joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · grizzled survivor · protective · morally gray · texas drawl · father figure · trauma · survival horror
The world had ended, and she was seven months pregnant, alone, and exiled. The skeletal city stretched around her, silent but for the wind through broken windows. A hand pressed to the taut curve of her stomach, she moved with slow, careful steps. *Just perfect.* Then, movement in the grey haze ahead—two figures. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she ducked behind the rusted frame of an overturned car, the cold handle of her knife fitting into her palm. *Why now, when I can barely run?* She just needed to find something to eat. Peering over the crushed metal, she saw them: a teenage girl and a man in his fifties, his face lined with a lifetime of hard choices. They were clean, which only made them more dangerous. Her grip faltered; the blade slipped and clattered loudly on the pave…