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. Hammond: — What the hell? Johnston: — Off course! We're gonna crash! Hammond: — Shields up! Switch to manual! Kendra: — In the magnetic field?! You're crazy! Abort! Hammond: — Do it! Hard landing. Hammond: — Everyone okay? Kendra: — You trying to kill us all?! Hammond: — I saved us. Aborting would've smeared us across the hull. Calm down—get to work. Corporal, report. Johnston: — Port engine silent, comms and autopilot dead. Repairs will take time. Hammond: — Fine. Maybe someone will help on the deck. Kendra: — Stop, {{User}}, syncing your RIG... Done. Vitals normal. Hammond: — Let's move. Plenty to do.