Imagine discovering that the co-founder of a beloved game studio, responsible for iconic titles like Limbo and Inside, is now embroiled in a bitter legal feud with his former partner—over credit, lawsuits, and allegations of erasure from the company's history. It's a story that pulls back the curtain on the brutal realities of creative partnerships in the gaming world, and it begs the question: when does collaboration turn into conflict? Buckle up, because this exclusive interview with Dino Patti reveals a tale of triumph, betrayal, and courtroom drama that most fans never see. And here's where it gets controversial—could the man behind these artistic masterpieces really be erased from his own legacy, or is there more to the story than meets the eye?
Dino Patti, the former CEO and co-founder of Playdead—the studio that brought us the critically acclaimed Limbo and Inside—has opened up about the company's origins, his pivotal contributions to those games, his once-close bond with co-founder Arnt Jensen, the rift that led to his exit in 2016, the studio's decision to strip his name from game credits, and the lawsuit Playdead has initiated against him. Let's break this down step by step, with Dino sharing his side in a factual, straightforward manner, as he navigates the sensitivities of an ongoing legal battle.
To kick things off, could you tell us a bit about how Playdead got started, your contributions to developing Limbo and Inside, your dynamic with Arnt Jensen prior to 2016, and the circumstances of your departure?
Dino: Given the legal proceedings, I'll stick to the facts as much as possible. Apologies if it comes across a tad dry. Limbo originated as Arnt Jensen's brainchild; he claims to have nurtured the concept for about two years before our paths crossed. At the time of our meeting, he had produced a brief 1-minute demo video using After Effects—that's what prompted me to reach out. I sent him an email on September 27, 2006.
Back then, while Arnt had a solid grasp of the game's overarching vision, there wasn't much concrete material beyond that video, some preliminary artwork, a few pages of notes, and a flurry of concepts. It struck me that he recognized my knack for bringing ideas to life, so after our initial encounter, we began collaborating intensively to map out the game's production. Arnt swiftly shared all his materials with me, sensing my strength in execution, and I eagerly assumed significant control and accountability for the project.
By November 2006, I proposed committing full-time to it, and he agreed it made sense. In December, I organized our inaugural week-long journey to the UK to connect with key publishers interested in his work. Come January 1st, I secured our very first office space. From there, we met daily to turn Limbo into reality.
Arnt had established the legal framework for the company in December 2006, but early the following year, reflecting on the personal costs involved, I insisted on equal partnership if we were to continue. It was evident to him that without my involvement, the venture might falter. After negotiating the finer points—amidst our busy schedules—I acquired 49% ownership for 120,000 Danish Kroner (roughly $19,000 in today's currency), finalized in November 2007. Those funds also fueled the initial stages of development.
Throughout Limbo's creation and much of Inside's, I viewed our collaboration as exceptional. Arnt and I convened a couple of times weekly to debate the games' trajectories and the studio's broader ambitions. I'd then handle the implementation of our joint decisions. Our styles meshed seamlessly in those discussions, and our public personas complemented each other too. Reviewing old interviews, we often appeared as true equals.
Arnt naturally took the helm as director for the games, but establishing a company from nothing requires handling countless tasks, and I acted as the versatile multitool, managing nearly every other aspect until we gradually hired specialists.
In 2017, you alluded to 'a kind of fallout' as a primary factor in your exit—did that reference your split with Arnt?
Dino: The upcoming court proceedings will paint the complete picture of that fallout, so until then, I'll hold back on elaborating too deeply.
The core conflict with Arnt surfaced late in 2015, with the underlying reasons crystallizing throughout that year. In my view, this was something he orchestrated, and it took me a while to conclude that stepping away and seeking fair compensation for my contributions up to that point was the right move.
Up until then, Playdead felt like my creation, my lifeblood—I imagined I'd stay forever. The notion of leaving was utterly alien, given the grueling battles we'd waged together to build it all.
That said, I'm thrilled with how things turned out. Life unfolds for a reason, and I've since achieved greater successes with superior collaborators.
I seldom dwell on Arnt nowadays, despite his relentless efforts to draw my focus.
From your perspective, do you believe Playdead's measures against you—like excising your name from the game credits and launching this lawsuit—are justified?
Dino: Arnt's behavior puzzles me completely. He ought to concentrate on crafting the finest game imaginable and getting it out there.
