A/N: I know, right? What kind of mystical surprise is this? Well, let me tell you. I've been thinking a lot about what a sequel to the Last of Us might look like. Several of you have flattered me beyond reason in your reviews of the Aftermath series by saying something equivalent to "I just read the sequel to The Last of Us!" That's really kind of you, but I don't think the story I told in that series would work as a video game. If we were to approach the question of what a sequel might look like if we were writing it as a video game, I think I would take it a different route. And what follows is one idea for where it might go, and what it might look like.

The story that follows is completely separate from the Aftermath series, so disregard its canon when reading this as they are unrelated. There were a couple pieces that I used as a sort of jumping-off point, the main one being a piece of fan/concept art by Marek Okon (which you can find if you google "Marek Okon ellie" since they don't let you link here.) I took Marek's idea and expanded it, building what I could see as the prologue to a would-be TLOU2. A few other things came into play as well, but I won't go into specifics as I don't want to spoil anything in the experience of reading this.

I should also mention that this is a one-shot. It is not going to be continued upon. It is simply a setup for a prospective sequel, meant to function as the game's prologue, so to speak. I'm still very much occupied with working on my novel, but this had been nagging at me for quite some time, and sometimes you just need to let the creative juices flow so that they leave you alone! If you're interested in reading the novel (which for those who haven't been following the blog has now been titled: We Left As Dust) and would like updates on its progress, please bookmark/follow my blog (linked in my profile.) I don't know when it'll be released, but I'm thinking we're still at least a year out, if not more.

Anyway, I had to get this story off my chest, so I hope you enjoy it. And no, no amount of begging will get me to continue it. This is a one-shot, period.

DISCLAIMER/LEGAL MUMBO-JUMBO: I do not own The Last of Us, it is Naughty Dog's property. Credit for selected dialog goes to Marek Okon. Credit for story cover image goes to Marek Okon.

THE HOPE

"You're certain?" she asked.

Richard nodded. "As certain as we can be. She matches the description." He lifted the tattered sheet of paper they'd recovered from the ravaged hospital in Salt Lake City. "See? Red hair, scar through her right eyebrow, five foot three. She has her arms covered so we can't see any trace of a bite, but it must be her. It has to be."

She nodded in agreement, and whispered, "It has to be." She stared through the trees for a long moment. "What about her guardian?"

Richard shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, he's there. They're rarely apart, but from time to time she slips away to be by herself. In all likelihood, we'll have to deal with him, but he's looking pretty long in the tooth; shouldn't give us too much trouble.

"They appear to be staying in that house, there," he said, pointing out one of the rooftops among the hundreds. "See it?"

"I see it."

"We'll have to deal with those towers," he said, raising a finger to each. "If we time it with their shift rotation, we can have men sneak up to the wall to plant the charges."

She nodded again, and pulled the faded photograph from her back pocket. Their bright, smiling faces could still be made out, if only just. She passed her thumb gently over each one.

"Great work, as usual. If we're lucky, we can make this clean and quick. Get in, get out," she said without looking away from the photo. "Gather everyone, I need to address them."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll come get you when it's time."

She turned back and smiled. "Thank you, Rich." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is what we've been striving for. Three years… all of those miles… all of those failed leads and empty towns… it's all been for this. We're almost there."

He returned the smile and gave a deferential nod before turning and walking back toward the camp. She watched him disappear into the trees before returning her gaze to the photograph. She stared into each set of eyes longingly before finally tucking the polaroid away again. She took a long, deep breath as she looked over the valley. The town, ringed by an electric fence and guard towers, lay asleep, sprawled out across the valley floor. Somewhere within those walls, the cure was waiting, oblivious and unaware.

"Mornin', Ellie," the voice greeted from the tower. "You're up early."

She fumbled for the pause button on her Walkman and then pulled one of the earbuds from her ear. "What's that?"

The man peering over the railing shook his head in amusement. "I said, 'you're up early!'"

She adjusted the bow slung over her chest. "Yeah. Thought I'd go catch breakfast before Joel wakes up."

He chuckled. "Alright, well… you know the drill. Be careful, and all that."

"Mmm-hmm," she replied as she replaced the earbud and pressed play. She walked off into the woods.

A heavy fog still hovered over the earth, blanketing everything in grey haze. The sun hadn't quite made it over mountains that shielded Jackson from the east, and the morning was cool and still. The music filled Ellie's ears, drowning out the birdcalls.

