The rictus smile of a man who has explicitly requested a transfer to a frozen and lost planet, riddled with alien bugmunchers, for the simple reason that the woman he loves no longer returns that love. Imagine his horror when she calls him via videolink to demand he returns the toaster they bought together. Force a grin, bearded warrior, force a grin. Also, is he clutching a coffee in his massive spacemitts? Here’s hoping Lost Planet 3 will have a thermos nursing minigame that emphasises the importance of hot beverages when hiking through a world of winter. A host of images lurk below.
I’ll split these into three types. Beard-man storydrama images demonstrate that this prequel to the previous games will be a game of narrative and character. The second set, showing the beasties and monsters, shall provide zoological evidence that all critters have orange bits and pieces that cause them to explode when shot. Finally, images of landscapes shall demonstrate that it’s a particularly cold prequel.
Beard-man, ho! See how he carves a path through space, grim and determined.
But wait! The next shot displays the sheepish expression of a man who has just seen an unwanted incoming call.
And there it is. That grin. That awkwardness. That cup of Horlicks.
Consolation from Mr Blonde but the beard has already fallen into shadow and decline.
Annoyed and bewildered, the beard contemplates facilities, mechs and the dwindling light that filters through cracks in the delicate structures that are the only means of supporting life, all symbolic and twinkling like some kind of metaphor.
And then he gets chased by googly eyed monsters and harassed by a
facehugger facekisser. And yet, through it all, his face is frozen part way between that forced smile and part way to the clenched expression of an agonised and lonely death. Why could she no longer love him? Perhaps the game will provide the answer.
Here are some monsters, tagged with glowing weak spots for your convenience.
And here is the British summertime.