The downfall of civilization redefines moral boundaries. No longer do labels like thief and murderer mark you as a criminal; everyone must steal, must kill, must do whatever it takes to survive. Humans roam in packs like feral dogs, claiming their territory and killing anyone who encroaches on their turf. Paper-thin alliances link individuals together for mere flashes, their connections severed once their mutual needs are met. Life is bleak, brutal, and exhausting. Tomorrow doesn't exist when the stench of death lingers like a fog and hope was extinguished years ago. There is only today; there is only right now. Morals? Morals won't put food in your mouth or a roof over your head. Morals are for the weak. And you're not weak.
One night the heart of society beat loud and strong; the next it was silent. The outbreak happened so quickly that there was no quarantine plan in effect. Infected monsters crashed through their neighbors' windows, smashed the doors to splinters. Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, dead before they could react, or worse. Maybe they became one of the infected. The virus spread through major cities and suburbs, and the military, with all of its training and weapons, was powerless to stop the epidemic. Joel is just one man amid a sea of people whose lives have been destroyed by the infection, but who still cling to life. Though he never asked for such power, he now holds the key to saving the world.
Joel is introduced the night society falls. He stays out late and works questionable jobs, all while his daughter waits patiently for his return home. He's distant, physically and emotionally, which makes it difficult to empathize with him. His actions are often repulsive, as inhuman as the zombies he must fight. The door to his heart is sealed shut. The Last of Us shines a light on the nastiness that only surfaces in humans who have nothing to lose. Rather than overcoming these limitations, Joel is crushed by them. He's unlikeable to his very core, a man who spits out angry words and appears to harbor even more sinister thoughts that remain unsaid. He kills because everyone must kill. But he kills with such fury that it disgusts even those who are used to this violence.
Joel, already accustomed to a life of brutality and focusing on his own needs, has partnered with a woman of a similar disposition. Tess is a badger let loose from a cage. To cross her path is to sign your own death warrant. She, like so many of the characters in The Last of Us, has a one-note personality that allows little room for a more nuanced interpretation. Her independence and ruthlessness are thrust to the forefront; empathy and humanity are nowhere to be found. Such flimsy characterizations erect an emotional barrier for the first few hours of this adventure. The postapocalyptic world is not interesting enough on its own to draw you in. Without any sympathetic characters to latch on to, you are left with little attachment to this pack of selfish animals.
That changes once Ellie joins your party. Unlike Tess and Joel, Ellie is easy to relate to. In this world of constant danger, she is scared. Scared to be ambushed by a zombie without a guide to protect her. Scared to meet a person who would rather kill her than talk to her. And her fear is not just for her own life. All of her loved ones have died or departed, so she's scared of losing someone else. Yet unlike so many others in this world, Ellie is not ruled by her fear. She talks like a girl in search of normalcy, whistling or humming during quiet moments, fantasizing about swimming lessons, and laughing about the problems that used to haunt girls before the outbreak. Boys? School? Problems that seem pitiful when your stomach has been growling for days and you have watched a zombie kill your best friend, yet Ellie remembers them. In her remembrance of the past, she exhibits a strength of will that most adults have lost. Ellie is both strong and vulnerable, smart and naive, and her humanity provides the impetus to push you through to the bitter end.
Ellie's maturity and resiliency make her an invaluable companion, but her worth lies much deeper than her endearing personality. She could be the savior humanity has been waiting for, and Joel has the privilege of escorting her away from the hostile city she now resides in to a faraway settlement desperate for her arrival. You travel through infested forests, dilapidated houses, and unnerving sewers, with Joel providing the brawn and Ellie the heart to brave the many dangers that stand before them. Confrontation is a last resort. Infected swarm with terrifying ferocity, clawing and snarling as they seek their next meal. The uninfected are just as deadly. With diplomacy not an option, they pursue and flank, firing high-powered rifles or swinging deadly axes, undeterred that they are trying to slaughter a middle-aged man and a young girl. Death is fast and bloody, so you slink through the shadows, staying out of sight to live another day.
However, combat in such a violent land is inevitable. The Last of Us turns the crumbling ruins of a formerly healthy world into the landmarks of unceasing war. Filter the world through the lens of dystopia, and ordinary objects take on a new meaning. Overturned tables and file cabinets provide a modicum of cover; broken windows allow for a quick escape. The zombies' movements are a confluence of contrasting images. Their staggered gait lulls you into believing they are slow, weak. But once they smell fresh meat, their movement is blindingly fast and exact. Their heads snap to attention with unsettling, insectile speed, and the unholy guttural noises that issue from their throats sound like the song of humanity's death.
So you kill them, bashing them with a two-by-four with all your strength and pummeling them into a lifeless mess on the ground. When grabbed from behind, you shove a shiv into your attacker's neck, the force of your blow causing the makeshift weapon to snap in half. A close-range shotgun blast tears zombies to shreds, but there's no time for celebration. They keep coming, eager to quell the threat that stupidly revealed itself. Such confrontations are nerve-rattling, and yet there's a hollowness to these encounters. No one wants to die--even a virtual death is unwelcome--but The Last of Us refuses to punish failure in a manner befitting the harshness of its world. Become overwhelmed and you quickly perish, but with checkpoints only a few seconds apart, the danger of expiring never dissuades you from recklessness.
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