All Fun and Games Until it Becomes an Engine

If we – for a moment – let the definition of the digital twin flow through our minds: sensors picking up data and pushing them upstream, digital models of buildings and parks bobbing gently, autonomous AI agents seeking solutions within the virtual waters — these are some of the images that may float by.

Even the first fragments we conjure should make us realize that a well-defined digital twin must be supported by multiple technologies: code and communication layers to handle sensor data, an application framework for the user interface — whether on a PC or mobile device — and for sharing the twin itself, as well as a set of libraries and models for the artificial intelligence components. These are just a few examples that fulfill those requirements.

I’d hate to make this point even more overwhelming, but each of these technological categories also comes with a variety of alternatives. For example, the digital representation could be based on a GIS (Geographic Information System) such as Esri’s Reality suite, on a BIM (Building Information Model), or on a dedicated visual engine. Each of these scenarios holds enough substance for a deep dive — but that will come later.

For now, I’ll reserve the deep dive for gaming engines, my weapon of choice.

Gaming engines may lack a few specialized features found in other options (which can always be integrated later), but they offer several key advantages that push this technology to the top of my stack for digital twins.

First, gaming engines bridge a vital gap between passive content consumption — an increasingly and worryingly large claim on our time — and much-needed creative output. I see them as a transformative force for a generation living under the weight of overwhelming content.

Second, they possess an incredible expressive power that allows this creative transformation to spill far beyond gaming, reaching into architecture, engineering, artistic expression, immersive experiences, and of course, the digital twin.

Finally, they give us the ability to tap into the unknown, with unpredictability emerging from complex virtual objects — AI agents, realistic fluids, vehicles, and more — interacting in ways we can’t fully script. Harnessing this unpredictability toward a purposeful goal is a skill the next generation of engineers and scientists will need to master.

I have been enjoying these facets of gaming engines for years and and I hope I can make the case strongly enough for some of you to join the ranks as fellow enthusiasts.

Allow me to kick this off with the transformative inertia that gaming engines possess. This power manifested itself — to great effect — in the 1980s, faded for a while, and now looks set to make a much stronger comeback with modern game engines.

I was right on the heels of the first generation of videogame players. While movies set in the 80s often fixate on the arcade scene — where wizards dropped coins and spent hours blasting pixelated aliens — another trend was quietly taking shape. I believe it became the training ground for some of the best software architects of the 2000s.

A breed of gamers in the 1980s used devices that were a cross between a gaming console and a personal computer: the Commodore 64, Sinclair Spectrum, and Amiga are all fondly remembered examples.

These hybrid machines weren’t plug-and-play like the Atari or NES (Nintendo Entertainment System), which took a direct, closed path to gaming. They looked and felt more like PCs — full keyboards, expansion ports, and peripherals. They had excellent games for their time, but what truly set them apart was how easily you could slip from player to creator. Load a game one minute, type out lines of code the next.

My personal journey started with the Sinclair Spectrum — a colorful computer that looked like a keyboard on steroids. It hooked up to a television and relied on cassette tapes to load games and software. I was young at the time, but the Sinclair still taught me two important lessons.

The first was patience for technology and devices. Sinclair games took several minutes of coaxing from the tape deck, accompanied by a whirring sound that seemed to echo my own frustration. Sometimes, the game would simply refuse to load just as the end was in sight. Over time, I stopped feeling entitled to instant gratification from devices and learned to enjoy them on their own terms.

The second lesson was the expectation — and the habit — of interacting through a keyboard. A physical keyboard is a far cry from a joystick: the latter is precise but inherently limited, an input that narrows our ability to express. The keyboard, always facing the user, invites the opposite — a desire to say more, to explore beyond the boundaries of what the machine can currently handle. Even when the device fell short, that constant presence created a lingering urge to see the interaction grow along with me. I’ll hold back my inner geek, which is dying to talk about keyboard shortcuts, and continue.

Next in line was a combination of IBM’s XT at home — military-grade metal hardware paired with the green-on-black text from early hacker movies — and the Apple II in my junior high computer lab. How is it that I can so clearly remember a simple maze game I built when I was twelve? Ugly, pixelated traps that failed if my equally ugly character ran too fast. Maybe it’s because it was my first piece of interactive code — warts and all — it was entirely mine.

I continued my journey by embracing the PC and tried to create my next game by doubling my workforce of one. My “programmer” friend and I must have known something was wrong when our first character turned out utterly boring — a point that would be driven home after meeting the Amiga gang.

