It’s Christmas of 1994, and I am 16 years old. Sitting on the table in our family room next to a pile of cow-spotted boxes is the most incredible thing in the world: a brand-new Gateway 66MHz Pentium tower, with a 540MB hard disk drive, 8MB of RAM, and, most importantly, a CD-ROM drive. I am agog, practically trembling with barely suppressed joy, my bored Gen-X teenager mask threatening to slip and let actual feelings out. My life was about to change—at least where games were concerned.

I’d been working for several months at Babbage’s store No. 9, near Baybrook Mall in southeast suburban Houston. Although the Gateway PC’s arrival on Christmas morning was utterly unexpected, the choice of what game to buy required no planning at all. I’d already decided a few weeks earlier, when Chris Roberts’ latest opus had been drop-shipped to our shelves, just in time for the holiday season. The choice made itself, really.

The moment Babbage’s opened its doors on December 26—a day I had off, fortunately—I was there, checkbook in hand. One entire paycheck’s worth of capitalism later, I was sprinting out to my creaky 280-Z, sweatily clutching two boxes—one an impulse buy, The Star Trek: The Next Generation Interactive Technical Manual, and the other a game I felt sure would be the best thing I’d ever played or ever would play: Origin’s Wing Commander III: The Heart of the Tiger. On the backs of Wing Commander I and Wing Commander II, how could it not be?!

The movie is on my computer!

It’s easy to pooh-pooh full-motion video games here in 2026; from our vantage point, we know the much-anticipated “Siliwood” revolution that was supposed to transform entertainment and usher interactivity into all media by the end of the millennium utterly failed to materialize, leaving in its wake a series of often spectacularly expensive titles filled with grainy interlaced video and ersatz gameplay. Even the standout titles—smash hits like Roberta Williams’ Phantasmagoria or Cyan’s Riven—were, on the whole, kinda mediocre.