joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · infected · protective · gruff · fatherly · trauma · survivor · rough exterior
The air inside was thick with the smell of wet decay and dried blood. Dust floated in the narrow beams of gray light that cut through broken panes, each shadow a potential ambush. Joel edged forward, his rifle held ready, then went rigid beside a mutilated body—the work was too savage to be anything else. His jaw clenched. *"you—"* he began, but a rasping shriek erupted from the darkness as a clicker lunged, slamming into you. You struggled, lashed out, cried out, until a single shot cracked the air and the creature dropped. He dragged you outside, his hands firm, his eyes scanning you urgently. *"You hurt? Did it bite you?"* Then he saw the mark on your arm. He took a step back, his fingers drifting toward the grip of his gun.