From the Memory Bank: My History with Video Games

Altered Beast - Welcoming My Doom
My 16-bit genesis: How rising from my slumber altered the beast within.

If you've arrived here after reading previous entries in this series, then you're probably well aware of the fact that I spent almost the entirety of my childhood being largely oblivious to the world around me. You know this because I've repeatedly stated as much and have done so in the most simple and blunt manner. Quite simply, the younger me lived in a tiny bubble and had no idea of how society was functioning in the spaces beyond its perimeter.

Never was this more true than in the latter half of the 1980s and certainly where video games were concerned. Really, I hadn't the first clue about how new releases were shaping the scene or how the industry was evolving, and I wasn't particularly eager to learn about such; I never so much as breached the subject when talking with friends, and on the rare occasion where I'd pick up an issue of Game Players or GamePro from a local mom-and-pop store, I'd rapidly skim through it and stop to read only when my eyes identified the familiar--an article or a review that was covering a game in which I had a direct interest.

"I don't need to seek out information!" I thought to myself. "I already know everything. I mean, we own, all told, over one hundred games! That, right there, makes me a certified expert on the subject!"

In reality, what I "knew" was a super-condensed, self-referential version of history wherein the Atari 2600, the ColecoVision and the Intellivision (three platforms with which I was familiar) battled for supremacy all throughout the early 80s, with the 2600 ultimately winning out, before all three machines grew long in the tooth and were replaced by the technologically superior Commodore 64. Also, I "knew" that the current field of competition was limited to merely two contenders: the NES and "the Sega" (which is what my friends and I called the Master System, because apparently we couldn't read; even my friend Mike, who actually owned a Master System, referred to it as "the Sega").

That's all there was to video games. As far as I was aware, that was all that existed.

So, as you can imagine, I was feeling a bit puzzled when upon arriving at my friend Dominick's house one random day, he rushed up to me holding a distinctive-looking black box (which was a slang term for "console") whose shiny surface bore the name "Genesis." It was a new machine that he had come to own sometime during the late-autumn months of 1989.

"Is this the 'new Sega'?" I wondered to myself after noticing that the company's name was displayed below the machine's cartridge slot.

Also, for the umpteenth time, I had to take a moment to wonder how it was that Dominick had come to own a recently-release-and-presumably-expensive video-game product. It was a recurring mystery with that boy: His parents were far from rich (I'd say that they were somewhere on the lower end of the middle-class spectrum) and very much stingy, but time after time there he was pulling me into his den and excitedly introducing me to some highly coveted, freshly launched game or console, as if he were Q to my James Bond. He wasn't buying them for himself, so I had no idea how they were coming into his possession. It was such an odd thing.

Though, I guess, life's scripting can be strange like that.

But, really, I didn't care too much about the circumstances surrounding the means of purchase. I was just happy that he was so active in the scene and that consequently I was benefiting by being granted access to so many of the games and products I'd come to cherish.

And then there was the sparkling new Genesis, to which he was about to formally introduced me.

Dominick (or whoever bought the console) didn't have enough money to buy a launch title, I was told, but luckily the console came bundled with a very interesting-sounding pack-in game.

It was Altered Beast, created by the renowned Sega Corporation (it was bundled with the Genesis up until the middle of 1991, when Sega replaced it with Sonic the Hedgehog, the company's latest showpiece). It was the game that represented my entry into the world of 16-bit gaming.

I was eager to find out what this "Genesis" was, certainly, but at the same time I was still trying to overcome that initial feeling of puzzlement. In the moments when Dominick was going about hooking up the console to his TV, I turned inward and attempted to process all of the information I'd been given in the previous two or so minutes. "When did this happen?" I wondered. "At what point did companies begin releasing machines that were more advanced than the NES and the Sega, and why don't I know anything about this development?"

