allies or teammates might not agree with your motivations, or they might believe that serving Nobunaga is the ultimate job—when you’re trying to take him out for razing your village.

The other major element is that each month, the landscape/map is updated with the battles that went down. The player can work for a daimyo and by doing mission for them successfully, they can participate in battles. Meaning, they can impact the power dynamic in feudal Japan and probably weaken Nobunaga’s influence.

With the advancements in development and writing over 30-plus years, I’d say Koei could make the ultimate ninja game if they decided to revisit this title.

Alpha Protocol (2010, Obsidian Entertainment/Sega)

Listen, Alpha Protocol wasn’t perfect at all and at times it could drag at points, but the game was one of the best espionage games made. The only franchises or games I would put over it are Metal Gear Solid and Deus Ex (under Square Enix). Having to travel to different locations around the world for missions, decisions that impacted future missions, a decent combat system that could’ve been more polished in a sequel—Alpha Protocol had the makings for a good, regular series for Sega.

It was a spy game that was purely about spycraft. This wasn’t a shooter based around a spy or spy fighting game, no—stealth was necessary here, folks. Negotiation was necessary as well. You could tell that Obsidian Entertainment had plans for the gameplay mechanics in place and that more could’ve been done with those mechanics.

My two gripes with AP are that the game felt a little short for what was going down—it’s the same feeling I had for Deus Ex: Human Revolution—and it ended on a something of a cliffhanger. The combat, camera, and all that didn’t bother me as much as it bothered others, but a cliffhanger will always burn my biscuit.

What are your five games that you’d love to see get a reboot or sequel? Let us know in the comments!

Staff Writer; M. Swift

This talented writer is also a podcast host, and comic book fan who loves all things old school. One may also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.

Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time’s Hyrule Was Pretty Bare

I first played Ocarina of Time in 1998, it was my Christmas game that year. The hype around in GamePro, Game Informer, and Nintendo Power was immense. Most of the gaming magazines at the time were into this game. The commercial for OoT sold me since I was heavily into fantasy stuff like Xena and Hercules at the time.

Now, for the power limitations at the time and this being Nintendo’s first attempt at something more involved—Link had an inventory and an armory all on his person—Hyrule Field was bare. Honestly, it should’ve been very safe to travel Hyrule Field.

Then again, when you see how spaced the major towns are, how they’re all set up on the border of the overworld map, and how dangerous it is just to get to Zora’s Domain, Goron City, and Kakariko Village…

Well, Kakariko Village isn’t a particularly dangerous trek but Goron City is within proximity of Death Mountain. Enough said. Considering that: who would bother leaving their towns? It’s just a trek from anywhere you’re coming from in Hyrule. There should be no issues traveling during the day. Decades later and I’m thinking “It would’ve been nice to have some bandits or orcs during the daytime.”

Link had a sword, Link had a shield: let Link slam! You could definitely slam if you headed into the different area maps en route to another town—day or night. Hyrule’s different chiefs/leaders didn’t have the best security in mind for their domains. I mean, I guess knights patrolled Hyrule Field but you never saw them.

Nintendo Has Done an Amazing Job with Hyrule Now

Nintendo would work on this over the decades to make Hyrule a world worth venturing through. In each Zelda title, you could see there was a goal to make the land of Hyrule more alive. Link should’ve had memorable interactions with the locals given he’s working to save the world.

The first step was in Ocarina of Time just by having a day-night cycle. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, you’d see more game exploring this mechanic. When paired with Zelda or Pokémon, it adds a sense of a passage of time for your adventure. This isn’t the longest day as it was in Pokémon Red or Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.

The Wind Waker and The Skyward Sword opened the world up some more, there were more inhabitants of the world. Then we get to the Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom—the closest to the realization of a living Hyrule. I say “closest” because developers can always push an element of gameplay.

Just look at the open world in Fallout 3 compared to Fallout 4 where there are fewer settlements or towns that need a transition screen. There are more places that you merely walk into or open a door. Something as simple as that is big for a complete or perfect open world setting.

While it wasn’t a perfect open world and a lot of things that were promised just didn’t get done, Fable is a game where the open world managed to do some simplistic elements you’d expect. Such as: walking right into someone’s home without a brief loading or transition—a 2004 accomplishment.

On the note of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom: the addition of the player using any weapon they can get and those weapons having durability? Amazing combat mechanic, compliments to the chef.

This Is the Way

It’s not unusual for developers to “Bring the game back to its roots” but I say keep going forward with The Legend of Zelda. Go back to the roots for an action-puzzle project but for these titles with cinematic cutscenes, improved mechanics, dialogue, and lore pushing stories—make the quest an adventure. Keep it open world and let Link and the player to explore the world.

Why not? Link either constantly misses whole swathes of time because they’re in mystical eternal rest or has been reincarnated and lives in the boonies. Let Link experience the world. Don’t just shotgun one of Nintendo and gaming’s greatest heroes through towns they’re never revisiting and puzzle-riddled dungeon after puzzle-riddled dungeon.

Staff Writer; M. Swift

This talented writer is also a podcast host, and comic book fan who loves all things old school. One may also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.

Dino Crisis: Resident Evil with Dinosaurs

Or Onimusha with dinosaurs! The main connection are the dreaded tank controls which I’ve never liked. I often think of the time when RE was released and try to remember if 3D camera scrolling was a thing on PlayStation. You could say the absence of DualShock controller didn’t factor into Capcom’s camera movement decision.

Resident Evil came out a year or so before PlayStation introduced the DualShock controller. However, Capcom continued using tank controls post-1997 in games. It turns out it was a designer choice which is fine. For me, I always felt RE would’ve been more enjoyable in that time with more conventional camera and movement controls.

