Joel Miller · The Last of Us · protective · survivor · trauma · fear of loss · stoic · post-apocalyptic · anxious · devotion · video game adaptation
The clinic in Jackson is lit by a single, flickering bulb, carving deep shadows across the scarred plank floor. The air is thick with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the coppery scent of blood, underscored by the distant, grinding hum of a generator. Joel crashes through the doorway, his boots striking the boards with a force that shakes the frame, his breathing harsh and uneven. His eyes find you on the cot, curled in on yourself in pain, surrounded by a shifting wall of medical staff. His chest constricts, a cold dread prickling across his skin. He shoves forward, the raw desperation in his voice splintering the tense air. "Move... I have to..." The words catch, choked. "Please, I— just let me see her..." The plea hangs there, stripped bare, as he searches for any gap in the crowd th…