1100h, August 2, 2001; Redmond, Washington: Three seasoned agents stand at the insertion point of their latest mission; one of unprecedented degree and extraordinary challenge. Their objectives are numerous and difficult. Priority One: to reconnoiter Nintendo of America’s hallowed, off-limits compound and transmit their findings to generations of gamers who grew up on the gems refined within. The road has been long and difficult, flanked with thwarted attempts and dead-end leads. The game ends now.

I am agent Stryker, one of these men of espionage and the leader of our experienced squad. The operation was a full nine months in the planning, wrought through a substantial transaction with the Interactive Digital Software Association and meticulous contact with Nintendo’s corporate communications division. No lives were forfeit in acquiring this tour of the industry’s most notoriously secretive company, though competing parties would have obliged with a smile. Agents LavaKing and T’Karren were point men, at my side and prepared to begin.

Thus on that cool morning, nothing like the sweltering inferno of the Texas base we’d left far behind, we performed safety checks on our equipment and strode boldly to the door. The building’s façade is familiar to many fans of Nintendo’s unique stylings, yet precious few are privy to its internal secrets. Narrow bands of tinted windows prohibit external surveillance, and elegant though sparse foliage denies those who would stealthily creep onto the premises.

Our pulses quickened as we entered the edifice of lore. I had only a vague notion of what to expect, despite extensive dialogue with corporate over the past year. The NoA lobby was professional yet charming, conveying the message that this was indeed a facility of intricate dealings and not some Willy Wonka factory to delight children. Glossy cutouts of franchise characters adorned the walls in a representation of some digital Valhalla, and an N64 kiosk rested amongst ferns in a corner. On the wall behind the reception desk gleamed the declarative text “Nintendo of America, Inc.” Though highly trained, my crew was manifestly excited as the receptionists appeared amused by our demeanor. After signing affidavits, checking our weapons and receiving badges, our man on the inside approached the team.

Our contact JC is a truly kind man, taking time from his busy schedule to not only facilitate the development of the tour, but also discuss random facets of the industry when we spoke. A tall figure in perhaps his late twenties, he emerged from an office area behind the lobby to initiate our infiltration of the center. Introductions were made and our guide arrived. JC dubbed him Jeremy, a gent truly representative of one who plays games for a living.

Jeremy is, as our annotated report for agencies unseen declares, a highly affable, delightful man. Sporting slick black glasses, a goatee and a denim shirt emblazoned with “The Nintendo Difference”, Jeremy radiated enthusiasm as he briefed us on the concrete details of the tour. Before our departure I queried JC about the meeting with VP of Corporate Affairs Perrin Kaplan we’d tentatively arranged. JC assured me he would use his dark powers of persuasion in our favor and then bid us success in the tour.

As we ascended the lobby staircase, a crimson glow crested the summit. Jeremy and I were engaged in discussion of controversial industry matters, but I grew quiet as we reached the second floor. The grand “World of Nintendo” stretched before us, waves of nostalgia assaulting our senses. The left half of the spacious area was dominated by a company history exhibit and an array of awards, the right containing various displays of Nintendo products abroad. The employee store rested through the wall opposite us, fed by an umbilicus of glass intricately etched with Nintendo characters. Unprepared fans would likely gasp at the sight, beautiful and bordering on hubris. Jeremy’s timetables dictated a return to this area later, but a fateful appointment drew nigh.

We progressed through the main building of the complex, speaking with exuberance but taking note as the campus proffered a new secret. A segregated handful of desks adjacent to our path housed “Nintendo Power,” simultaneously perhaps the most maligned and beloved extant gaming magazine. The diminutive size of the department was a surprise, as we expected something of perhaps larger scale considering the prodigious circulation of its product.

All the walkways between cubicles had names from the annals of Nintendo, such as “Agahnim Avenue” and “Octorok Circle.” Some of the nearby meeting rooms had open Venetian blinds, through wide windows revealing people engaged in active discussion or English lessons to Japanese speakers. These chambers were christened similar names, e.g. “Earthbound.”

