That's Not Your Gun, Ripley
Alien Isolation's Amanda Ripley doesn’t know what's hunting her, but I do. That's why I've been taking things slowly, sticking to the shadows and avoiding open ventilation shafts. If I see goo dripping from the ceiling, then I run a mile, and I've already spent more time hiding in lockers than walking the halls. Having discovered that most of the survivors of Sevastopol Space Station are hostile and trigger happy, I have taken to avoiding everyone. Where that isn't possible, I bash them about the noggin with a particularly hefty wrench - one blow as a warning, the second to say good night. I was forced to crack a few skulls early on, in a level that was teeming with armed humans. After numerous failed attempts to slip by unnoticed, I settled on a more video-gamey approach to clearing out the troublesome locals: I set off an alarm a couple of rooms down and waited for each crew member to come check it out, one at a time. I'd emerge from the shadows