In Dead Space, I don’t run, I walk. Almost exclusively. I ease my way down the dimly-lit corridors of the USG Ishimura space vessel with care, hugging the aluminum walls like a drunk after a day in the pub. I peer round corners like a child playing hide and seek, and then move slowly, pivoting back and forth as I go, as if trying to lose my shadow. I walk, not because I’m a tough guy, but because I’m fucking terrified. One step. Pivot. Two steps. Pivot. I hear a crashing sound from somewhere in the distance. A muted explosion, the screech of metal being sheared with force, then a bang and I’m plunged into darkness. And that’s when I run.