Of the three agents, I possess the most intimate knowledge of Nintendo’s inner workings and therefore began a mental checklist of positively identified personnel on campus. Dan Owsen, online manager and translator of “The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time”, and popular chat host and game counselor Travis Williams were the first two to be discovered. While Dan remains at the helm of Nintendo.com, Travis’ resignation from NoA became effective March 30, 2002.

After passing an aggregation of N64 kiosks and slinking across a sky bridge cleverly christened “A Link to the Past” to the second building, we entered an area similar to that we’d just swept. However, this domain was relatively quiet as game counselors toiled diligently in a vast sea of cubicles. I examined the work spaces as we cleared them and envied the incredible game merchandise adorning the walls and computers within. Ubiquitous plush “Dragon Warrior” Slimes incited my id as I contemplated tranquilizing those watchers in the immediate vicinity and escaping with coveted goods.

At last we reached the rendezvous point, a locked room with blacked-out windows in a tranquil wing of the call center. Jeremy paused to explain a nearby marquee flashing red data, decrypting the volume of incoming queries to the counselors. With great theatrics, the sealed vault was finally opened. Before we proceeded, I noted the chamber’s name: “Mother Brain”, the same as Hiroshi Yamauchi’s office at NCL in Kyoto. We had no hint of the shocking encounter that lay in wait mere minutes away.

The room was fringed with a perimeter of desks supporting various monitors and small, grey boxes. An immense, white conference table dominated the center of the room and hosted no equipment save a few GBA and Mario Kart promotional materials. The walls’ adornment boasted of classic titles and more obscure experiences. We were warned of the prohibition of photography during technology demonstrations, so I recorded the displays and dutifully capped my camera.

After another cursory survey of the room, we had located zero pieces of GCN hardware. Nary a purple cube was to be found. I attempted to recall an old file, a picture of a Gamecube dev kit, but it was beige. These unidentified boxes were slightly larger and grey. Confused, I crouched before one and spotted a miniscule Dolphin logo in the corner. “Green light,” I thought.

Someone arrived to install a system on the large TV at the far end of the room. Within seconds, we were sitting before a vision of the hardcore gamer’s delight, “Wave Race: Blue Storm.” The build was the E3 2001 edition, featuring only three courses. We played with corresponding controllers, an early prototype incomplete in many respects but similar to the final model.

Jeremy and I spoke about the finer points of the game as we played. One of his friends is personnel at Digipen-affiliated NSTC, and developed animation routines for the stunts. We remained engulfed in the game for a while, satisfied in the nascence of our GCN experience and vaguely aware that a nameless entity would soon arrive to further reveal Nintendo’s unplumbed secrets. We did not expect the benefactor to be a living legend, the one and only Ken Lobb.

To say Ken was a renowned Nintendo personality is an understatement. His name was at times synonymous with Rareware, as he worked extensively with the hallowed British development house. I’d closely pursued Ken’s curriculum vitae over the years, after first encountering him in a video dossier for “Donkey Kong Country” in 1994. Through various interviews and the unforgettable unveiling of the revamped Conker, he gradually became a sage-like figure in the Nintendo universe.

Ken was NoA’s Director of Game Evaluation and Marketing Support, and like many people at Nintendo of America is a man whose amicability is eclipsed only by his enthusiasm. Jeremy reiterated a fact about Ken that well describes him: “He likes to show things off.” After a round of hearty introductions, Ken quickly slid a flash cart into the hardware and booted it. We beheld optical splendor in the incarnation of several stages of “Rogue Leader.” As general information on this and “Wave Race” are long since declassified, such details are omitted from this report.

It was obvious that Ken held the game in tremendous esteem, as he worked closely with its developers. The first screens of Hoth were released not a week beforehand, and suddenly we were watching it live. As our team of three was unable to attend E3 2001, this was indeed a dramatic leap above the visual caliber of anything we’d experienced before.

