Two months after the firing of artist Drew Harrison from Sucker Punch Productions, the conversation around her dismissal has only intensified. What initially appeared to be the fallout from a poorly judged joke about political commentator Charlie Kirk’s assassination has since evolved into a much broader, more consequential narrative—one that exposes the fragility of corporate decision-making, the unchecked power of online outrage, and the chronic inability of the gaming industry to protect its most vulnerable creators from coordinated harassment campaigns.
The events surrounding Harrison’s firing offer a rare, unfiltered look into how digital mobs shape corporate responses, how tech companies react under pressure, and how the underlying culture of gaming continues to enable toxicity rather than confront it. What happened to Harrison is not an isolated incident but a case study in systemic dysfunction that remains deeply unresolved across the tech and entertainment landscape.
In exclusive comments, Harrison argues that the narrative of a “bad joke” is not only incomplete but fundamentally misleading. Her version paints a far more alarming picture—one in which a harassment campaign, already building for over a year, finally found the moment it needed to break past corporate indifference and force a swift, punitive decision.
The firing may have ended her employment, but the ripples expose troubling truths about the industry as a whole.
The Night a Joke Became a Weapon
On September 10, mere hours after Charlie Kirk’s assassination was confirmed, Harrison posted what she describes as a dark-humor reference involving Mario and Luigi. The joke was tasteless—she admits this—but far from the celebratory tone her critics claimed. It referenced a previous incident in gaming circles and was meant as a moment of morbid comedy, not political commentary.
Yet within minutes, influential far-right accounts circulated screenshots of the post, rallying their followers to do what online mobs do best: identify, attack, and overwhelm.
Harrison’s phone began ringing nonstop. Anonymous numbers spammed her with threats. Social media replies devolved from insults to explicit wishes for her death. What she initially assumed would fade—because such storms often do—only escalated.
But this time, there was a difference.
This was not simply harassment. It was a moment of political tension, amplified by Kirk’s assassination and weaponized by influencers with massive reach.
A Harassment Campaign Already a Year in Motion
The online rage did not erupt from nowhere. Ghost of Yotei, the upcoming sequel to Ghost of Tsushima, had already become a toxic battleground since its announcement a year earlier.
Influencers who rallied their audiences against “woke games,” DEI initiatives, or diverse casting had long targeted the title. Some complained that protagonist Erika Ishii, a queer actor, did not fit their expectations of beauty. Others declared that Sucker Punch had become “too diverse.” Many fabricated narratives about DEI hiring, forced inclusivity, or systemic ideological infiltration—despite their claims being demonstrably false.
According to Harrison and an anonymous coworker, the harassment was not only predictable but ongoing. Rumors, memes, and misleading screenshots—such as the widely shared image comparing two separate employee photos to push a false narrative about gender-based hiring—fueled the outrage engine month after month.
Yet despite this, Sucker Punch and parent company Sony Interactive Entertainment maintained silence, publicly and internally.
The result was simple: toxic voices grew louder. Their followers grew bolder. Their confidence grew unchecked.
Harrison just happened to be the one in the blast radius when tensions peaked.
Corporate Silence and the Illusion of Protection
The morning after the harassment began, Harrison attempted to continue her routine. She baked banana muffins, as she often did, and left a message in the office chat acknowledging the situation. By then, coworkers were reaching out. Some had also been targeted. Others feared for her safety.
Company phone lines were reportedly spammed with anonymous calls, to the point where staff were instructed to unplug their phones. Office security increased. HR asked Harrison whether she had received death threats—she had—and offered assurances that they were “there to protect her.”
But the protections she was promised proved to be illusions.
By midday, Sucker Punch leadership circulated a message referencing Sony’s social media policy. The framing was telling: not concern for her safety but worry over delays, distractions, and publicity fallout. Hours later, a Sony HR representative she had never met called her into a meeting. Within ten minutes, she was terminated.
No investigation. No request to delete the post. No opportunity to apologize. No acknowledgement of the year-long harassment campaign or the threats she and coworkers were experiencing.
Just removal.
Influencers Celebrate a Firing They Engineered
Once news of her firing became public, streamer Asmongold and former game executive Mark Kern took victory laps. Both had pushed their audiences to compile lists of developers who mocked Kirk’s death.
“Fire them all,” Kern posted.
Asmongold was equally blunt on stream:
“They got fired… too bad, huh? What a shame. When they get a new job, I might contact that employer too—just for fun.”
This was no longer criticism. It was targeted, unapologetic retaliation.
And yet, the corporate response came not against those inciting harassment, but against the victim caught in the middle.
The Industry’s Unspoken Problem: Vulnerable Employees, Powerful Mobs
Harrison’s story exposes a core issue in tech and gaming: companies often prioritize risk avoidance and consumer appeasement over employee protection.
Studios, according to psychologist Rachel Kowert, fear confronting the “dark side” of their own communities because they perceive these groups as part of their core audience. Toxic players, despite being a vocal minority, wield disproportionate influence due to their capacity for outrage, their volume, and their ease of mobilization.
For employees—especially women, LGBTQ staff, and those on visas—the stakes are far higher. A single targeted campaign can jeopardize careers, mental health, immigration status, or personal safety.
Yet corporations tend to prioritize optics over accountability, providing little structural support when harassment strikes.
The Shift From Forum Trolls to Monetized Harassment Machines
Industry veterans often describe toxicity as an inevitable byproduct of gaming culture, rooted in early internet behavior. But today’s harassment ecosystem is fundamentally different.
The modern agitator is not a lone troll on a forum. It is a content creator with millions of followers, monetized outrage, and algorithms that reward inflammatory content. Dog whistles, coded language, and “just joking” rhetoric shield them from consequences while emboldening their communities to attack.
Harassment now scales globally, instantly, and relentlessly.
Ignoring this change—industry-wide—is no longer an option.
A Game’s Success Undermines the Harassers’ Narrative
Despite the controversy, Ghost of Yotei launched to critical acclaim and strong sales. It became one of the top-selling games of 2025 and earned multiple Game Awards nominations.
Harrison, however, received no severance and no ship bonus—industry-standard compensation for developers who work on a major title. The joy of the game’s success, she says, was “sucked out of her life.”
As harassment continued, detractors spread fabricated rumors that the game included a lesbian ending. Others dismissed sales data as rigged or manipulated. Reactionary voices flooded Erika Ishii’s nomination announcement with insults, calling her a DEI hire or worse.
The hate did not stop because the game succeeded. It merely changed targets.
A System Failing Its Creators
Two months later, Harrison describes her life as isolated and deeply depressing. The emotional toll has left her uncertain whether the gaming industry is a place she can continue working in.
But she is clear on one point:
“I was fired because of a harassment campaign. Not because of a bad joke.”
Her warning is simple and urgent: unless the industry acknowledges and confronts its systemic failures, this will happen again.
Not to her, but to the next developer. And the next. And the next.
Online mobs have proven their power. Corporations have shown their fragility. And in the middle stand the people who build the games the world loves—unprotected, unsupported, and increasingly unwilling to remain silent.
The question now is whether the tech and gaming world is ready to change, or whether this will simply be another story lost to the endless churn of outrage and corporate caution.