The Amiga — now a relic of the past — was years ahead of the PC in graphics and sound through the 80s and into the early 90s. Its users showed it off not with spec sheets, but with jaw-dropping demos that blended music, mathematics, and artistry. To make matters worse for us PC loyalists, they’d crack our games in their spare time — and in the process, many of them went on to become programmers sought after around the world.

It was a hopeless fight, but I still tried.

If this sounds like today’s console wars — PlayStation owners ribbing Xbox owners about exclusives — I’d say no. My “frenemies” didn’t just flash specs in my face; they created. They pushed their machines to the limit. They weren’t waving team colors from the stands — they were on the field, playing the game.

I’ll gladly return to this theme — the vast difference between creative ownership and belonging through consumption — whenever I get the chance. This isn’t beating a dead horse; it’s trying to wake a sleeping one.

But let’s get back to our flow — to see where exactly we started to drift, how we lost ground, and why the road back may be one for the ages.

For a while, things looked up. The PC was gaining ground in an arms race for 3D hardware — one of the key players being a fledgling NVIDIA, now a global giant in AI infrastructure. The first wave of the 3D revolution wasn’t far removed from my Apple II creations: character and environmental models — though rendered in 3D — looked as if they’d been built by a modern sculptor locked in a room with nothing but cardboard and crayons. But progress came quickly.

Through these primitive-looking virtual worlds, math, geometry, and complex calculations made their way into mainstream gaming. The gamer who once only had to keep cartridges clean or budget for the next arcade visit was now learning terms like polygon counts, texturing, and anti-aliasing. Not only were these terms part of the conversation, a range of digital tools invited creators to the table.

Yet just as these developments were ready to carry us toward uncharted islands on powerful ocean currents, the smartphone revolution came at us like a giant tsunami, sweeping us off to who knows where.

Let there be no misunderstanding: smartphones are remarkable devices — even for my beloved digital twin. They connect us to our surroundings through greater awareness, contextually generated content, and a variety of sensors that push us beyond the basic five senses.

But in making content consumption so effortless and comfortable, while offering such a narrow set of tools for expressive creation, they embody a deep dissonance — one that is quietly pushing essential parts of the human experience toward extinction.

Of course, there are many ways to turn the tide — the digital twin among them, if it’s embraced and developed with essential humanistic traits.

Around 2005, the gaming engine — a foundational technology for the digital twin — began to rapidly mature with platforms like Unity and Unreal. They invited us into a kitchen stocked with irresistible ingredients: 3D graphics, physics calculations, animation capabilities, and sweet, sweet code to tie it all together.

Gaming engines not only enabled smaller studios to publish incredible games without the massive investment of building an in-house engine, they also opened the door for indie developers to create truly unique experiences.

If a junior developer had pitched the idea of a platformer where the characters were nothing more than simple geometric shapes with personalities, they’d have been laughed out of the room. Yet a single developer using the Unity engine built exactly that in Thomas Was Alone, which went on to sell over a million copies. I think we all know who’s laughing now, on the way to the bank.

There are so many fun examples to draw from. Papers, Please — a game about checking passports at a border — was developed by a single person, Lucas Pope, and sold over five million copies. Meanwhile, an online shooter with a $300 million budget sold just twenty-five thousand copies — all refunded. This kind of unpredictable success may have inspired both Unity and Unreal to remain essentially free to use until a game reaches a significant sales threshold.

Let’s pause for a moment and think about it. All this power at your fingertips — the ability to create interactive experiences, run cutting-edge simulations, and design virtual worlds — and it’s a free download. Combine that with thousands of videos, tutorials, and references to guide you from your first steps to mastery, and you have to wonder: aren’t we in a far better position than the Amiga gang ever was? We can not only manifest amazing creations, but also push them to a global audience at a scale they could only dream of.

Why would I complain of dissonance in a seemingly smooth experience like the smartphone, yet claim the opposite for the game engine — a toolbox bursting at the seams? Because it’s about the balance of expressive, creative power at our disposal — to be explored in more detail soon — and how that balance forms the foundation for transforming from consumer to creator.

I hope this introduction entices you to dip your toes into this world. Or at the very least, I hope it becomes part of your arsenal when guiding a young adult toward finding their voice in our technology-infused future.

And just how do you dip your toes into this ocean, swirling with exciting streams? Stay tuned — there’s much more on the way.