Master Blaster: They call him Doomgod, by Lawrence E. Joseph — Saturday, January 4, 1997

"They call him Doomgod, the one who can kill blindfolded. He defanged the Cobra and snuffed the magician known as Merlock. But Dennis Fong, 19, is no Terminator. He's a popular student at the community college in Los Altos, Calif., where he lives with his parents and does (most of) his chores. So why does he go by the name Thresh, as in threshold of pain?"

TECHZONE: Net gamers in league of their own, by Kenneth Li — New York Daily News, Sunday, December 14, 1997

"Don't play games with Bridget Fitzgerald. By day, Fitzgerald, 20, a mild-mannered pixie-looking student in baggy overalls, suffers for upwards of 13 hours strapped to a viola as a freshman at the Big Apple's world-renowned Juilliard School of Music... Fitzgerald — known online as Tonka — whispers, almost inaudibly: 'Who can I kill today?' That's her only warning to the soon-to-be smoking carcasses dumb enough to cross her path on the Net in the game Quake."

Tucsonan guns foes down as an elite Quake player, by Mitch Gitman — The Arizona Daily Star, Monday, August 4, 1997

"Tucson used to be a safe place. Sure, people would get shot and killed. But it wasn't like the violence was out of control, like those really crazy cities of the Wild West like Los Angeles or Dallas. But then one day a man with a rocket launcher showed up in town, started mowing people down, and things just haven't been the same since."

The Sydney Morning Herald — Icon Magazine: [Quake II,] Computers and Technology for the Rest of Us

"These days from all around me, I hear of 'windows' and a 'mouse', of brand names, some are 'Apple', wish I knew what it's about. I hear they've some connection, with strange things they call computers, which will give you all the answers, but to me they're just confusers. I've seen folk press some buttons, words appear and sometimes numbers, they seem to spring from nowhere — it surely makes me wonder. Sometimes I've asked a question, they just turn to this machine, press a button here, a button there, they find the answer there, it seems. It's really quite amazing, they don't even have to think, they tell me what I want to know, I don't have time to even blink. One day I'll look right through the window, perhaps I'll see before my eyes, this mouse they always talk about, for he must be very wise." —Hilda B. York, of Millers Point, fascinated by what she reads in Icon, was moved to write this poem, 1998