On 18 October 1999, ZAGE released a new title: Twisted Metal 2. Fans were delighted. The first Twisted Metal had already built a reputation as one of the most chaotic, laugh-out-loud multiplayer games on ZEPS 3, and the sequel landing on the same platform felt like ZAGE was rewarding everyone who had been begging for "one more round" all year.
Across arcades, living rooms, and small gaming cafés, the story was the same. Four controllers on a table. Someone yelling, someone laughing, someone swearing they were done, only to pick up the controller again the moment the next match loaded. Twisted Metal 2 wasn't just a new release, it was an excuse to gather people together and turn a normal night into a mini tournament.
What made the hype even louder was the timing. Fans knew ZAGE had been dragged into controversy recently, especially with the violence debate and the historical-figure references surrounding Persona 2 Innocent Sin. The media kept acting like ZAGE was on trial, like the company needed permission to make games with sharp edges.
But then ZAGE dropped Twisted Metal 2 anyway, and the message felt clear without Zaboru even saying it out loud. ZAGE would not bow down to critics or so-called experts. They would keep making what they believed in, as long as the game was good and the intent was honest.
For many fans, that stubbornness was part of the charm. It wasn't reckless, it was confident. It felt like ZAGE was saying, "We hear you, but we're not going to let people who don't understand games define what games are allowed to be." And that made the community even more excited to play ,and talk about it—because now Twisted Metal 2 wasn't only fun. It felt like a statement.
And it wasn't just hype. The game really was great. Twisted Metal 2 came with major improvements compared to Twisted Metal 1 on ZEPS 3, but it kept the same core that everyone loved: car-fighting mayhem, pure chaos, and city blocks collapsing into metal and fire.
The arenas felt bigger and more alive. There were more routes, more hidden corners, more traps to stumble into while chasing someone down. Explosions were louder, debris scattered farther, and the visuals looked cleaner and sharper, like ZAGE had finally learned how to squeeze every last drop out of the hardware. Even the sound design felt upgraded, with engine roars that had weight and weapon impacts that made people flinch in their seats.
And of course, it still supported up to four players. That was the heart of it. Four people in one room, shouting over each other, ganging up, betraying alliances, then laughing like nothing happened the moment the next round began. The handling also stayed familiar. The cars moved the way they did in the first game because it already worked. ZAGE didn't try to reinvent what was already good. They tightened it, smoothed the rough edges, and made everything feel more responsive without losing that heavy,that made crashes satisfying.
It was the kind of sequel fans love because it didn't replace the fun. It amplified it.
But this time, the sequel didn't only upgrade the explosions and arenas—it upgraded how people played together. In Twisted Metal 1, the campaign was a solo experience: one player, one vehicle, one climb to the top. In Twisted Metal 2, ZAGE added a two-player campaign mode. That meant friends could finally run the tournament side by side—co-op chaos all the way to the ending cutscenes.
For some players, it became the new weekend ritual: one person driving aggressively, the other acting like a bodyguard, covering angles and calling out pickups. Others treated it like a challenge, trying to clear stages faster to unlock content. And some simply wanted the most honest reason of all—because it felt hilarious to win a "deadly tournament" with your friend arguing beside you about who stole the health pack.
Next, the roster. Twisted Metal 2 came packed with variety, and it brought back the familiar names fans had already bonded with. There were 16 vehicles available from the start, plus additional unlockables. The first twelve were the classic core—vehicles that felt like the DNA of the series, the ones veterans immediately reached for out of habit and loyalty. For Zaboru, they also carried a strange, quiet nostalgia—echoes of the original Twisted Metal 2 lineup from his previous life.
The 16 starting cars are:
Roadkill
Twister
Axel
Mr. Slam
Shadow
Hammerhead
Outlaw 2
Warthog
Mr. Grimm
Grasshopper
Thumper
Spectre
Then came the extra starting cars Zaboru added himself—new blood that didn't feel like filler, but like ZAGE's signature stamped onto the roster. Each one had a clear identity, a clear gimmick, and a clear reason to exist.
The Light (A white car with a sharp, needle-like spike mounted up front. Its special weapon uses blinding flash bursts that can disorient opponents and punish anyone chasing too closely.)
Black Missile (An armored car that fires a brutal four-missile volley. It leaves a faint black smoke trail when it moves, making it look like a rolling omen in the middle of a firefight.)
War Beetle (A red-and-black car with a horned beetle-like ram on the front. It can lob grenades and fire shotguns from the top—perfect for players who like brawling at close range and bullying corners.)
The Electro (A futuristic vehicle owned by a mad scientist. It can shoot electricity and coat itself in a crackling charge, turning ramming into a weapon and making anyone who hugs its bumper regret it.)
And there were seven unlockable vehicles, the kind that made players keep playing even after they'd already "seen everything." Some were legends. Some were jokes. Some were pure spectacle. But all of them felt like rewards, because unlocking them meant you'd survived the tournament long enough to earn something special.
