The frenzy surrounding live‑service games has been dissected countless times over the past decade, and the consensus is clear: the industry’s obsession with turning every title into a constantly updated, revenue‑generating platform was a strategic blunder. The notion that any game could be reshaped into a live‑service offering—often described as a form of corporate madness—has siphoned off billions of dollars, countless development hours, and, perhaps most damagingly, a great deal of consumer goodwill and intellectual‑property value. Major publishers and console manufacturers alike spent years mining their back‑catalogues, convinced that somewhere among the existing franchises lay the next "Fortnite‑level" cash cow.
The risk profile of such an undertaking was glaringly unfavorable; the odds of a live‑service hit were slim to none. Yet executives rationalised the gamble by assuming that a single blockbuster would offset a slew of failures.
This optimism proved unfounded for several intertwined reasons. First, the industry vastly over‑estimated the success rate of live‑service titles, thereby understating the true risk.
Second, analysts misread the market’s carrying capacity, believing it could sustain multiple large‑scale live services at once when, in reality, consumer attention and spending are finite. Third, and perhaps most crucially, there was a profound underappreciation of how difficult it is to run a live‑service game successfully. The margin between a profitable, well‑received service and one that alienates its player base is razor‑thin, and many studios fell on the wrong side of that line. The fallout has been widespread.
Companies across the board have been left with scars—some still grappling with financial crises triggered by over‑investment in these costly, high‑risk ventures. The most visible consequences are layoffs, project cancellations, and studio closures, often affecting employees who had little say in the strategic decisions that led to these outcomes. While many firms felt the sting of the live‑service craze, Sony stands out as the most emblematic example.
Its dramatic pivot toward live services encapsulates many of the industry’s missteps. The company announced an ambitious goal to launch a dozen live‑service titles by March of a recent year, only to retreat amid a series of disastrous launches and cancelled projects. This reversal has been both public and humiliating, highlighting the perils of chasing a trend without a solid foundation.
A recent report by journalist Jason Schreier sheds light on one particular project—Guerrilla Games' "Horizon Hunters Gathering"—that illustrates the broader issue. Originally conceived as a live‑service experience, the game performed poorly in internal testing and is now being re‑engineered into a conventional multiplayer title stripped of its live‑service components. This scenario is not unique; similar pivots have occurred with titles like "Dragon Age: The Veilguard," which shifted from a live‑service model to a single‑player experience late in development.
What makes Guerrilla's situation especially striking is that, according to Schreier, the studio has devoted its entire post‑DLC effort on "Hunters Gathering" after completing work on "Horizon: Forbidden West." In effect, there is currently no major sequel to the Horizon franchise in active development. Whether or not "Hunters Gathering" ever sees release, the opportunity cost for Sony is staggering.
Guerrilla Games, one of PlayStation's most celebrated first‑party studios, is effectively sidelining a flagship exclusive for the PS5 generation. The original Horizon sequel launched at the tail end of the PS4 era, spanning both PS4 and PS5 hardware; its follow‑up may now be delayed until well into the lifespan of the forthcoming PS6. This delay represents a catastrophic misstep. Horizon was a cornerstone of Sony's success on the PS4, contributing to a steady stream of must‑play exclusives that cemented PlayStation's reputation for both pioneering new IPs and revitalising older ones.
Yet studios renowned for delivering massive single‑player experiences were pressured from above to retool their beloved IPs into live‑service formats. The predictable failure of those experiments now means that, for at least half a decade, these studios have little to show for their efforts. Guerrilla is not the sole victim.
Observers have noted conspicuous gaps in Sony's release calendar that can likely be traced back to the live‑service push. Naughty Dog, for instance, has not delivered a new original title since 2020; its PS5 releases have been limited to remasters while a planned "Last of Us" live‑service game was cancelled.
Other studios such as Sucker Punch (known for "Ghost of Yotei") and Santa Monica Studio (the home of "God of War") appear to have escaped the worst of the curse, though insiders hint that their survival may involve untold compromises. The timing of this pipeline disruption is particularly damaging. The perception that the PS5 lacks compelling, next‑gen exclusives has become a meme, even if the console still offers a respectable library. The absence of key franchises and studios from the lineup shapes consumer sentiment at a critical moment: Sony is preparing to market what could become its most expensive console to date.
If potential buyers associate the platform with a dearth of high‑quality exclusives, sales could suffer. Sony is now in a reactive mode, attempting to revert to the development philosophy that powered the PS4 era while salvaging what remains of the costly live‑service experiment and the multi‑billion‑dollar Bungie acquisition intended to fuel it. However, modern game development is a long‑term endeavour; establishing a pipeline for premium releases often requires five years of advance planning. No amount of cash can instantly conjure a robust slate of games if development never began.
Financial statements can gloss over strategic blunders with figures like "ten million here, a hundred million there," but opportunity costs are not so easily quantified. When a studio spends years on a misdirected side project and consequently misses an entire console generation, the loss does not appear as a line‑item on an accountant's spreadsheet. Instead, it manifests as diminished brand equity, weakened consumer trust, and a lingering gap in the company's portfolio that may take years to repair. In the annals of industry missteps, Sony's ill‑judged pivot to live services could prove to be the most costly of all—not because of the immediate monetary outlay, but because of the long‑term erosion of its first‑party strength and the missed chance to deliver the kind of groundbreaking, single‑player experiences that have defined PlayStation for decades.
The full impact of this strategic error will likely be felt long after the abandoned live‑service titles fade from memory, shaping the competitive landscape of console gaming for years to come.