The Metroid Prime series, one of the most critically acclaimed videogame trilogies ever conceived, was born of a development company that nearly crumbled under the weight of its own mismanagement. Not the optimistic cheerleader opening I had intended to write, but it happens to be the truth, and it is reaffirmed as I sit down with the heads of the Austin, Texas-based house, all of whom have stories to tell about its troubled history and the miracle story that defines Retro today. Nintendo , of course, has just released Metroid Prime Trilogy , a robust compilation that encapsulates all three critically acclaimed, genre-defining adventures, a monumental event that has afforded me the opportunity to infiltrate at long last the compounds of the game-maker's headquarters.

Retro, it seems, has prepared for my visit -- much to my disappointment. First, I'm greeted by representatives from Nintendo's public relations firm, who make me sign a non-disclosure agreement which stipulates that if I somehow, by a lucky twist of fate, take notice of any materials or happen to overhear a conversation that might clue me into Retro's still-secret new Wii game, I must not relay this information to the outside world. Not in an IGN article. Not on my blog, Not on a Twitter feed. Not in a podcast. All of these new-media outlets are strictly defined, which is proof that Nintendo knows me just a little too well. Moreover, the NDA's timeframe is simply -- and, I suppose, understandably -- "indefinitely." This does not fill me with hope. The+entrance+to+Retro+Studios+and+Nintendo+snipers+(not+pictured,+but+ever-watching). The developer has erected a sign welcoming IGN and another media company to its offices, which, as you might expect, are tucked away in a semi-industrial space off the beaten path of Austin proper. The windows are tinted and the entrance locked. The entryway features all manners of Metroid signage, including a statuette of Samus Aran herself. And before I've finished overanalyzing every last framed picture and standee, we're off. As we walk down a ridiculously long hallway flanked by offices to the left and alluring hallways leading to the right, I take note of a disturbing trend. The company has actually taped off the right side of the building with warnings that read "employees only" and meanwhile, all the visible whiteboards, even the one that precedes the work space of the art teams, have not just been wiped, but probably scrubbed clean. I could've eaten off them. So this, I think, is how it's going to be and that, ultimately, is how it was -- a trip in celebration of Trilogy, barring me any hint of the studio's next big thing. For better or worse, my trip was over in a day, but Retro's began 10 years ago and continues onward.

It is a history overwrought with highs and lows and if you've been an IGN reader as long as I've been writing, you've undoubtedly seen some of my articles on the rise, fall and rise again of Retro Studios. I'll give you the very brief, summarized version, which starts with a man named Jeff Spangenberg, Iguana Studios (Turok) founder, and the deal he struck with Nintendo of America to create a new class of second-party development house. Spangenberg had a vision to build a major studio in the heart of Texas -- one that would employ only the best talent from around the industry in a quest to make Nintendo-exclusive titles with excessively high production values for the traditional audience. In other words, flashy, pretty games for the hardcore. Spangenberg convinced then-NOA leaders Minoru Arakawa and Howard Lincoln of his plans, received a sizable influx of cash, and eventually Retro Studios was built, one long, stretching hallway at a time. Samus in all her 3D Prime glory. Under Spangenberg's guidance, Retro hired by the dozens, employing the closest thing to rockstars that the videogame industry tolerates -- guys and girls at the height of their respective field, whether we're talking design, engineering or art. Mark Haigh-Hutchinson, a gifted programmer who passed away in January of 2008, was a pivotal engineer in everything from Paperboy to Star Wars: Shadow of the Empire and ultimately to the Metroid Prime series, for which he supplied the innovative camera systems. They came from Origin. They came from n-Space. They came from id Software. And they kept coming. Before too long, Retro was a giant, employing well in excess of 200 employees and developing four projects, three of which would be altogether cancelled and the remaining completely transformed during an era in the company's history that could be labeled both a crisis and a proving ground depending on your point of view.

Spangenberg was a delegator who was infamously caught running a website (off Retro's servers) that delighted in his extracurricular jacuzzi-based activities with half-naked, silicone-heavy women. He eventually left the company, now diligently run by Michael Kelbaugh, former head of Q&A and product testing at Nintendo of America. But before all of that transpired, Retro, on the heels of its one-year anniversary as an incorporated business, was paid a visit by some very important guests. Speaking to me from Nintendo Japan over video conference at Retro's headquarters, Kensuke Tanabe, producer for all three Prime games, fills in the gaps.

"It was the year 2000. Mr. [Shigeru] Miyamoto, Mr. [Satoru] Iwata and Tom Prata from NOA visited the studio. Those gentlemen, stuck in a conference room, reviewed all the progress of the four projects, but unfortunately those projects were not going well. And after that they returned to the hotel, gathered in the lobby and they were discussing about the future and what they could do," he says. "And all of a sudden, Mr. Miyamoto said, 'How about Metroid?' So that was Mr. Miyamoto's idea to have Retro focus solely on Metroid. As I remember, one of the four titles that I mentioned was a first-person shooter project and Mr. Miyamoto thought we could use the game engine from that."