From “One Last Thing” to the next industry meme: MeinMMO editor-in-chief Leya Jankowski analyzes how the Highguard case reveals the dangerous tension between idealistic game development and the ruthless algorithmic logic of 2026.
It took less than 60 seconds to drive the final nail into Highguard.
It sounded like a fairy tale. A team of veterans escapes the corporate world to passionately pursue the indie path without AI. In the end, they wanted to bring us a game made with heart and the best interest for gamers.
Then came the Game Awards in 2025. 60 seconds, and the trap snapped shut.
When the show was actually over, Geoff Keighly, the organizer of the Game Awards, announced the “One Last Thing”. This is traditionally a last announcement that was previously reserved for giants like Zelda, GTA, or entirely new milestones.
In 2026, however, the production cycles of AAA games are so long, averaging 5-8 years, that often there simply aren’t enough mega-announcements to make every show a spectacle.
Keighly now tried to stage an “indie powerhouse” team with the ex-Titanfall devs like AAA. However, this backfired. The slot was interpreted as a promise of quality. When only a colorful hero shooter came out, it was a perfect disaster.
Cynical tongues might claim: The prestige of an announcement slot is more important today than the actual content of the game.
60 seconds, and the internet trembled.
What followed was mockery and scorn even before the game was released. It became a meme to label Highguard as the next Concord that spectacularly failed. Keighly was made the devil who damned Highguard with his well-meaning final slot.
It’s easy to hate a tangible face and create a common enemy. But it’s not that simple. The case of Highguard is a lesson in the perfect storm of naive idealism and an algorithmic rage economy.
Let’s dive deeper.
The Benevolent View: A Heartbeat Against the Algorithm
To understand the case of Highguard, one must read Josh Sobel’s letter on X. This letter is not a polished PR statement. Josh reflects on the release of his first game and publicly licks his deep wounds. From this perspective, the story of the Wildlight studio is a tragedy about the loss of humanity in a digitized industry.
Viewed from the outside, Wildlight operated according to an almost chivalric code of honor. In an era when the industry is flooded with generative AI and soulless corporate decisions, this team relied on what the community (theoretically) always demands: Real craftsmanship.
However, theory does not hold up against the reality of 2026. The fact that a studio like Larian (Baldur’s Gate 3) is receiving backlash for AI experiments shows the sensitivity of fans; however, Highguard was about something else. Here, not the process was criticized, but the legitimacy of existence. It was about outrage as an end in itself – fueled by a mechanism I know all too well.
As editor-in-chief of an ad-supported website, studying algorithms is part of my daily bread. I know that our modern digital infrastructure not only allows hatred but actively rewards it. Today, anger can often be a more efficient way to make money than enthusiasm.
However, blindly using this algorithm is a dangerously risky game with humanity. How much this fire can burn a team is described by Josh Sobel with painful precision:
From the first minute we were made the laughingstock, mainly due to false assumptions about a million-dollar advertising placement […]. Within minutes it was clear: This game was doomed to fail from the start, and creators now had a month of free content for their anger campaigns.
In today’s gaming culture, the line between product criticism and a desire for destruction seems blurred. Since all of this happened before the release, gameplay was not evaluated, but the identity of the project was defiled.
Highguard never had a real chance to prove itself. It was sacrificed as fuel for content machines. This is the ugly face of modern cyberbullying – and a deadly signal to all creative minds: Those who show themselves will be destroyed.
The Critical View: When Passion Becomes Strategic Blindness
Since I deal with this spiral of hatred almost daily by combing the internet for topics, I empathize deeply with Josh and his team. Very much. But at this point, I need to move away from the emotional level and address the strategic miscalculation.
Passion is the engine of game development, but it is no shield against market mechanisms. In the case of Highguard, mistakes were made that one would not expect from a team of this size and the experience of the studio’s veterans.
I do not know Josh personally. However, he writes in his letter: “Everyone I knew who had any connection to the team or project was of the same opinion: ‘This has the potential to be a mainstream hit.'”
This is the classic echo chamber. When you only talk to people who want to love the project, you lose sight of the harsh reality out there and the question: Does the world even want this game?
I played Highguard myself and found that the basis for a good game was there. But there was a fatal discrepancy. The colorful hero shooter was touted as an innovation while the market already exhibited massive saturation in this area.
Our editor Benedict really enjoys Highguard – he also likes extremely complicated games. His conclusion perfectly summarizes the issue: You’re all playing Highguard wrong, but you can’t even help it.
So no, unfortunately, “mainstream hit” was not written on the cover of Highguard. The appearance suggested a casual, colorful hero shooter, while the mechanics were so stuffed and complicated that casual gamers bounced off immediately.
Accepting the “One Last Thing” slot at the Game Awards without really presenting a revolutionary vision was simply naive. This is the biggest stage in the industry, and whoever claims the last spotlight here invites comparison with giants.
The team was not prepared for the fall height.
The comparison with Concord was not accidental. The audience in 2026 is extremely allergic to anything that looks like “more of the same” in the multiplayer space. Highguard could not convey a unique identity strong enough to overshadow the hate and endure it easily.
The realistic view: The relentless logic of the market in 2026
Let’s put emotions aside completely, ignore technical errors, and look at the sober logic of the market.
The most precious commodity for people is time. A new multiplayer shooter competes not only with new releases but also with service games that just keep going. Giants like Fortnite, Valorant, or Apex Legends are already established. It takes more than just a good foundation to lure players away from their familiar environment and leave their hard-earned battle pass progress behind.
But that’s not all. We now have a gigantic entertainment offering, where all providers want our time and all platforms are perfecting their algorithms to keep us with them. Netflix, YouTube, Audible, Instagram. Take your pick.
The narrative determines everything. Josh Sobel is absolutely right on one point: Once a brand is branded online as a “flop”, it is almost impossible to save commercially. The ripping apart of the game became a game in itself. Participating in a collective “shitstorm” has become a social event, creating new echo chambers again.
Whoever releases a game in 2026 must unfortunately reckon with becoming a victim of a mob of anger and thus have an appropriate shield and a lot of resilience ready. After his own shitstorm, Larian CEO Swen Vincke even issued a warning and stepped aside from Highguard. If developers lose their love for players due to such phenomena, it can become even more bitter.
The maintenance of service games is expensive. Leading a self-financed service indie game into profitability is a high-risk gamble. Infrastructures for servers, anti-cheat measures, global marketing, ongoing community management eat away margins that single-player indie titles do not have to deal with. Even if you are not playing in the upper league of live-service games, you need deep financial breath here.
A Warning for All of Us
The case of Highguard is the warning of a market that monetizes cynicism. That toxic algorithms spread anger today often faster than enthusiasm is structural poison. But anyone who ignores this dynamic in 2026 acts not idealistically but negligently.
The true tragedy lies in the impending alienation: If developers withdraw more and more into echo chambers out of fear of hate campaigns, games will be created that miss the market. This gap between makers and players is the breeding ground for the next shitstorm – a vicious circle that stifles innovation.
Would another path have saved Highguard? Perhaps a public playtest – an organic growth with the community instead of the risky “big bang” at the Game Awards. Whether the money would have sufficed for that and whether it would have been the key to success remains open.
If you have recently wondered why our hobby gaming sometimes feels dull today, you might find some answers in this text.
