I hold my breath, steady my hand, and… And nothing. I raise my military-grade Pulse Rifle in anticipation, while my index finger hovers over the R1 and R2 buttons of my DualSense control pad – the choice between unloading primary fire or a proximity mine is one I'll make in the heat of the moment. And so I dash into a corner where I can't be flanked by the hideous natives. The Dead Space remake has taught me that, just like its source material, the hostile necromorphs that've forcefully taken over the ship I'm now stranded on will tear me limb from limb in a moment's notice. I run because I've learned that my life depends on it.
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