Mark Darrah on Anthem’s Shutdown: 'Stop Killing Games' Comes With Tradeoffs

7 minutes Julian Haag

BioWare veteran Mark Darrah thinks “stop killing games” is a worthy goal—but not a free one. With Anthem scheduled to go offline in early 2026, his perspective highlights an uncomfortable truth: if we want live service games to survive beyond their commercial life, someone pays in fidelity, features, or money. In this piece, we break down the real costs behind keeping multiplayer worlds alive, why those tradeoffs can still be worth it, and practical steps studios and players can push for to avoid watching beloved games vanish.

The heartbreak of a switch-off Anthem’s shutdown has reignited a conversation that never really dies: why do big online games disappear when their servers go dark? For fans, it feels like losing a hobby and a home in one blow. For developers, it’s the end of a huge, hard-fought chapter. The friction between those realities sits at the center of Darrah’s point. Preservation is possible, but it competes—directly—with the way we currently build, monetize, and operate live games.

What Darrah is really saying Underneath the headlines is a simple equation: permanence demands planning. If you want a game to run without central servers, you need a design that doesn’t depend on them, or a fallback that shifts responsibility to players or the community. That means up-front decisions that are less shiny, less streamlined, or more expensive. The question isn’t whether it can be done—it’s whether teams, publishers, and players are ready to accept the tradeoffs.

The tradeoff menu: how to design for “not dead yet” Here are the common options studios consider if they want a game to outlive its live service:

  • Peer-to-peer or host migration

    • Pro: Matches can run without dedicated servers once the official service ends.
    • Con: Increased latency variance, host advantage, cheating risks, and tougher networking problems. It’s also harder to support big player counts or complex physics.

  • Offline fallback modes

    • Pro: Core combat and progression can remain playable, even if it’s a “museum” version with bots or limited features.
    • Con: Requires building AI stand-ins, reworking progression that depends on live databases, and disabling systems that need constant validation.

  • Community server binaries or server handoff

    • Pro: Players can run their own shards. Modders and preservationists keep the lights on.
    • Con: Legal, security, and IP concerns. Releasing server code requires heavy cleanup and documentation. Ongoing support is still a cost even if unofficial.

  • Limited-feature “forever mode”

    • Pro: A trimmed, deterministic build that locks in balance and content at sunset, designed to be stable for years.
    • Con: No live events, no storefront, no updates. It’s a snapshot, not a living game—and building it still takes time.

  • Data portability

    • Pro: Export cosmetics, characters, or purchases to a successor title or offline viewer.
    • Con: Complex licensing and tech hurdles. Not everything transfers cleanly, especially cross-title.

None of these are free wins. They trade modern expectations—low latency, tight anti-cheat, live-tuned economies—for longevity. But if we value preservation, that trade can be rational, even attractive.

Why it’s hard: the business and tech reality Live service games are engineered around central authority. That’s how you fight fraud, run events, balance economies, and sell content. When a game’s KPI trends slip and a studio reallocates staff, that central authority is also the kill switch. Re-architecting for “forever” adds:

  • Production cost: Planning offline or community-server paths means extra systems, tools, and testing from day one.
  • Complexity cost: More code paths equals more bugs, more QA, more maintenance.
  • Performance cost: Alternatives like peer-to-peer often deliver a worse second-to-second feel in exchange for survivability.
  • Legal cost: Licenses for music, brands, and middleware may not allow distribution outside the original service model.

Darrah’s point is not that studios are heartless—it’s that the spreadsheet is real. If we want different outcomes, we need to change incentives and expectations.

A better sunset plan is possible Even if a game launches with a classic server-authoritative model, studios can plan humane endings. A good sunset playbook might include:

  • Early notice with milestones: Tell players months in advance, with clear dates for store closure, final events, and shutdown.
  • A preservation build: Lock in a final client that supports a minimal offline mode or local co-op, even if progression is limited.
  • Cosmetic viewer: Let players keep a gallery of the items they earned, with a local character loadout viewer.
  • Partial server binaries: Release tools or limited binaries for community-run hubs, with disclaimers and guardrails.
  • Account migration perks: Offer carryover cosmetics or currency bonuses in a spiritual successor or franchise sequel.
  • Transparent postmortem: Explain what worked and what didn’t. That knowledge helps both the community and other developers.

What players can ask for without breaking the bank If you care about game preservation, here are reasonable, specific asks to bring to studios and publishers:

  • An offline or local-lan fallback for core gameplay
  • A final, stable “museum build” posted on the store for re-download
  • Export options for saves, capture tools, or cosmetic galleries
  • A documented mod policy for client-side tweaks after shutdown
  • A published data schema or limited server tools for community shards

These are modest targets that don’t require re-architecting an entire live ecosystem.

Anthem as a case study Anthem launched as a server-first looter-shooter with heavy reliance on central systems. Retrofitting it for a “forever mode” would have meant compromises: fewer enemies on screen, less secure progression, host advantage, and a pared-back social layer. Would that version be the same Anthem? No. Would it be better than nothing for fans who sunk hundreds of hours into flying Javelins? For many, absolutely.

We can hold two truths at once:

  • Anthem’s live vision demanded centralized control to deliver its best days.
  • A lean, preserved build—warts and all—would honor players’ time and the team’s work long after the last official server goes down.

Changing culture, not just code Preserving online games isn’t only an engineering problem. It’s a mindset shift:

  • Roadmap preservation: Treat a shutdown plan as a shipping feature, not an afterthought.
  • Licensing with longevity: Negotiate music and middleware with preservation in mind.
  • Community as caretakers: Embrace modders and archivists as allies, not adversaries.
  • Measured expectations: Communicate, early and often, that a “forever mode” won’t match the live experience beat for beat.

The movement to stop killing games doesn’t need perfection to make progress. It needs defaults. If studios start from “what remains when the service ends?” they’ll make different choices on day one.

The trade is worth it No one is pretending these choices are cheap. A host-migrated match that stutters under load, a stripped-down offline mode without events, an archived build that can’t evolve—these are real losses. But compare them to the absolute loss of an entire world, its art, its sounds, and the muscle memory of its combat disappearing in a patch note. When the alternative is oblivion, a scuffed but playable forever mode looks like respect.

Darrah’s take is a useful compass: there is no magic button that saves online games for free. There is only intent, planning, and a willingness to accept a little less gloss for a lot more time. If players keep asking, and studios keep listening, the next Anthem doesn’t have to vanish. It can endure—in a humbler form, maybe—but still alive where it matters: on our drives, in our libraries, and in our hands.