Play areas are modestly open, enough for exploration and backtracking at least, and every little corner has some kind of purpose. You might be a lot better, but I’d be surprised if you found it a breeze. I can’t aim for piss and have the reaction time of a gorilla on its deathbed, so I played with aim assist on, and I still found the game pretty challenging. Zombies’ heads burst pleasantly, like wet Maltesers crushed in a stapler, and with the possible exception of the assault rifle with its rattly lightness, every weapon feels appropriately kicky and weighty. Sometimes, a quick rummage in the bins is all that’s going to save you from a knife fight with a load of dogs, and that’s the way life should be. The scarcity of items and ammunition is perfectly calibrated to leave you counting bullets for most of the game, and it makes looting (which I usually find well boring) both rewarding and necessary. Crafting items isn’t just busywork, here, but a vital way of freeing up limited item slots by combining things, and you’re forever thinking about what to cache where, in order to free up space. It’s simple, easy to manage, and extremely satisfying in its limitations. I’ll start with something dull, but crucial: the inventory system. To see this content please enable targeting cookies. So I knew what boxes RE3 needed to tick - and it left great bloody claw marks through all of them. Before my nerves tattered and I evolved into a Strategy Dad, you see, I used to love a bit of survival horror. Which, to be fair, means it did exactly what I wanted it to do. After six hours of it, I was thoroughly jangled, and just wanted a break from things trying to messily dismantle me. Honestly, I’m glad Resident Evil 3 is a short game, because it was really, really, stressful to play.
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