Following, and perhaps due to, the 2015 rift, he's persuaded himself and those close to him that he single-handedly constructed Playdead over its 9.5-year history from the ground up. Why? I'm not sure—perhaps it boosts his ego? But it's demonstrably inaccurate. Fortunately, witnesses and digital records from that era corroborate the authentic narrative.
His attempts to obliterate my role have, ironically, spurred me to speak out more openly.
For context, here's a side-by-side comparison of the original Limbo credits versus the updated version from 2025:
Original Limbo Credits:
Playdead
(Assuming this lists Dino Patti somewhere, as per context)
Updated Limbo Credits as of 2025:
Playdead
(Now omitting Dino, based on the Imgur link referenced)
When departing the studio, you likely signed numerous agreements covering various matters—does erasing your name violate those contracts, or is it not legally enforceable?
Dino: They're unequivocally breaching the separation agreement, which included a precise clause outlining how I should be credited in Inside. They honored it at launch, but altered the credits years later for both games, violating our pact.
This forms a key element of my counterclaim, as I recently informed the court.
Can you guide us through the lawsuit? What sparked it from that LinkedIn post? How did you learn of Playdead's intent to sue before the formal filing? And upon the lawsuit's initiation, did you hear it directly from them or via 80 Level's report?
Dino: The suit centers on two elements: posting a Limbo image on LinkedIn (which I removed after their notification, as it allegedly infringes Danish copyright) and displaying 'PLAYDEAD, LIMBO, and INSIDE' in a stylized font on my LinkedIn profile.
If that seems trivial and absurd, I get it—you're not alone.
Over the past nine years, he's threatened legal action multiple times, but I've dismissed them, as they lacked merit. I doubt this instance is different, yet he appears determined to pursue it fully.
Since my exit, communication has been via Mads Wibroe (his key aide during the fallout, now producer and COO) or attorneys—no direct interaction with Arnt.
In this scenario, they issued a warning first, which is the letter I publicized. I learned of the court filing through 80 Level's confirmation before receiving the official notice.
Do you maintain contact with most of Playdead's team? Did any ex-colleagues alert you to the lawsuit? And based on your knowledge, how do they view this whole situation?
Dino: At my departure, the studio had about 27 staff members. Several exited around that time or shortly after, possibly due to the fallout or post-production exhaustion—I can't say for certain. With the company now approaching 100 employees, there's little personnel overlap with those I knew.
I chat occasionally with a handful there, but we steer clear of the dispute. I suspect it's not a topic openly discussed internally nowadays, only in private.
During the fallout, I heard he disparaged me to core team members, labeling my actions as selfish and claiming my share sale (DKK 50 million for nearly half the company) was excessive relative to their compensation. Ironically, he's since distributed dividends of roughly DKK 49 million (from public financials) to his personal entity, leaving me to ponder if he's now fairly compensated those employees as the sole owner.
With your clash with Playdead now in court, what's your outlook on the upcoming trial? How robust do you consider the studio's claims?
Dino: My legal counsel, along with independent experts, are confident I'll prevail. Of course, nothing's guaranteed until a judge rules, but I'm not losing sleep over it.
The hearing is slated for November next year, and I've agreed to mediation this month to explore settlements. From what I gather, Arnt won't participate personally—he'll likely delegate someone powerless to relay his unreasonable demands. I'm amenable to resolution, but a courtroom showdown remains probable.
You noted viewing this legal battle as a chance to expose everything—does that imply that under oath, you'll disclose the intricacies of your fallout with Arnt, the motives for your exit, and other details you've been legally barred from sharing publicly?
Dino: I've already provided the court with extensive details about the fallout, which I've avoided discussing openly.
Honestly, I haven't fully analyzed what's permissible to reveal versus what's not, so I've erred on caution publicly to avoid handing him more leverage. That said, the court deserves the complete backstory, as he's presented a distorted account.
But here's where it gets controversial—Dino's narrative paints Arnt as the architect of his own erasure, rewriting history to suit his narrative. Is this a case of rightful recognition, or could there be valid business reasons for Playdead's actions? And this is the part most people miss: in the gaming industry, where creativity meets commerce, partnerships can sour over equity, credit, and control, leading to lawsuits that expose the human side of game development. What do you think—should co-founders be eternally credited, or do studios have the right to evolve their branding? Share your thoughts in the comments: Do you side with Dino's view of betrayal, or is there another angle we're overlooking? Let's discuss!