With that said, I found Dino Crisis to be a blast with the tank controls. I think it was the dinosaur element of the game that allowed me to actually enjoy it. For some reason, RE-style suspense-heavy survival horror with dinos don’t startle me as much as the undead or chemically altered to where I need the controls to control like they’re supposed to.

Another interesting thing is that the events of DC take place in 2009 on a fictional island at a time where if it existed in the same universe as RE or Dead Rising, that would’ve been an unnecessary but welcome scoop of disaster. I mean, those series came out in the 1990s, eventually we would’ve gotten zombie dinosaurs, right?

Resident Evil: The OG

Of Capcom’s old pantheon of the 90s and 00s, Resident Evil proved to be the consistent one. There were Street Fighter spin-offs and offshoots that did well and were remembered fondly like Final Fight, Darkstalkers, and Rival Schools but also offshoots that we kind of remember but tend not to bring up such as Street Fighter EX—not a bad game at all!

Meanwhile, Resident Evil pretty much kept things confined to the main franchise. There were gameplay mechanic changes and spin-offs but it was such that the canon and lore of the series was easy to follow for newcomers. Also, horror sells and will always sell while Street Fighter had this hot period when martial arts was big in pop culture.

RE proved to be a franchise worth investing in for Capcom as it has proven to have strong crossover appeal. The ongoing story of Resident Evil involving an outbreak of zombies-not-zombies is one that could see the series go on for another couple of decades either by stretching the story or eventually rebooting it.

Dead Rising: A Double Dose of Dead

In case killing zombies-not-zombies with interesting movement controls don’t do it for you, you can kill them in a more action game fashion in Dead Rising. I got into DR a bit after the hype behind Dead Rising 2 and found it to be a blast. While Resident Evil focused more on the doom element of horror with one or a few zombies causing concern, in DR it’s like taking the Dynasty Warriors approach, mixing in some of that World Warriors DLC-friendliness with cosmetics, and some fun goals. It’s an action-horror series and it works.

There’s enough danger and excitement for veterans of beat ‘em ups and slash ‘em ups while not being complex to the point of putting new players off entirely. That’s a perfect balance to move copies and warrant sequels.

I found the zombie disaster in Dead Rising more enjoyable than in Resident Evil but the situation itself isn’t necessarily meant to be fun—the gameplay and experiencing the story is. On that note, DR’s story was easy to dive into and it helps that it’s the youngest of the franchises mentioned.

It’s wise that Capcom didn’t make a shared universe with RE, DC, and DR because that would’ve been the hardest multi-front disaster. Most of it is covered up but notice in movies and games, it’s usually the one location before it gets out to the rest of the world.

Zombies of two separate origins and experimental dinosaurs on the loose makes for too many disasters to manage—unless you just drop a bomb on it. That’s another game, though.

Staff Writer; M. Swift

This talented writer is also a podcast host, and comic book fan who loves all things old school. One may also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.

The Lack of People Made Me Wonder in Super Mario Games

The Mario games had that even on stages that had no actual backgrounds like the haunted houses in Super Mario World or castles and forts in the OG Super Mario Bros. There was something exciting happening on the screen.

Then you get older and a little critical. You’ve been exposed to better worlds, elaborate game design, and story—so much story that one of the most revolutionary features in gaming is the “Skip Scene” button.

So, the worlds of the Mario games seem super odd. Like sure, it’s a world of fantasy but even worlds of fantasy have some order, right? In SMB, I basically used imagination to figure out where all of the people were. I came to the conclusion that each stage in SMB, SMB3, and SMW are basically battlegrounds to face Bowser and his Koopa Troopas.

There’s no way I, as a villain, would kidnap a princess or the magic scepters of a bunch of kings ruling over barren lands. They would basically be bandit chiefs with ties to the Crown. No, these battles took place away from civilization with Mario and Luigi having to win each time.

I mean, it would at least make it seem like the Mushroom Kingdom and the other kingdoms are fighting back, right? There’s no way any of those castles would be standing in Super Mario Bros. 3 if there was no resisting army. Bowser’s Koopalings all had Flying Fortresses. Those things shots normal-sized and large Bullet Bills. They dropped bombs. If there was no military Mario and Luigi would’ve been running through parking lots.

The Mario RPGs Explained Things Much Better

As always, leave it up to RPGs and the social aspect to breathe life into these worlds. Even in Super Mario 64—a massive step into the late 90s and early 2000s for Nintendo—that world was sparse. It was just Mario, Peach, Bowser, and a bunch of enemies. Toad and someone else might have been there but it wasn’t a populated world.

It would also explain how the warp pipes dropped Mario and Luigi off just where they needed to go. The RPGs games—like the Megaman action RPGs on Game Boy Advance—featured towns and villages with inhabitants, shops, and side quests.

Mario and his party actually seemed like part of the Mushroom Kingdom and not an isekai savior. Because why would you summon a plumber with an unknown background to your world to save you? Mario could’ve had a violent criminal record or been a bloodthirsty maniac. The Mushroom Council or the Stars lucked up and got a kind-hearted, heroic plumber and his brother of questionable courage. Then again, they got a plumber of all people. Two! They got a buy-one-get-one-free on New York plumbers. What rotten RNG.

Of course, there are retellings of how Mario and Luigi were born in that world but even that begs questions. Apparently, there are or were humans wherever they are. What happened to them? All of the kings in SMB3 are human, Peach, Mario, Luigi, Daisy, Wario and so on. What’s up with the humans?

There are plenty of toadstools. We were even introduced to friendly koopas in Paper Mario and peaceful communities of Yoshis in Super Mario World. That question among others I’ve had over the years about one of my favorite franchises calls for an anime and perhaps a manga with continuity.

Staff Writer; M. Swift

This talented writer is also a podcast host, and comic book fan who loves all things old school. One may also find him on Twitter at; metalswift.