Shuffling down the gore splattered, dimly lit corridor, trusty pulse rifle in hand, I'm anxiously waiting for the next horror to pop out of a ceiling grate, latch onto and eviscerate my face.
That's when an unknown force rips off the hull door three feet away from me and I'm suddenly plunged into the vacuum of deep space, with only my magnetic boots separating me from the deep and lifeless blackness.
Well, it's not exactly lifeless. Not if you count the undead mutants hopping like grasshoppers around the outside of the ship as life, at least.
And it's definitely not black, since the salmony pink orb of the mining colony planet far below me is looming large on the horizon beyond the constantly flowing debris and asteroid field surrounding this defunct mining station, the USG Ishimura.
As the piercing hiss of my pressurized and heavily armored RIG's oxygen system kicking in gives way to the painful gasps of Isaac's labored breathing, I'm already looking for a way out. The air supply on my back counts down from 67, and I'm faced with a choice. Go back to (possible) safety the way I came, or forge onward through the vacuum and risk getting lost, only to be forced to watch myself violently suffocate and float away into space.
Of course, I know that that hull breach was
supposed to happen, and that it wouldn't have
unless I had enough oxygen to keep going.
But Isaac doesn't know that, which is why this is a tough choice, even for me.
I am on this orbital mining station, making a desperate bid to reroute power to the Asteroid Defense System (ADS) so the Ishimura's hull doesn't get ripped to shreds, and me with it.
Isaac, and me.
This is why Dead Space absolutely succeeds. It's not the first game to try this hard to immerse me. It's just the most successful.
There are no cut scenes. There is no HUD. The only instance in which control is taken away from me is when Isaac is being slammed repeatedly into the ground in the iron grip of a giant god damned hook-toothed ringworm monster.
Isaac's "health" is represented by the blue glowing segments on the spine of his RIG suit. The ammo count appears on the display of each weapon as Isaac readies it. Maps, inventory and video logs are all accessed via a holographic screen that appears in front and to the right of Isaac's face, and as the screen zooms in slightly so I can see as well, the game remains live.
The only thing that detracts from this immersion is the fact that I'm aware of how perfect it is. And my roommate listening to music on the couch behind me.
That was the first thing I noticed as the tiny USG Kellion docked in the Ishimura's ruined hull, and my team and I disembarked to investigate the station's mysterious communications blackout. The second thing I noticed was the graphics.
The space station looks like a space station, the flamethrower looks like a flamethrower, and the three-armed projectile-firing freak baby bastards look like.. well, yeah.
Particles of dust float this way and that in the dim orange fluorescent light made to flicker by the slowly revolving fan between Isaac and the bulb. It's beautiful, but after all, isn't that what we've come to expect by now?
The third thing I noticed, after they had made their predictable ("Isaac, you go over there and check out that control console while the rest of us stay over here!"), but effective, entrance, was the creatures themselves.
It takes a few close up encounters for you to realize that these abominations did, in fact, used to be human. They are not typical zombies. They're scarier and more revolting, if a lot less subtle, than RE4's Ganados. They're nimbler, more mobile, more varied, and they have too many limbs that end in hooked spikes.
A third of the way through, I can say with confidence that I am not yet sick of systematically hacking their limbs off with my gravity saw and then torching their bodies to make sure they're dead.
After my momentary lapse into reality I decide to head onward and upward, despite my rapidly depleting air supply. After passing up the first unlocked door, based purely on instinct, I open the larger one at the end of the hall. As it shuts behind me, the Ishimura automatically injects a deliciously breathable atmosphere into the newly sealed room. The pressure is visibly released from my RIG with a satisfying hiss of something resembling steam.
Only then do I notice the two black and shining zombie freaks standing in front of me.
Dead Space does a great job of making me feel as panicky about two or three enemies as RE4 made me feel about ten. Maybe that's because they're a whole lot less predictable. A "necromorph" can be slowly strutting side-to-side, balls out, peacock style, webbed limbs in the air in a gaudy display, only to be rushing toward you a split second later like a methed-up linebacker with an insatiable hunger for intestines.
Or maybe it will simply continue its mating dance of death for a little bit longer, distracting you long enough for the one behind you to get you by the throat.
Dead Space makes me wish Metroid Prime was scarier. And had better graphics. The I-shouldn't-be-here-feeling you got when you were stepping over corpses as Samus Aran on the GFS Valhalla in number three is here in spades, except it's a lot more deliberate.
RE5 is going to have to seriously deliver if it wants to topple this gargantuan accomplishment and maintain the series' place as the top tits on the survival horror scene.
Yeah right. RE5 will sell no matter what. (Kidding- knowing Capcom it will be fantastic.)
Back on the planet-cracker Ishimura, I use my stasis beam to slow down the two necromorphs in front of me, switching the plasma cutter into horizontal mode so I can deftly remove their vertically oriented attacking arms.
As they fall to the ground in slow motion and I use the weight of my magnetic boots to messily amputate their remaining limbs, just in case they decide to get back up (which they frequently do), I remember to keep looking over my shoulder.
