I still remember the first time I descended into the ancient Aztec ruins during my archaeological fieldwork in Mexico back in 2018. The humidity clung to my skin like a second layer, and the darkness ahead seemed almost alive, swallowing the beam of my headlamp whole. There's something uniquely thrilling about exploring these ancient spaces—you're never quite sure what you'll discover around the next corner, or what secrets might emerge from the shadows. This sense of mystery and discovery reminds me of how modern video games like Hollowbody capture that same feeling of venturing into the unknown, though their digital recreations can only approximate the real thing.
When I first played Hollowbody recently, I was struck by how it mirrors the actual experience of archaeological exploration. The game's developers have managed to recreate that heart-pounding moment when you stand before a dark passageway, wondering what lies beyond. There's one particular corridor in the game that made me pause and think—just like the absurdly long stairwell in Silent Hill 2, it made me wonder about its actual length and what mysteries it might conceal. This isn't just game design; it's a digital representation of the same uncertainty we face when confronting newly discovered Aztec tunnels. The similarity between virtual and real exploration is uncanny, though obviously the stakes are quite different—in games, you might face digital monsters, while in real archaeology, we contend with structural instability and historical significance.
What fascinates me most about both real archaeological work and games like Hollowbody is how they handle the unknown. During our 2019 excavation of Templo Mayor's underground chambers, our team discovered a network of tunnels that hadn't been entered in nearly 500 years. The moment before entering felt exactly like those gaming moments—that mix of anticipation and apprehension. You're standing there with your equipment, knowing that whatever lies beyond could rewrite history books, or could simply be another empty chamber. The parallel between these real experiences and gaming moments isn't coincidental—game developers clearly draw inspiration from real archaeological discoveries, even if they take creative liberties.
The technological aspect deserves attention too. Playing Hollowbody made me reflect on how far we've come in digital reconstruction. The game, developed essentially by one person in 2024, achieves a level of atmospheric depth that would have required teams of 20-30 people just two decades ago. This mirrors advances in archaeological technology—where we once needed large teams and basic tools, we now use LIDAR scanning and 3D modeling that can be operated by smaller teams. The efficiency gains in both fields are remarkable, though I'd argue nothing replaces the physical experience of being in these ancient spaces.
There's a particular moment in Hollowbody where you encounter those threateningly deep, dark holes that you drop into without knowing what's on the other side. This perfectly captures the essence of exploring Aztec ruins. I recall descending into a newly discovered chamber beneath Teotihuacan in 2021—the rope ladder seemed to go on forever, and the darkness below was absolute. That moment of uncertainty, of committing to the descent despite not knowing what awaited below, is something both archaeologists and game players share. Though in our case, we had safety protocols and centuries of research to guide us, whereas in games, you're often leaping into pure mystery.
What Hollowbody gets right, and what many games miss, is the psychological dimension of exploration. The callbacks to classic games sometimes border on copies, but the developer understands that true exploration isn't just about finding things—it's about the mental and emotional journey. In my work, the most significant discoveries often come after hours of tedious work, moments of frustration, and then sudden breakthroughs. Games that capture this rhythm—the slow build-up, the tension, the release—come closest to replicating the archaeological experience.
The preservation of Aztec treasures presents another interesting parallel. Just as we work to conserve physical artifacts, game developers work to preserve gaming history and mechanics. When I see modern games using techniques from decades ago, it reminds me of how we study ancient building methods to understand Aztec engineering. There's value in maintaining these connections across time, whether in physical ruins or digital recreations.
After spending over 15 years studying Mesoamerican cultures and seeing how they're represented in modern media, I've come to appreciate works that balance authenticity with creative interpretation. Hollowbody isn't trying to be a perfect simulation—and honestly, neither should we in archaeology. Our reconstructions of ancient life will always be incomplete, filled with gaps that we bridge with educated guesses and imagination. The best explorations, whether digital or physical, acknowledge these limitations while pushing forward into the unknown.
What continues to draw me back to both real archaeology and virtual explorations is that fundamental human curiosity—the drive to see what's around the next corner, to solve mysteries that have waited centuries for answers. The Aztec civilization left behind countless unanswered questions, and each discovery, whether in a dig site or through a game controller, brings us slightly closer to understanding their lost world. The treasures aren't just golden artifacts or ancient codices—they're the moments of connection across time, the shared experience of wonder that transcends centuries and mediums.
