The plastic case clicked shut like the latch on a treasure chest. Inside, a single disc labeled in faded Sharpie sat atop a tower of secret worlds — forty adventures compressed into one slim package, each title a promise of another night surrendered to pixels and possibility. The format was WBFS, a quiet code that meant these games had been liberated from their original shells and stitched together with the patient care of someone who loved the hum of an old console.