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The final server blades hummed, then fell silent. On January 1st, 2025, Electronic Arts officially shut down the servers for Anthem, the ambitious but ultimately troubled online action RPG developed by BioWare. The move, long anticipated after years of dwindling player counts and canceled reboots, has left a lingering sense of disappointment and, for some, a profound sense of loss.
While Anthem never achieved the critical or commercial success EA hoped for, it garnered a dedicated following. These players, known as “Freelancers,” found enjoyment in the game’s stunning visuals, unique flying mechanics, and the sense of camaraderie forged in online co-op missions. For them, the server shutdown marks not just the end of a game, but the end of a community.
The story unfolded like this: years of development hype led to a rocky launch. Initial sales were strong, but critical reviews pointed to a lack of end-game content and persistent technical problems. BioWare attempted to address these issues with patches and updates, but player numbers continued to decline. EA eventually announced a complete overhaul of the game, dubbed “Anthem 2.0” or “Anthem Next.” However, that project, too, was ultimately canceled, leaving the original game in a state of suspended animation. Silent process, with years of slow neglect, and then, the sudden manifestation of a final shutdown. Public awareness was immediate, flooding gaming forums with expressions of sadness and anger.
“It’s more than just a game to me,” said Sarah Miller, a longtime Anthem player who connected with the community during a difficult period in her life. “I made some really good friends playing Anthem. We helped each other through some tough times. Now, it feels like that whole world, that connection, is just gone.”
The shutdown has also raised questions about the nature of digital ownership. Players who purchased Anthem now have a game they can no longer play. While EA offered refunds to some players after the cancellation of Anthem Next, many feel that this does not adequately compensate for the time and emotional investment they made in the game. The issue is that everything is hosted remotely; you’re essentially renting the service. It’s a harsh lesson in the impermanence of digital content, especially in the realm of always-online games.
Here are some of the recurring sentiments being expressed by players:
- Disappointment in BioWare/EA for failing to deliver on Anthem‘s initial potential.
- Sadness over the loss of the game world and community.
- Frustration with the implications for digital ownership.
- Anger over the lack of communication and transparency from EA regarding the game’s future.
The closure also has broader implications for the gaming industry. As more and more games rely on online connectivity, the question of long-term preservation becomes increasingly important. What happens when the servers for these games are eventually shut down? Will they be lost forever, or will there be ways to preserve them for future generations? It’s a question gaming historians and archivists are grappling with. I blinked twice; the feeling was surreal. This was really happening.
“The lack of offline mode is appalling. They could have at least given us that,” exclaimed a user on X.com, highlighting the anger directed at EA. Another commented on Facebook, “RIP Anthem. You had potential, but EA killed you.” An Instagram post showed a screenshot of the Anthem title screen, captioned simply, “Goodbye, old friend.”
The situation sparks a debate about the responsibility of game developers and publishers to maintain or preserve their games, even after they are no longer profitable. Some argue that it is simply a business decision, while others believe that it is an ethical obligation. The truth likely lies somewhere in between.
As one user poignantly put it in a forum post, “It’s not just about losing a game. It’s about losing a piece of yourself.” Anthem may be gone, but the memories and connections forged within its virtual world will likely linger for those who called it home. It stands as a cautionary tale about the promises and pitfalls of live-service gaming and the importance of community. The leagacy is complicated.
Adding fuel to the fire, eagle-eyed players noticed a typographical error remain in the closing credits , a memento mori, if you will , “Thank you for playing, Freelancers!” misspelled as “Freelacers”. It’s a poignant, if unintentionally humorous, sendoff to a game that never fully took flight. Or to flighgt from reality.
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