Remember the Sega Channel? That weird, magical service that let you download games straight to your Genesis back in the '90s? Yeah, this is that—minus the actual cable hookup, obviously. You boot it up and suddenly you're staring at this grid of game icons like some ancient Netflix for pixelated adventures.

First thing you notice: the menu music hits you with that unmistakable Sega jingle. Then you're scrolling through a mix of obvious hits (Sonic, obviously) and weird deep cuts you probably rented once from Blockbuster. No cartridge swapping, no blowing into ports—just pick something and it loads after that classic Sega "brrrrring" sound.

Some games feel dated now, but there's something surreal about flipping through them like channels. I always end up replaying that one obscure platformer I barely remember, just to see if it's as janky as my childhood brain thought. The whole thing's a time capsule, right down to the slightly-too-long load screens.

It’s less about the individual games and more about that specific mid-90s feeling—like you’re getting away with something by having this many titles without a pile of plastic cases everywhere.