Though, as was usual for me, I didn't make these thoughts known or ask any questions; rather, I quickly abandoned such contemplation and simply let events play out. I wasn't one, anyway, to care too much about the technology that powered these machines. To me, games were just games, regardless of the format. Hell--my friends and I were still playing 2600 games in the mid-90s!

Still, as the title screen, with its slick imagery, came into view, I couldn't deny that I was stunned by what I was seeing. What Altered Beast was presenting was indeed something new and rousing: a console game whose graphics closely resembled those that were standard in arcade games! As someone who frequently visited arcades and loved everything about modern arcade games, I was astounded to see a game displaying this level of fidelity not on an arcade monitor but on a TV screen that was right in front of me! "Imagine not having to go to arcades to play arcade games!" I was inspired to think.

So yeah--I was impressed by what I was witnessing and maybe a bit envious. Dominick's was a very intriguing new machine. Also, the game's visual and narrative themes were cool, too. Altered Beast was offering me a fascinating look into an unusual new world wherein undead musclemen in sleeveless shirts could suddenly buff up, their physiques swelling in increments until reaching ridiculous proportions, after kicking blue buffalo in their faces and collecting the blue orbs into which they had transmuted. I had to admit: I'd never seen anything like that before!

And each such event was accentuated by an unseen narrator's accompanying utterance of "Power up!"--a voice clip that quickly became popular within our circle (and with enthusiasts everywhere, we'd learn). My hearing it represented my favorite "first moment" of the my Genesis-plus-Altered Beast experience.

No less impactful was the interpolated cut-scene that worked to display the process of a hero's final transformation. After one of us had collected a fourth orb (I don't remember which), the game cut to a brief scene that provided an up-close view of the respective hero as he convulsively shapeshifted into a werewolf and let out a mighty roar--all this while surrounded by flames! This screen-filling scene was replete with animation and visual splendor, and for that reason it was instantly memorable. Like the "Power up!" voice clip, it left an indelible imprint on me. I'd never forget it. I'd never stop looking forward to seeing it.

And when the action resumed, the music was suddenly rockin'! The accompaniment of this rousing, head-banging tune instantly changed the tone and it did so in the most empowering way, and this made tearing through enemies with the newly enabled air-dashes feel more visceral and all-the-more satisfying!

The best part was that each stage featured a unique final transformation; depending on the stage, you could shapeshift into a dragon, a were-bear or a were-tiger beast and pummel enemies with all kinds of cool-looking attacks and abilities!

"This is wild!" I thought.

Really, I couldn't have seen any of this coming. In the hours before I arrived at Dominick's house, I was living through what I thought to be another ordinary, nothing-special day, but then there I was, just a short time later, playing a great-looking, arcade-level action game that featured a ton of on-screen activity; large, impressively rendered characters; multiple scrolling layers; and, amazingly, no resultant flickering or slowdown. And I was doing this from my friend's couch using a three-button controller made for a system that had dropped into my life from out of nowhere.

Above all, Altered Beast was a joy to play. We were enthusiastic about exploiting the game's shapeshifting aspect and absolutely wrecking its hapless enemies with high-speed air-dashes, electrical emissions, explosive projectiles, and other vicious battering moves. Our doing so resulted in the most fun we'd had with a new game in a long while. Dominick and his brother had already played the game to completion and were already in love with it. And by the time Dominick and I were finished with this, our first cooperative play-through, I, too, had come to love Altered Beast. It was exactly the kind of game towards which I'd routinely gravitate whenever I was visiting arcades. It had everything I expected to see in an arcade-style action game. (Note that I was unaware that the game originated in arcades, since I never saw it in any of the local joints.)

The only thing we found disappointing about Altered Beast was its length. It was a pretty short game; we were able to complete it in about 15 minutes. But quickly we came up with a solution to the problem: "We can just play it again!" And that's what we did. This time, though, we played it on a harder difficulty mode, which we were able to access via a secret menu that Dominick had learned about in the days prior (though, I don't know how). You could prompt it, he taught me, by holding the B button and pressing Start while the title screen was in view.

