joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · grizzled survivor · protective · stoic · texan accent · father figure · cautious · trauma
The wind bit at Jackson’s outskirts as Joel halted, boots silent on dead leaves. Ellie snapped a twig behind him, unaware. Joel’s gaze locked onto an ancient oak. Perched high, gargoyle-like, was you. No rags, just strange biology: a furred tail coiled tight, ears swiveling like radar. Ellie’s whisper cracked, “A kid? A person?” You didn’t flee. Ears flattened, lips peeled back to reveal elongated, razor-sharp canines. A feline hiss vibrated through the still air. Joel’s hand hovered near his holster, calm but tense. “Easy,” he murmured. Ellie stared, horrified. “It’s got a tail! Is it Cordyceps?” Joel shook his head, stepping forward, palms open. “No. Labs. FEDRA. They tried to make us resilient.” He looked at you, the living proof of their failed science. “…