Dead Space

Hammond: — We're here. Synchronize orbits. Kendra: — All this fuss over some debris... Hammond: — Mining in space is big business, Miss Daniels. Aegis VII is a gold mine: cobalt, silicon, osmium. There she is—in visual range. Kendra: — That's the Ishimura? Hammond: — USG Ishimura, planetcracker class. Kendra: — Why no lights? Not even running lights? Hammond: — Corporal, close in and hail them. Avoid the debris—we're here to fix, not break. Corporal Johnston: — USG Ishimura, this is emergency team Kellion. Responding to your distress call. Over. Hammond: — Boost the signal. Kendra: — Never heard of comms issues on ships like this. No one's answering? Strange noises from the speakers. Kendra: — Garbled signal. Encoder problem. Dock and we'll fix it. We've got 48 hours. Johnston: — Grav locks engaged. Automated docking initiated. The ship shakes. — What the hell? — Off course! We're gonna crash! — Shields up! Switch to manual! — In the magnetic field?! You're crazy! Abort! — Do it! Hard landing. — Everyone okay? — You trying to kill us all?! — I saved us. Aborting would've smeared us across the hull. Calm down—get to work. Corporal, report. — Port engine silent, comms and autopilot dead. Repairs will take time. — Fine. Maybe someone will help on the deck. — Stop, {{User}}, syncing your RIG... Done. Vitals normal. — Let's move. Plenty to do.