By Miles "Tails" T. (No relation)
In a way, Sonic Adventure Cdi is the purest expression of the Sonic ethos: speed, attitude, and a complete disregard for the laws of physics. It just… forgot to make it fun. It forgot to make it work. It forgot to make it exist .
Early footage—recovered from a corrupted DVCAM tape—shows Sonic rotating on the spot while a blurry checkerboard pattern scrolls behind him. A debug counter reads “SPEED: 0.0.” A post-it note visible on a monitor reads: “Velocity not possible. Increase friction?” Sonic Adventure Cdi
In the mid-90s, desperate for software, Phillips struck a deal with Nintendo to license their characters. The result was the unholy trinity: Hotel Mario and the two Zelda games, The Faces of Evil and The Wand of Gamelon . These were animated abominations, defined by janky controls, hilarious voice acting, and cutscenes that looked like a high schooler’s first Flash animation.
The first problem was 3D. The CD-i had no native 3D acceleration. Its CPU could barely handle sprite scaling. Van Der Berg’s solution was both brilliant and insane: a software renderer that drew the world as a series of flat, parallax-scrolling “corridors.” Sonic wouldn’t run in a 3D space. He would run on a treadmill while the background slid past him. The team called it the “Hamster-Wheel Engine.” By Miles "Tails" T
To the casual fan, the name elicits a confused chuckle. “Sonic on the CD-i? That’s impossible.” And for the longest time, they were right. It was impossible. A nightmare. A fever dream that should have stayed buried in the unmarked grave of 1990s licensing hell. But in 2024, a single, corrupted beta ROM surfaced on a dusty FTP server in Finland. The internet hasn’t been the same since.
This is the story of the game that wasn't. The game that shouldn't be. The game that redefines the word "unplayable." To understand Sonic Adventure Cdi , you must first understand the Phillips CD-i. Launched in 1991, it was a multimedia “player” that also played games, boasting a staggering 1MB of RAM and a green-book CD format that could store full-motion video. In practice, it was a catastrophe. Its processor was sluggish. Its controller was an ergonomic war crime (a plastic slab with a click-wheel and a number pad). And its development tools were, by all accounts, a form of psychological torture. It forgot to make it work
What nobody knew—what was buried in a contract addendum no one read—was that the license also included a single, non-exclusive option for Sega’s mascot. Sega, deep in the throes of the Saturn’s disastrous launch and terrified of Sony, sold the CD-i rights for a pittance. The check cleared. The deal was done.
Sonic was going to the devil. The developer assigned to the project was a small Dutch studio named Phantasm Software , known only for a forgotten golf game and an interactive encyclopedia of mollusks. Led by a manic, chain-smoking programmer named Henrik Van Der Berg, the team was given eight months, a budget of $150,000, and a single design document: “Make it like Mario 64, but on CD-i.”