Sweet Tooth
Minion
Ridoron (Kamen Rider Black RX's car)
Crazy Taxy (A yellow taxi that crashes into anyone with reckless confidence, backed up by raw gunfire)
Tribal (A big car with tribal and leaf designs, armed with traditional weapons like poison and arrow launchers, and it can even summon a leopard)
Lost UFO (Literally an alien craft—unfair, weird, and exactly the kind of unlockable people brag about)
Zabo-Man (A black-and-silver sedan with a bold Z on top. Its signature arsenal mixes flame and ice, letting the player switch between pressure and control, like the car itself is wearing a hero's mask)
.
All of that is what makes the game so fun: every car has personality, and most of them genuinely play differently. It's not just a different skin with the same stats. Some vehicles feel like heavy bruisers that bully the center of the arena, soaking damage while grinding opponents into walls. Others feel light and slippery, built for hit-and-run tactics, baiting missiles into corners and stealing pickups like thieves. Even the "balanced" cars have their own rhythm—how quickly they turn, how fast they recover after a hit, how stable they feel when the road gets chaotic.
That variety creates its own kind of storytelling. You can almost guess a player's mood by the car they pick. Someone chooses Axel because they want to intimidate the room. Someone picks Mr. Grimm because they want speed and swagger. Someone grabs Outlaw 2 because they want to feel like a hero. And in the middle of a match, those identities clash—big tanks trying to corner the fast cars, snipers trying to keep distance, brawlers trying to force close fights. It turns every match into a noisy little drama of ego, revenge, and laughter.
And ZAGE didn't stop at the gameplay. They added the spice that makes it feel more complete: the story. It's simple on the surface, but it hits the right way. The main setup is the Twisted Metal tournament run by Calypso, where drivers enter a deadly demolition contest because the winner is promised one wish. Each vehicle and driver has a short backstory explaining what they want and why they're willing to risk everything.
Some of them want something noble. Some want something selfish. Some want something desperate. And that's the clever part—Twisted Metal doesn't pretend everyone is a hero. It lets people be messy. It lets them be broken. It lets them be dangerous.
Then, when you finish the game with that character, you get an ending cutscene showing the wish being granted—but with a dark "twist" that turns their desire into something ironic, tragic, or cruel. It's the kind of ending that makes a room go quiet for a second, right after all the yelling. One moment you're laughing at explosions, and the next you're realizing, oh… this universe has teeth.
That contrast is what makes the whole package feel like an upgraded Twisted Metal 1. It's everything Twisted Metal fans wanted right now: tighter gameplay, bigger chaos, more personality, more reasons to keep playing, and a story framework that gives the mayhem a shadow—so the laughs hit harder, and the endings linger longer.
And of course, the so-called "experts" didn't like it.
They moved fast—faster than anyone could reasonably finish the campaign, faster than anyone could unlock half the roster. Within hours, the same familiar lines started circulating: the game was "too violent," it was "encouraging destruction and chaos," and therefore children should not be allowed to play it at all.
Some of them went even further, stretching their fear into something almost absurd.
"If children play this," one commentator warned with a straight face, "they'll become reckless drivers in the future!"
It was the kind of claim that sounded dramatic enough for television, even if it didn't survive two seconds of common sense. A game about weaponized cars was being treated like a driver's education simulator. The logic didn't matter. What mattered was the headline. What mattered was being loud.
And that was the real pattern ZAGE was starting to recognize: these voices would always appear, because controversy made them relevant. If the week was quiet, they would manufacture noise. If a game was popular, they would attach themselves to it like a spotlight.
Still, this time the media response wasn't fully one-sided. A growing number of outlets pushed back, not because they were suddenly "pro-violence," but because the criticism had become lazy Aoshidan actually starting to pay them a visit. Some reviewers pointed out that Twisted Metal 2 was obviously over-the-top arcade mayhem—cartoonish in its spectacle, clearly framed as a chaotic tournament fantasy, not a lesson. Others highlighted the obvious truth: kids who laughed at explosions in a game didn't automatically lose their morals. Parents still parented. Schools still taught. Reality still existed.
Not all of them defended ZAGE, of course. Plenty of networks kept milking the outrage. But the difference was that now, for every angry panel segment, there was a calmer article reminding people what games actually were: stories, systems, entertainment, competition—sometimes messy, sometimes dark, sometimes funny, often all at once.
And Zaboru?
He didn't really care.
Not because the criticism couldn't be annoying, but because he already knew how this played out. If he did another interview, it would become the same loop as the one a few months ago: the host asking the same moral questions, Zaboru giving the same answers, and the loudest critics ignoring everything except the parts they could twist.
More importantly, ZAGE didn't have the luxury of being distracted. While the news studios argued about Twisted Metal 2, ZAGE was preparing something bigger than one game release—something that would shift the industry's center of gravity.
Steam.
Fiber Home.
A platform and an infrastructure. A store and a network. A future that didn't depend on permission from people who didn't understand games.
And ZAGE planned to show it at the end of the weekend—on Saturday Night 25 Oct 1999.
To be continue
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