Pete Hines sounds the alarm on subscriptions and developer support
Blunt words from a veteran hit differently. Pete Hines, who spent 24 years at Bethesda before retiring in 2023, says the industry is making the same mistake over and over: building services first and figuring out how creators get paid later. In an interview with DBLTAP, he argued that without proper backing for the people who make the games, subscription platforms are, in his words, “worth jack s***.”
Hines is careful to note he’s no longer inside Microsoft’s ecosystem, but he says the pattern he warned about years ago is becoming visible now. His core point is simple: subscription businesses live or die on fresh, high-quality content, and if the economics don’t work for studios, the pipeline dries up. He calls subscriptions the new “four-letter word,” the thing you get pushed toward when buying outright becomes harder.
Zoom out for a moment. Xbox Game Pass, PlayStation Plus, and Ubisoft+ have trained a huge audience to expect instant libraries spanning hundreds of titles. Game Pass, in particular, popularized day-one launches for some big releases, a move that won goodwill with players and helped Microsoft build momentum. Microsoft last shared a figure in the mid-30 millions for Game Pass membership in 2024, a sign the model has real pull. But growth and sustainability aren’t the same thing.
Hines’s worry isn’t ideological; it’s economic. When a service promises “all-you-can-play,” the math behind developer payments becomes the whole story. Deals vary—some studios get upfront guarantees, others get engagement-based bonuses, and some get a mix. That patchwork can work for a while, especially for indies who gain visibility they wouldn’t get otherwise. But if the average payout per player hour keeps shrinking while development costs keep rising, studios face a cliff.
We’ve heard conflicting signals from developers. A number of indie publishers have said Game Pass brought a sales halo—discovery on the service led to spikes on other storefronts and platforms. At the same time, several studio heads behind bigger-budget projects have opted out of day-one deals, arguing that a $60–$70 premium launch is still the safest path to recoup. Larian Studios kept Baldur’s Gate 3 off Game Pass at launch and has been open about why: the game didn’t need the trade-off. Remedy took a similar route with Alan Wake 2, prioritizing up-front sales over day-one subscription placement.
Platform holders counter that subscriptions drive engagement and, in turn, spending. Microsoft has said Game Pass players try more genres and buy more DLC. Sony has layered in classic catalogs and time-limited trials to make PlayStation Plus feel like more than a vault. Both companies have also raised prices and reshaped tiers—Microsoft introduced a Standard tier without day-one releases, and Sony hiked Plus pricing in 2023—moves that signal a search for a steadier margin without abandoning the model.
But none of that answers Hines’s main worry: does the money flowing from subscriptions actually fund the next generation of games? The last two years have been brutal. Thousands of layoffs, canceled projects, and shuttered teams across publishers big and small have rattled confidence. Microsoft closed Tango Gameworks (the studio behind Hi-Fi Rush) and Arkane Austin in 2024—both under the Bethesda umbrella that Hines once helped steer. It’s impossible to pin those closures on one cause, but the timing amplifies his critique about short-term thinking.
There’s also the discoverability grind. Big services promise reach, but if your game sinks to page three of a scrolling shelf, exposure can be limited without editorial placement or marketing support. The platform gets recurring revenue either way; the studio doesn’t. That power imbalance is what industry veterans keep circling: when a small group controls the marketplace, the terms need to be crystal clear and meaningfully fair.
Think about how other media subscriptions evolved. In music streaming, per-stream payouts shrank as catalogs ballooned. In TV, the binge era forced massive spending to keep subscriber graphs pointing up, then came the retrenchment—price hikes, canceled shows, and fewer risky bets. Games are costlier and slower to make than either. If the industry repeats those cycles without safeguards, the damage could be deeper and longer-lasting.
So what would “proper support for developers” actually look like? People inside publishing describe a handful of levers that matter far more than slogans:
- Baseline guarantees that cover a real slice of development costs, indexed to budget size rather than a flat, mystery number.
- Transparent metrics and reporting—clear dashboards for hours played, conversion to DLC, churn impact—so studios can plan roadmaps with real data.
- Bonus structures that reward meaningful completion and player satisfaction, not just raw hours, to discourage grind-first design.
- Marketing commitments on the service itself—front-page placement, push notifications, and creator programs—for specific windows, not “we’ll see.”
- Flexible windowing: let games launch premium-first when it makes sense, then enter the catalog later with a defined uplift, rather than an all-or-nothing day-one bet.
- Discovery guardrails so smaller titles aren’t buried by endless rows; think rotating spotlights, genre hubs, and human curation with measurable outcomes.
Studios also want stability—multi-year roadmaps instead of quarter-by-quarter pivots. In 2024, Microsoft adjusted Game Pass tiers and raised prices. Sony tweaked PlayStation Plus benefits and pricing, too. Those shifts might improve the bottom line, but every change can whiplash partners unless contracts insulate developers from sudden policy turns.
One uncomfortable truth sits underneath all of this: premium games keep getting more expensive, and the hit rate isn’t improving. If a service pays out roughly the same pool while player time spreads across hundreds of titles, the per-game slice gets thinner. That’s why Hines’s phrasing resonated. If the people who make the content can’t build healthy businesses inside the model, the model is brittle, no matter how slick the app looks.
To be fair, subscriptions also solve real problems. They lower the barrier to trying new games, smooth out seasonal lulls, and keep older titles alive. They can be fantastic for live-service games that thrive on large, steady audiences. And for families, the value is obvious. The question isn’t whether subscriptions should exist; it’s whether they can coexist with a thriving premium market and sustainable developer economics.
Expect a recalibration rather than a retreat. Fewer day-one third-party blockbusters. More timed windows. Bigger emphasis on expansions and updates that extend a game’s life once it hits the service. And, behind closed doors, tougher negotiations as studios push for guarantees that actually cover risk.
Hines’s parting shot lands because it’s less about one company and more about incentives. If services want dependable pipelines, they have to treat funding as an investment, not a cost center. If developers want steady revenue, they need visibility into how their work performs on these platforms. When both sides share the upside—and the data—the industry has a shot at making gaming subscription services more than a race to the bottom.
For players, the next year will be telling. Higher prices test loyalty. Fewer day-one drops test excitement. The services that keep trust will be the ones that prove they’re growing studio health, not just libraries.