I remember that attempted play-through: We couldn't advance far into "Hard" mode because we weren't prepared for its increased enemy rate and hadn't yet mastered the controls, and, true to form, we weren't about to make any great effort to improve. Luckily, Dominick reminded me, the secret menu also included the option to increase the players' number of health units and lives.

It was a cheap way to play it, yeah, but so what? We wanted to extract from Altered Beast the most value that we possibly could, and the game's secret menu helped us meet that desire. Secret menus were the best.

And that's how things went that day: Dominick and I had a grand ol' time electrifying, pouncing on, and horizontally and vertically slicing through the game's bizarre cast of zombies, buffalo, bipedal ants, and other weird creatures as we relentlessly pursued the game's main antagonist: the purple-robed, lightning-emitting albino who had kidnapped Zeus' daughter.

And we did so, again, the next day, then the day after that, and probably multiple days in following.

It wasn't long before Altered Beast found a place among our cherished favorites. By the early-middle portion of 1990, it had joined the likes of Double Dragon II: The Revenge, Contra and Mega Man 2 as another one of our "go-to games," which were any of those that could reliably provide us fun and entertaining gaming experiences. Any of those that we were sure to load up whenever we'd meet up at Dominick's house in the hours after school had let out. Any of those that had the power to help us form closer bonds.

From there, it was all about making Altered Beast part of our group culture. We believed the game to have many aspects that were worth celebrating, yes, but the one that really stuck with us--the one that we deemed to be most worthy of institutionalization--was its voice work. I'm talking about its ironically iconic voice samples, which we'd lovingly mock any chance we got. As far as we were concerned, there was never an improper moment to let loose a loud "Riiiiiiiiiise from your grave!" or a raspy-sounding "Welcome to your doom!" We'd utter these lines during any random conversation and even use them as greetings. Truly they were all-purpose exclamations.

Those voice samples are, in fact, linked to my best memories of Altered Beast. I will always fondly recall those times when we'd play it on a cool spring evening--when we'd pop open the windows, let the gentle night air flavor the den's atmosphere, and take the time to shout these lines at any unsuspecting passers-by. You know--direct a few "Power up!"s toward the any of the old ladies or the skateboard kids that came walking along; let 'em know where the action was at.

Given proper context, Altered Beast was a showpiece title that was meant to provide the Genesis a clear identity. It was there to tell us that this new platform was going to be home to games that looked and sounded like those we were playing in arcades. And it was very effective messaging: Whenever I'd think about the Genesis, my mind would become filled with images of Altered Beast and of the simple, accessible arcade action games of which it reminded me. That's what the Genesis was and why it appealed to me (in the early years, at least--until around the middle of 1991, when Sega's marketing efforts took a disappointing turn. Though, really, that's a whole other story).

Now, I understand that Altered Beast isn't exactly highly regarded by the majority of gaming enthusiasts and the old-guard commentariat. They see it as undercooked and lacking for substance. And I get it: It's a painfully short game. You can complete it in a little over ten minutes. Hell--if you're the proficient sort, ten minutes is just about all you'll ever get out of Altered Beast, since it is, after all, a game whose stages scroll automatically and always at the same speed; if you don't miss any blue orbs, then only real variables will be the stationary boss fights, which, honestly, never last longer than a few seconds. Also, you can complain that the game's challenge-level becomes severely diminished once you realize that a fully muscled hero can avoid taking damage from grounded enemies by standing at the screen's center and spamming low kicks. And sure--these are valid criticisms.

But I'd argue that it's a fun game despite its flaws, especially when you're playing it with a friend. That's when it provides the same sort of fun, frantic action you can find in Balloon Fight, Ice Climber and other arcade-style classics. That's exactly what it did for us, and that's why we loved it. It, like the aforementioned, had the power to bring us together, make us laugh, and help us to bond in a way that wasn't possible on a playground. And, if you give it the chance, it can still do that job.

