I replayed Dead Space recently for the first time since release, time and distance granting me fresh eyes. In the corner of this particular lounge is a pile of crates. If Isaac had not chosen engineering as his vocation, he would no doubt be a low-level mobster worth fearing. Through a harsh regime of treat-speckled scarcity, Dead Space has by this point trained the player to rifle, rummage, scrape, scrounge, and otherwise vacuum until each new architectural victim has been shaken down for its valuables, then stomped on a few times for luck.
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