Even if actively carved off your limbs as you played, some might argue it is the best option in. Don’t worry about that though, because I’ve finished the single player campaign without losing an arm or a leg, and I’m notoriously puny. With nothing to fear but the absence of fear itself, I reacquainted myself with Isaac Clarke and took a winter vacation. If I were to compare Dead Space’s claustrophobic catacomb-ship to the Nostromo and the more gun-happy Isaac of the second game to a pissed off space marine, I’d be making two hugely imperfect analogies.

What a way to start. There is a kernel of truth in the identification of Dead Space 1 with Alien and its sequel with Cameron’s xeno-war but while Isaac’s silence in the first game and the greater sense of isolation were more conducive to terror, and Dead Space 2 certainly ramped up the action and bombastic set pieces. There was a moment early in the third game, as somebody guffed about the Makers and their mythology, that I thought, ‘oh, blimey crikey – they’ve jumped straight to Prometheus’. It was a moment of cold realisation. Colder than the snowball of a planet that has inexplicably dominated pre-release footage. It was also almost entirely unwarranted. While the narrative does stumble through an awkwardly inserted love triangle that introduces the wrong sort of tension, Visceral have an ace up their sleeve in the storytelling department and it’s one that reminded me of Portal 2.

Fix

There are no comedy potatoes and Stephen Merchant doesn’t make an appearance as a gangly necromorph, but just as the journey through Aperture’s history was a sort of narrative archaeology, Dead Space 3’s lengthy final act involves the metaphorical and literal excavation of older stories, both personal and cosmic. The landscapes bring The Mountains of Madness to mind, even if the horror is short-lived rather than eternal. This is not a horror game. There are countless memories of horror but Isaac is a changed man, more hardened than in his second adventure and resigned to fighting the threats that plague him. He’s also coping much better with the hallucinations, even if he does look like he hasn’t slept for twenty years or so. With the prologue out of the way, we drop in on him in his scuzzy apartment. Isaac is a scruffy, washed-up urchin living in a lunar colony.

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This is not a horror game. It’s pulp science fiction that happens to take place in a world packed with flimsy-limbed monstrosities. Dead Space has captured the industrial, blue-collar rust of space well since the first desolate dismember-fest. The design of the Ishimura is powerful not only because it is a labyrinth mausoleum but because it is also, at least in part, a credible craft. Advertisements and advisory posters add detail to the world that technical prowess cannot paint alone, particularly when those details remind that there are other worlds drifting out there in space. Now that Isaac is an engine of war rather than an engineer, Visceral wisely rely on the lives and deaths of the previous inhabitants of Tau Volantis to remind players of the minutiae of human existence at the harshest of future-frontiers.

The best of those stories are in the game’s second half, and while some of them are told in the time-honoured form of voice and text logs, others are in easily overlooked tableaus. The environment is not only impressively rendered, but thick with detail and memorable imagery. I’ll spend some time whining about the changes to combat and the annoyances of the crafting system and its ATMentality in a couple of paragraphs, but it would be as grotesquely unfair as some of the surprise balloon-animal vent ejaculations that the series so loves not to acknowledge the sense of awe that the best moments inspire in the sci-fi nerd region of my brain. One sequence has Isaac jetting between the ruined ships in an ancient flotilla seeking parts for salvage.

I wish it had lasted longer. I wish it was the basis for an entire beautiful, quiet game, but even in the rare moments when it turns the volume up to eleven and dials user control down to ‘PUSH THIS BUTTON’, Dead Space 3 is, more often than not, spectacular. When the blockbusting muscles that power the game flex to their full vein-wriggled extent, they create some of the most impressive visions of the calamitous comeliness that fills the fictional spaces between stars as I’ve ever seen on a screen. When Isaac isn’t repairing ships and exploring colonies and the cosmos, he’s indulging in his two favourite pastimes: stomping and shooting. Dead Space 2 brought new necromorphs to the flesh-feast to great effect, but the third game is less generous, recycling many in slightly new forms and adding less entertaining human targets instead.

Space

Ideally, fighting people, with their guns and their gung-ho, would require a change in tactics, from strategic dismemberment to headshots and hunkering in cover, but they fall apart under boot and bullet just like everything else. Dismemberment is less important throughout the game, in fact.

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