"As negative press grew and grew concerning nepotism and mass resignations, and magazine ads informed a restless gaming public that they were John Romero's cellmate and he'd claimed the top bunk (as it were), outright hostility was brewing. At this point, the universe takes two paths: One in which Romero spearheads a bold artistic movement in game design as a misunderstood genius, burdened with the egotism that often strikes the auteur; or Romero is forever lambasted as a boob, so massive that even the most determined baby would struggle to get its gob around it. And which universe we ended up with hinged on one thing: Daikatana not being a pile of execrable garbage. Better luck next time, universe."