The Trench Run was apparently Ken’s favorite, judging by the grin on his face as he screamed through the stage in a berserker rage of laser fire. Ken laughed and instructed, “Watch this, though it’ll probably get me killed.” He flew above the trench, the entire surface of the Death Star fully rendered below him. True to form, about a second later he was cut down by forty laser bursts. Ken gracefully destroyed the Death Star (though the cinema effect had yet to be added) and began anew only to fall victim to the only observed bug – his fighter was lodged halfway in a turret on the artificial planet’s face. I credit my uncanny skill at crashing and glitching games for the discovery, as oftentimes merely my presence in the room is requisite to unearth all manner of programming horrors.

From behind us, two voices expressed their awe at the Cloud City level, as JC had slipped in the room and was chatting rapidly about the game with Jeremy. Agent LavaKing later noted that the two standing side by side resembled a far more wholesome Trey Parker and Matt Stone. At this point, Ken handed the controls to me and reloaded the Hoth stage. We recalled downing Mode 7 AT-ATs in the Super NES “Empire Strikes Back,” and reflected on how far the industry has come in merely a decade.

We took the opportunity to interrogate Ken about various contemporary topics in the Nintendo world. He reassured us about Retro Studios in a time when ugly rumors were afoot, confirmed that it was indeed he who played a seven-hour game of “Advance Wars” with another Nintendo exec (“Oh man, another of my favorites,”) and presented us with the classic Nintendo neither-confirm-nor-deny stance on a few hotter issues. He did tell us, well over a month before the media, that a certain “Nubian god” would be playable in hidden missions of “Rogue Leader.”

Someone arrived in the midst of our session to deliver a finalized GCN controller so we could compare it to the E3 prototype. At first it seemed a bit smaller as the prongs were reduced and the button conformation slightly different, but upon returning to the prototype indeed seemed more suitable.

Regrettably, after a little less than an hour with us Ken was due at a meeting. Jeremy took a photograph of us together for posterity, and Ken allowed inclusion of the game screen to prove we’d played. Ken cannot be thanked enough for his extraordinary cooperation; it was indeed remarkable for an exec to sacrifice a considerable portion of his day to sit down with three curious characters from Texas. He granted us his card, one of the dual-sided, sophisticated bilingual placards carried by key players.

As we asked him to say hello to Rareware for us and casually mentioned the ever-elusive “Perfect Dark Zero”, Ken looked back with a sly smile and a nod, then was gone. I maintained cordial contact with him throughout the year, being advised as to his doings and more public aspects of NoA’s business. Mere months later, the media were stunned to learn of his defection to Redmond neighbor and new rival Microsoft, where he donned the mantle of Director of Content Planning.

In retrospect, these agents offer their recollections of various signs of Ken’s pending shift in affiliation. We cannot offer conclusive evidence as to his motivations for realignment or produce documents which would suggest such, yet the clues were present.

Approximately two weeks before the Nintendo infiltration, we were presented with the opportunity to play Microsoft’s Xbox in San Diego. The disappointing demo “Munch’s Oddysee” (though its retail form is far superior) and initially baffling controller scheme did not forge instant appreciation in our minds for the platform. We made such known to Ken, and while his declination to comment may not appear singularly curious, he was less reticent to speak on matters regarding other competition. This pattern continued through subsequent correspondence, in which he would never utter a word related to Bill Gates’ empire. At the time we interpreted these data as locally skewed professional courtesy.

Attempts to reestablish contact with Ken have been thus far largely unsuccessful, but we at Unlimited Lives yet strive to further discern the cryptic motivations behind his move, be they simple or compound in nature. We wish this fine and valuable Nintendo ex-patriot all the best in his new position at Microsoft.

After the meeting, Jeremy led us back through the labyrinthine building to the corporate restaurant, “Café Mario” for some much-required sustenance. As it was around noon we waited a fair while for rations, which proved far more comestible than typical operation fare. In the interim, I cautiously glanced at the various badges adorning employees and identified agencies such as “Siras,” “Nintendo Power,” and others. We claimed a table by an aesthetic glass-paned wall, overlooking the verdant, partially overcast terrain of the Pacific Northwest.

