From Tin Can To Tank: A Dead Space Story

After my demo yesterday, it became clear to me that Dead Space was not the horrifying experience it once was. My first interaction with the game was a demo called "Dismemberment." The demo begins with Isaac standing in a narrow corridor. He is alone; his pounding heart the only sound. Isaac soon receives a message about combat: shooting "necromorphs" in the head is as useful as a water balloon in a gunfight. "Strategic dismemberment" is the name of the game with these underfed humanoid zombie-type alien creatures. Isaac eventually makes his way to a door that asks, "Open?" He steps through into an open chamber looking into the quiet indifference of space. At this point, I am confident that I can take down whatever the game throws at me. This quickly changes. Before I can even look at my map, three necromorphs charge with lunatic speed. Unfamiliar with the controls, my fingers stumble to find the proper "raise gun" and "shoot" combination. With no target reticle I struggle to line up the three laser sights of my plasma cutter onto zombie flesh. My first shots go wide, ammo is wasted with each panicky pull of my trigger finger. The necromorphs make first blood, swarming around me, slashing mercilessly. I attempt a mêlée attack to get some breathing room: futile. I'm doomed. Health drains from the iridescent notches on my spine like azure ocean water during a fading tide. I die; torn to pieces for the beasts to share.

I play the demo a few more times, each with better results. When I finally beat it, I'm given a wonderful surprise. As I leave the room a scripted event initiates. A huge, tentacled zombie with fangs snatches me and lifts me into its maw headfirst and legs kicking. A gory rainbow of blood and guts splatters on the screen.

It wasn't until I joined this experiment group that I took another trip to the USG Ishimura. Honestly, I was too scared to go back. Dead Space is frightening; for many reasons. Yet, the more I played and the further I progressed through the storyline, the less scared I became. When you first arrive on the vessel, the vastness and the detail of the surroundings are overwhelming. Moreover, you begin the game without a weapon. It is easy to feel like you don't belong in this place. Vulnerability was essential to the purity of my horror. The "plasma cutter" is the first gun you start with and while it may be a powerful weapon when fully upgraded it feels like a peashooter. Each necromorph takes at least three shots to its weak points before it goes down but can take as many as six if your aim is lacking. Couple this with a limited ammo supply and you've got a steady source of tension. Unfamiliarity with the look and feel of the Ishimura also creates a terrifying atmosphere. Even when necromorphs are absent, the cold silent beauty of the ship's rust-hued steel is haunting. It's a lonely place; the halls that once echoed with the dull reverberations of the crew's babel is now devoid of noise except for the hum of machinery and your footsteps. Meetings new enemy types also makes the initial phase of the game unnerving. "Lurkers," "slashers" and "leapers" are just a few of the necromorph variations that you encounter throughout the game. Each requires a slightly different way of targeting their limbs and each has its own attack patterns. They keep you on your toes.

Yet the novelty of these elements and their terrifying effect is transient. The sense of vulnerability that dominated the game's exposition and early rising action is lost. One major component of this loss is the ability to upgrade your items and rig and collect money and ammunition. By the seventh I had a fully upgraded plasma cutter that could kill a necromorph in only two shots, the maximum capacity for health and air and a half-upgraded "contact beam." In addition to this, I had purchased a higher level suit that had increased damage resistance and more item slots. With a vast store of "credits," the in game currency, I never felt like I would run out of health packs or plasma rounds. This effectively made me "invulnerable." While suffering blows from slashes and projectiles still influenced me by making me play defensively at times, the experience wasn't nearly as scary as it once was. Matt discussed earlier in one of his posts that being able to die adds a tangible level of fear to gameplay. I support this claim fully. Being a tank takes the sting off the bite of a zombie. By the time I had reached the end of the game, my damage resistance was so high that it took a zombie that was feasting from my neck over a minute to drain my health to zero. Dying in this instance becomes something more along the lines of funny or pathetic: "You died when you had the 'tank suit' and 'steam punk force gun'?!!!"

Another aspect of the "death of the scary" is that gameplay and exploration can get a bit repetitive. Objectives in the game are always centered on fixing something or getting access to new areas or sending distress calls for help. Even while the game offers exquisite visuals and fair amount of diversity to the settings within the craft, it requires you to do a lot of backtracking. Seeing the same place with slightly different enemies is not enough to spice up the scare factor. Similarly, while there is diversity among the enemy models, there is never really any substantial doubt as how to kill them. Shoot the limbs, or shoot the bright yellow areas (that practically scream "point gun here, dummy!"). Even the boss fights, while visually impressive due to their large scales, don't offer much in terms of originality. If you see a tentacle, it probably is going to hit you or grab you. If you see a propane canister, use telekinesis to chuck it towards the yowling baddy.

This is not to say that Dead Space isn't a blast. It's fun, the controls are tight, the visuals are unbelievable, the sound is rich and diversified and the story lingers with you. Dead Space is a great game, it just stops being the horror fest that it starts off as.