California lawmakers delivered a sharp rebuke to video game publishers this week. The state Assembly passed AB 1921, known as the Protect Our Games Act, by a 43-16 vote on May 27. The measure forces companies to give players 60 days’ notice before shutting down servers and then either patch games for offline play or issue full refunds.
From Petition to Policy
The bill marks the first concrete American success for the Stop Killing Games campaign. That effort exploded in 2024 after Ubisoft pulled the plug on The Crew, rendering every copy unplayable despite years of sales. YouTuber Ross Scott launched the initiative to challenge what he saw as deliberate destruction of purchased products. Since then it has gathered over a million signatures for a European Citizens’ Initiative and advised lawmakers across borders.
Assemblyman Chris Ward introduced the legislation in February 2026. Stop Killing Games openly confirmed it advised on the drafting. “Back shortly before Christmas, when I flew to the US to help set up SKG-US, I didn’t expect us to get this far this quickly,” Moritz Katzner of the group wrote on Reddit after an earlier committee win, per Ars Technica. “It has been an honor to take part in drafting this bill on behalf of the SKG community: gamers, developers, and publishers alike.”
The final text applies only to games first offered for sale or rereleased in California on or after January 1, 2027. Publishers must notify buyers through in-game messages and a public website about the shutdown date, lost features, security risks, and available remedies. On the day servers go dark they must supply a version or update that works independently of their infrastructure. Or they refund the full original purchase price. They cannot keep selling copies that become unusable. Subscription titles, purely free games, and those already offering permanent offline downloads are exempt. Inven Global reported these details alongside the Assembly passage.
But the path here was anything but smooth. The bill cleared three committees despite sustained pushback. The Entertainment Software Association fought it at every turn. In statements to legislators the trade group argued that consumers buy licenses, not perpetual ownership. “Consumers receive a license to access and use a game, not an unrestricted ownership interest in the underlying work,” the ESA wrote, according to Ars Technica. It called server shutdowns “a natural feature of modern software” and warned that forced patches could clash with time-limited music licenses or third-party intellectual property deals. Maintaining old code indefinitely might burden studios, the group said, potentially slowing new releases.
Stop Killing Games fired back. In a formal submission the campaign told California lawmakers there is no other medium where a product can be sold and then stripped away without notice. Live-service titles now dominate. Clear end-of-life rules simply protect what buyers paid for. The group has repeatedly stressed the bill does not demand eternal online servers. A minimal playable state or money back suffices.
Recent coverage shows the fight intensified in May. An 11-2 vote in the Appropriations Committee on May 14 moved the bill forward even after amendments narrowed its reach. Rock Paper Shotgun noted the fiscal review committee’s role and the ongoing ESA resistance. Techdirt highlighted the moment as Stop Killing Games’ first real foothold in U.S. lawmaking, published just yesterday. On X, reactions poured in within hours of the Assembly vote. One widely shared post from International Cyber Digest tallied thousands of likes while summarizing the 60-day notice, offline patch, or refund requirements.
Supporters outside the campaign point to broader cultural stakes. The Video Game History Foundation and similar organizations argue that games deserve treatment as heritage, much like films or books. When publishers brick titles they erase pieces of shared history. Preservationists have documented cases where server closures wiped out entire multiplayer experiences, mods, and speedrun communities built over years.
Critics inside the industry counter with practical limits. Many games ship with licensed engines, soundtracks, or player data systems that cannot legally persist. Rebuilding them for offline use could cost more than the original development in extreme cases. And security concerns loom. Opening old server code invites cheating tools, hacks, or worse once official oversight vanishes.
So the bill threads a needle. It accepts that not every game can or should run forever online. Yet it insists buyers deserve transparency and a remedy when the product stops functioning as advertised. “Ordinary use” becomes the legal benchmark, drawn from marketing claims and consumer expectations at purchase.
The measure now heads to the California State Senate. Observers expect another round of intense lobbying. Even if it clears both chambers, Governor Gavin Newsom must sign it. California’s size and its history of setting de facto national standards for consumer protection give the outcome outsized weight. Major studios such as Electronic Arts and Activision Blizzard maintain headquarters in the state. Their compliance could ripple outward.
Meanwhile the international campaign continues. Stop Killing Games maintains pressure in the UK and European Parliament. It has shifted from pure protest to concrete policy proposals. The California vote supplies fresh momentum. A single state law will not rewrite global practices overnight. But it establishes a precedent that purchased digital goods carry certain baseline expectations.
Publishers have long framed games as services. Regulators and activists increasingly treat them as products with ownership rights attached. The tension sits at the heart of the debate. AB 1921 does not resolve every question about licensing, preservation, or innovation costs. It does force a conversation that studios avoided for years.
Players who lost access to The Crew or other shuttered titles see validation. Developers worried about endless maintenance see risk. Lawmakers land somewhere in the middle, writing rules that demand notice and options without mandating immortality. The real test will come after 2027, when the first covered titles reach end of life and the bill’s language faces real-world interpretation.
For now the Stop Killing Games movement has crossed the Atlantic and cleared a legislative chamber. That alone counts as progress its founders once doubted. The Senate vote looms. Industry voices and consumer advocates will keep arguing their cases. And the games themselves, for better or worse, will keep arriving with online requirements baked in.
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