Whenever I reflect upon that point in history, I'm reminded about what Altered Beast meant, also, to my evolution as a gaming enthusiast. I see it in a certain light, as a game that represented technological advancement and the realization of remarkably faithful arcade ports on home consoles, certainly, but more so as a game that assured me that simple arcade fun was here to stay--that next-generation games weren't going to succumb wholly to the temptation of using their hardware's increased power to seek greater complexity and thus eschew the types of simply presented, instantly appealing formulas and themes that could so reliably bring my friends and I together.

"You don't have to fear the future," Altered Beast told me. "The things that you like aren't going to be tossed aside." (This stands in direct contrast to what Nintendo Power was telling me about the upcoming SNES and the types of games that would be available for it. That was a very different message--one that had me greatly worried. I'll tell you that story a future piece.)

It was shiny and new and had more muscle mass than any console game we'd ever seen, yeah, but still Altered Beast exhibited that old, unmistakable arcade spirit; and because it did, it fit in quite nicely with our old favorites--with all of those from the group of 2600, NES and Commodore 64 games through which we'd play at most every get-together. It belonged there because it delivered the same brand of action. The same type of fun.

I'm sad to report, though, that this wasn't always the case. In time, Altered Beast was pushed aside and subsequently dismissed from the group when more-realized action games/beat-'em-ups like Golden Axe and Streets of Rage came along and stole away all of our attention. Quite simply, they were better games and did more to capture our imaginations. 

Yet, still, Altered Beast's influence on our group culture would never be forgotten. In the years ahead, we'd continue to toss out its famous lines whenever it was appropriate (which was always), and we'd frequently reminisce about how it made the earliest months of the Genesis' life a special time for us.

Welcoming my doom, it turned out, was one of the best things to ever happen to me.

I played through Altered Beast a few days ago in preparation for this blog entry. It was the first time I've revisited the game since the mid-90s. And I have to be honest: The experience was kind of lacking.

"S-so now you agree with the critics?!" you ask with a sad look on your face.

Oh, no--not at all. I'm not saying that the game is mediocre or that I disliked playing it. It's just that it didn't live up to my memories. As you can imagine, a game whose sentimental value is derived from memories of childlike interactions and great times with friends doesn't quite hold that same weight when I'm playing it alone on an uneventful April night in 2014. Really, it's just not the same without Dominick, Mike, and my brother's friends being at my side and quipping about how afterwards we're going to "Power up!" by visiting our favorite Chinese restaurant, Silver Star, and chowing down on some combo meals.

The sad truth is that it'll never be the same. It can't be. Those were much different times, and we were very different people. Those experiences will simply never be replicated.

But, still, there will always be the comforting embrace of nostalgia. Altered Beast isn't a game I'll be revisiting often, no, but surely I'll be loading it up at least once every four to five years, if only to remember. If only to trigger memories of a time that is painfully missed.

  
Like quite a few games I've discussed on this blog (and a lot of those I'll be covering in the future), Altered Beast has forever been dismissed as rubbish and spoken about derisively by games-media personalities and Youtube's legion of bile-spewing cretins. They talk about it as if it has no redeeming value. And I shake my head every time I see that. It's always disappointing to me when people who claim to love this medium don't understand the significance of a console's first-generation games, which are usually imperfect, sure, but so unforgettably foundational. There are no memories like the ones attached to those games. There are no experiences that are as wondrous or enlightening. Every enthusiast should play them, if only once, to get a sense of how things were like back then.

That is, they should play Altered Beast, the Genesis' debut title, and discover first-hand the true value of the simple, unapologetic arcade-style action game. And as was I, they'll be better for knowing that there's a vast difference between what they "know" and what actually is.

The same goes for you, dear reader. It's only a matter of rising from your grave and welcoming your doom.