There really is no limit to the generosity of slaughtered foe sometimes, and the necromorphs in Dead Space are among the most rewarding upon their sticky demise.
Box after box of ammunition, health packs and jolly useful doodads erupt from their slain corpses, thumbing their noses at physiological realism.
Still, in the 24th century perhaps evolution is kicking back with a drink and a few laughs.
In the third chapter of the most fright-inducing gaming series I know, tortured hero Isaac is emotionally blackmailed to pop off to the home of the Markers, which have a lovely habit of rendering life into necromorphs: twisted killing beasts of varying monstrosity.
The big improvements are in weapons, which allow you to create your own gadget of death, and the ability to romp through the game co-operatively with a chum, but for the most part not a whole lot is different.
The environments change before you get bored, the set pieces are spectacular and the tense atmosphere created by anticipation of a necromorph attack will test the sturdiest of bladder control.
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