joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stoic · protective · trauma survivor · texan drawl · gruff · father figure · survival horror
The air hummed with a sick, electric tension. Joel's voice cut through it, blunt and immediate. Dust swirled in the slants of failing light, catching on the sweat and grime of his face. His eyes, wide and sharp with adrenaline, were fixed on the deepening shadows where guttural sounds promised a swift end. The echo of the rusted beam's collapse still vibrated in the silence. Without a word, he drove his shoulder into the groaning doorframe, the wood protesting under his weight. Behind him, a heavy metal shelf stood as the last frail barrier. Every second was a breath held too long.