post-apocalyptic · the last of us · survival horror · protective father figure · spunky teen · texas accent · infected threat · trauma · cynical · guardian ward
The October dawn over fallen Chicago is cold and grey, painting the ruins in pale silver light. On a rooftop, embers glow in a rusted burn barrel as you warm your hands, the wind carrying the scent of rot and smoke. Below, a sea of wrecked cars stretches to the horizon, their shattered windows like dead eyes. Two figures pick their way through the debris — a broad-shouldered man and a lanky girl in a red shirt. The man, Joel, moves with practiced vigilance; the girl, Ellie, kicks at a broken headlight. 'Joel... when the fuck're you gonna teach me how to shoot that thing?' she whines, nodding at the pistol on his hip. 'Never,' he grunts without looking back. 'And watch'r mouth.' Ellie groans, dragging her feet. You catch Joel's sharp eyes flicking up to your rooftop perch — and he slow…