Lois He

Coming from a film background, I was fascinated by how interactivity could extend cinematic emotion into lived experience. The turning point came when I realized that players could feel philosophy—not just watch it. Over time, that passion evolved from crafting linear stories to designing systems of perception and agency, where emotion emerges through the player’s own actions.

Our team’s mission is to redefine storytelling in the age of algorithmic creativity. Between Empty currently exists as a PC demo, but we plan to expand it into other mediums, including VR and large-scale immersive formats. We see technology not as a tool, but as a living collaborator—capable of translating invisible emotions like light, memory, and reflection into spatial experiences. Each of our projects experiments with this idea, from mirror-based conceptual worlds to large-scale projection performances.

Between Empty grew from an anxiety shared by many creators today—the fear of losing selfhood through constant exposure and reflection. The mirror beings became a metaphor for that condition. The game asks: if your emotions depend on what others project onto you, who are you in darkness?

Its Self–World Interface System allows players to remove or attach mirror shards from their bodies, changing which parts of the world become visible. This mechanic turns perception itself into gameplay—visibility, emotion, and identity all depend on how much of yourself you choose to reflect or conceal.

Translating abstract emotion into tangible mechanics was a major challenge. We built countless shader and lighting prototypes to make “reflection” feel alive—where a slight shift of light alters both the space and the protagonist’s sanity. The key was merging visual design and emotion through real-time systems rather than cutscenes.

We’ve faced many challenges—especially with the rendering budget, since we aim to make reflected light behave and feel real. The system is still being optimized, but we chose not to simplify or fake the effect because the immersive experience depends on its authenticity. For us, technical limitations are part of the design process, not something to compromise the emotion for.

I see a shift toward embodied storytelling—where emotion is conveyed not through dialogue, but through sensory participation: light, proximity, gaze, and collective behavior. Especially in immersive and VR contexts, players are becoming part of the space rather than simply using a keyboard and mouse.

Absolutely. HYZ Studio’s projects often merge AI-driven emotional systems with real-time VR and projection environments. I see AI, AR, and VR as new artistic languages—each reshaping how we experience stories. Yet the emotional core of storytelling remains unchanged. We actively explore new mediums, but we never let technology define the boundary of creativity. For us, these tools are not separate categories, but interconnected forms of expression.

I hope players leave with an uneasy intimacy—aware of how much of their identity is constructed through others’ perception. It’s not fear in the traditional horror sense, but an existential unease that softens into tenderness once they realize they can reclaim their inner light.

That to truly see yourself, you sometimes have to step into darkness. Reflection can be comforting, but real self-understanding begins when the mirror breaks.

A multiplayer mixed-reality experience where each participant’s perception literally builds a shared emotional landscape—part VR, part architectural projection, part social experiment. It would merge storytelling, light, and collective decision-making into one living artwork.

Our studio is currently developing along two parallel paths. On one side, we collaborate with museums and brands to create immersive installations and experiential marketing projects. On the other, we continue building our own original works. We’re developing In the Skin Of…, a VR installation exploring sensory detachment and empathy; and Where the Island Was, a live performance where memories distort through audience movement. Both projects continue our inquiry into perception, power, and the fragility of connection.

The democratization of tools and AI has shifted value from skill to vision. We adapted by focusing on conceptual depth—designing experiences that can’t be mass-produced because they rely on lived emotion, not just visuals.

Treat every element—light, sound, physics—as part of a character’s psychology. The environment should respond to the player, not just host them.

I would love to collaborate with the team behind What Remains of Edith Finch. Their understanding of narrative design is truly unique—each moment feels deeply personal and cinematic. I admire how they transform emotion into playable form, and I would love to learn from their approach to storytelling through space and experience.

Don’t chase polish—chase honesty. Technology changes quickly, but sincerity in how you translate emotion into interaction will always stand out. Start small. I’m still learning to follow this myself—it’s something I remind myself of constantly while creating.