Lunch afforded us an opportunity to learn about our benevolent host, Jeremy. He has worked at Nintendo for now over four years, and indeed loves his job. The enthusiasm he has for the company is palpable and quite refreshing in a world of antipathy for one’s employers. Jeremy is a member of “Team Nintendo,” a so-called Super Agent gameplay counselor. He afforded me several tips on how to secure work at Nintendo, and briefed us on the responsibilities his job entails. He has been involved in most of the nationwide Pokémon promotional tours, sometimes granted (or burdened with, depending on whom one asks) the duty of driving the infamous Pikachu bug. At one E3, the vehicle was full of Pokémon toys and automotive equipment when unexpectedly Minoru Arakawa, until 2002 the president of NoA and affectionately known as “Mr. A.”, arrived with his wife and Peter Main. They asked for a ride and to Jeremy’s surprise, Mr. A. promptly jumped in the back, practically over the seat.

After slaking our hunger, we began the true tour. It commenced with an intimate look at Nintendo of America’s history. We returned to the World of Nintendo area in the main building, unsure of what to observe first amidst an overwhelming assault of information. The etched-glass hallway snared our further attention with its crisp panes of celebrated icons Kirby, Link, Samus and more. We began on the left side of the room, where a series of elegant crystal slabs chiseled with text accompanied museum displays of Nintendo’s past products. My erudition in the ways of corporate Nintendo was several orders of magnitude past thorough, preparing me for the daunting task of analyzing the panes.

Hanafuda cards, pictures of laser shooting ranges in Japan, and Gunpei Yokoi’s ingenious mechanical arm occupied the first few displays. I reflected upon the Japanese mafia’s influence on the Hanafuda business, as the syndicate would discard a pack after playing with it once. Behind us, a timeline of Nintendo events stretching back to the company’s birth in 1889 stretched across the crystal plates. Consecutive glass cases fostered a Famicom, Robotic Operating Buddy, Super NES, various iterations of Game Boy, a Virtual Boy display and an N64 with games such as the limited edition “Ocarina of Time.” The last two cases were empty at the time, no doubt currently home to Nintendo’s new stock.

Various demo kiosks stood patiently about the room, touting everything from “Street Fighter II” for Game Boy to a multi-title NES arcade machine on which “Metroid” was running. The last cabinet was an original “Donkey Kong” with flawless panel art. Mario, Jumpman as he was contemporarily known, appeared oddly Russian. The wall behind the history crystal was saturated in awards presented to Nintendo on behalf of their outstanding titles or public service. My personal favorite, an EGM Platinum award in honor of “Super Metroid,” joined those from the Make a Wish Foundation and others. If any one area of the campus richly detailed the very essence of Nintendo’s synonymy with gaming for generations of players, it was this singular wall.

The right sector of the chamber was dedicated to Nintendo’s expansion efforts around the globe. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets displayed games from foreign lands and a vast array of Nintendo merchandise. As expected, Pokémon trinkets wrought cruel dominion over nearly an entire wall. The LodgeNet hotel system and airline services were represented, as were three-foot plastic replicas of franchise characters such as Mario and a misshapen Fox McCloud from Toys R Us. We interrogated Jeremy about the theft of a large Mario statue in the early days of the N64, which was subsequently found several days later in an empty lot when a passerby noticed Mario’s hand jutting from beneath a blanket.

The ultimate section of wall was studded with game boxes from the upper echelon of “Player’s Choice” titles, i.e. those with sales of over one million copies. Standing before panels of delightful titles long vanquished, I located favorites such as the ancient “Dragon Warrior” and recorded their location.

An impressive map of Nintendo HQ was assembled from aerial photographs and claimed most of the hallway leading out of the area. Jeremy traversed the game counselors’ area of the complex through the copious aisles of cubicles covered in fan art and paraphernalia. We paused at the well-known framed collages of such envelope art, and like an archaeological excavation rediscovered games like “Final Fantasy III”, represented by various depictions of surly Moogles. Promotional posters dotted the walls, from “Star Fox 64” to the peerless “Kirby Super Star.” I recognized a few names assigned to the various work spaces as we slunk to Jeremy’s paddock.

