Here.

BloodMoon grasped the package firmly in his hands. It was his! Finally, through the bogs of Glumding, towards the Mountains of Ill and across the River of Evil he had fought his way at each step of the long journey.

The blood of his enemies was washed from his hands by his tears for fallen comrades. The Circle of Eight had started the journey, and now only he remains. Just as the mystic from Laf'haven had predicted.

But here was The Game! The Game to end evil and restore the balance of power across all of Balmovia. And he had done it! The fools back in his tavern...had it been only six months since he was there? So much had happened then. His mind idly drifted back to thoughts of home - roasted meats sizzling next to mugs of foamy ale...

Focus BloodMoon1! he scolded himself. He was too close to fail now. He lifted the package, felt its heft, its weight, and smiled to himself.

Something caught his eye. A glint in the Game's shiny gilded cover.

He gasped.

Sixt glamdrings? SIXTY GLAMDRINGS! How could it be? Impossible! After all this time, this heartache, only to fail now. Fate was a cruel mistress indeed. He briefly considered...no. NO. That was not an option. He had sworn an oath long ago over his father's grave. It might as well have been 1 million glamdrings. The Game that could save the lives of all who walked the earth would have to be his another way.

But how? He couldn't fathom. But there was one who could. The one eyed mystic of Kul'ding'dam'dang. The wise one would know. The wise one would have to know. He would find the mystic and ask him the way. It was his - the world's - only chance.

BloodMoon1 set off into the darkness, his resolve growing stronger with each step.

I also claim this post:
Here

Having given his foe some "rightious data", tmjdot (or "dot" as his friends on the 'Net called him" eased back into his Relax-tron and pulled his data-visualizers off his head. He puffed on a 'rette and stared up at the cieling. Wasting these guys one at a time was easy enough, but the softies were everywhere. They covered everything and everyone and the virus was spreading.

The resignation that he couldn't do this alone slowly zipped its way through his meat-grid. He needed help. And fast.

His mind made up, dot flipped down his goggles, cracked his datagloved fingers, and jacked in. The polyphonic lightshow of a billion voices of data slipping into his crib illuminated his face. He put out the 'rette and headed off for info-environs unknown in search of free-lance data mercenaries like himself willing to wield a weapon against the softie menance. Somewhere out there the binary existed to kill the menace, to get things back to normal. It was just a matter of getting the right programmertavists to riot with it, and getting it in time.

It was going to be a long night.

Here

...

Looking back, most industry executives agreed that the singular moment that brought the "Consortium of the Willing" together was a lone post on what was then just another Internet forum, and not the brain center for the world government it is today:

"The post from '99 [99BottlesOfBeerInMyF] really just got things started," says Steve Jobs, "Up until then we were kind of sitting around wondering what to do with all these piles of money we had. We knew about Microsoft and games, but we didn't have a direction to go in."

John Carmack of id Software and Rocketry Superstores agrees: "It wasn't so much what he said - we figured it out pretty easily as things got started - but it was the way he said it. 'Get to it!' Man...still sends a shiver down my spine. 'Get to it!'. We weren't getting to it before, and then, after that post it was like 'ok, we need to get to it and get this done.' And that's what we did."

Coming up next on Behind the Games: the fall of Microsoft, and '99's battle with fame and amphetamines.