Jeremy’s desk is a gamer’s treasure, outfitted with a secret-database computer, gaming rig, complete library of magazines and a veritable mother lode of Nintendo memorabilia. Our guide familiarized us with the setup as our eyes ravenously surveyed the area. He related an amusing anecdote about how some of the staff converted old R.O.B. units into desktop fans for their cubicles, one of which we found later.

A “Majora’s Mask” cutout hung on the wall, foam Nintendo systems lay about, and a candy-filled Bob-omb sat patiently atop his TV. A nearby desk even had a collection of “Super Mario Bros 3” figures from a McDonald’s promotion long ago. Jeremy booted his N64 with “Goldeneye,” pretending to work, and then showed us how counselors use the computer system to divine tips for callers. We accessed the guide for then newly re-released “Dragon Warrior III”, but the data were only 85% complete.

As inevitable deceleration began to take hold on the tour, we made the unanimous decision to investigate the legendary “Quarterless Arcade” housed on campus. En route, Jeremy elucidated the employment opportunities board. One featured position essentially consisted of capturing screen shots and footage for a living. After pondering the post as though it were a tempting offer from Lucifer himself we continued to the break room, which proved to be part of the arcade.

To our delight, it housed many old favorites: “Mortal Kombat II,” “Killer Instinct,” and more. In a flagrant instance of peculiarity, there was even an SNK NeoGeo machine. T’Karren and LavaKing went AWOL for several minutes to engage in fierce “KI” competition while I tried my hand at “MKII” and realized that indeed, it is not like riding a bike. After we played several rounds the end of the tour drew close like some cruel miasma, taunting us. We glanced in the smoking area of the lounge which had more games, but did not investigate further.

Naturally, our last destination on the tour was “Nintendo Fun and Games,” the employee store. One would be hard pressed to discover a greater cache of Big N goods. From software to clothes to leather portfolios, Fun and Games demanded that we yield all credentials and currency for its treasures. I purchased two t-shirts to commemorate the operation (Nintendo kanji and fading blue GBA designs), an NoA glass, and other less substantial items. My teammates acquired games and similar swag.

The taciturn yet friendly young woman working the counter was named Misty, and only after we left did Jeremy relate the interesting tale behind her name. Her father was involved in the localization of “Pokemon,” and named the popular character after her. I completed the mission’s primary photographic objectives upon leaving the store.

Unwilling to complete our journey after the day’s events, we trudged back down the flight of lobby stairs as Jeremy asked us to remain in the vicinity while he inquired into some mystery items JC was trying to procure. After he left and we’d traded the plastic housing of our visitors’ badges for our contraband gear, we stood in a solemn silence. I was disappointed, yet not surprised, that we had not seen other execs like Peter Main ambling about headquarters. Someone began descending the stairs, and I snapped my gaze upward. The stranger was a kind-faced, middle aged Japanese man moving in a relaxed fashion. I instantly recognized him and snapped to attention. As he walked toward the back offices he looked over, and I called, “Arakawa-san!” Lo, it was Mr. A. himself. He paused to smile and nod politely before moving on. Perhaps the only more fitting conclusion to the successful mission would be meeting Shigeru Miyamoto. Now that Mr. A. has handed the reins of the company to Kimishima-san I feel even more fortunate to have met him at the eleventh hour, both of our tour and his singularly brilliant career.

Jeremy and JC returned a moment later with fantastic farewell gifts in tow: a limited edition E3 GCN backpack for each of us. The backpacks were heavy, laden with untold treats. Earlier JC informed me that we wouldn’t be getting actual product, but perhaps we managed to subvert the policy. The bags contained the standard E3 fare of a press packet and artwork CD, but ours contained a veritable bounty of other paraphernalia. Bidding JC farewell was unfortunate indeed, as we’d been in contact for the majority of a year preceding the tour.

Jeremy escorted us outside as the glass double doors closed on our adventure. We exchanged contact data with our inside man, but the evac transport had already arrived. The cool Seattle air was drawing us away, back to the oppressive, seared lands of Texas. Our tour was a smashing success, yielding a veritable wealth of information and experiences. Nintendo has permanently impressed upon us the sense of true enthusiasm and passion felt by those fortunate enough to work within its walls. That, after all… is the Nintendo difference.