She played along on an imaginary drum kit as she walked, doubling the percussive sounds with her lips. The song filling her ears was one she had grown fond of, though she couldn't remember its name, nor the artist who recorded it. It had a driving rhythm and an angry undertone, feeding into her soured mood.

She had become somewhat of a cynic, and in no small part hated herself for it. What could anyone have expected? The three years since arriving in Jackson had been filled with an unnerving tension between her and Joel that had never really found its resolution. They never brought up Salt Lake. It was one of those topics that was better left to the dark crypt of history, left to rot and be forgotten.

The moment the words I swear had left his mouth, she knew that lies were sown within them. She had tried to bury them more times than she could count, but they had a way of crawling out of their shallow grave just to torment her.

She resented him, though she knew it was ultimately a superficial feeling. Deep down, she knew she loved him more than anything, or anyone, else. That fact was what made the animosity all the more foul as it roiled within her. She felt trapped in stasis, stuck riding the divide between love and hate.

A rabbit popped out from a clump of underbrush, stopping her in her tracks. She reached down and paused the music.

She stood, poised and stoic on the crest of the boulder that protruded over the northern edge of camp. Scores of black figures were gathered before her, armed for battle, lifting their eyes in reverence to their leader. But who was she to deserve their allegiance?

Men and women had assembled, shrouded in bulletproof vests and helmets, wielding riot shields, shotguns, and submachine guns. Their faces were grim, determined, and disciplined. They were ready to follow her to the end, whether their prize be death or destiny.

She cleared her throat and steeled herself. "My friends, I don't feel the least bit worthy to be the one standing before you today. There are several among you who have experienced the kinds of loss that I have. There are those among you who have experienced worse. I feel like it could be any one of us up here, but you've agreed to follow me in this mission, and for that I am deeply grateful.

"I'm just a woman. I'm not special. I don't have exceptional valor or bravery. I'm only human, just like the rest of you. But we shouldn't let that fact stop us from changing the course of history. We have an opportunity before us this morning to do just that."

She paused for a moment, taking time to scan each face as they stared back at her. "This infection took my husband. It took my children. It took the only-" she paused as a lump caught in her throat. Her stance faltered a bit as she subdued the sudden burst of emotion. "It took the only other man I ever loved. A man who, even in the face of all this hell and despair and hopelessness, never let himself get dragged down into the mud, blood, and sin with the rest of us. His spirit, his indomitable optimism, his belief that we're still capable of good, is what has driven me here, and what's still driving me today. Because, like him, I believe we can right the ship. We can give humanity a fighting chance."

She regained her composure and posture. "We all heard the stories over the years. Tales of a girl being out there, immune to all this madness. And we knew that those stories were nothing but wishful thinking, fairy tales passed along by the campfire.

"Believing those stories was a good measure of my desperation. I needed to find that girl." She scanned the crowd again, looking down on them in appreciation. "You, who followed me on this hopeless journey, chose to do so. Some of you paid the ultimate price for that. For my belief… but here we are, we found the girl. We found the hope.

"Be careful and don't let her bite you."

Richard came alongside the boulder, leading her horse by its bridle. She descended and mounted the horse. She pulled on the helmet he handed to her and tightened the straps on her bulletproof vest.

"Remember, we need her alive. This is an extraction, not a seige. If she dies, we are lost. As for her guardian…" she trailed off, staring into the dark brown mane of her horse. "Leave him to me." She looked up to meet their faces again. "Let's move out."

There was no celebratory cheer. This wasn't a motivational speech. It was a solemn reminder of what was at stake, and what was to come. The faces in the crowd remained grim and focused as they plodded forward to follow the woman on horseback.

The rattle of diesel engines sputtering to life echoed off of the tree trunks and rock faces. The contingent formed a column as they disembarked, moving with the enthusiasm of a funeral procession. They pushed into the woods toward the road that led to Jackson, Wyoming.

She wrapped the strap of her backpack around the rabbit's neck, fastening it in place. It didn't have an excess of meat on its bones, and she decided it'd probably be best to get another before heading back. Where there's one, there's often more.

She vaulted over a felled tree and scanned the forest floor for game trails. The heavy fog was being chased away by the rising sun, which eased her search for a second rabbit. After another ten minutes of careful, quiet travel through the woods, a flit of movement through some nearby underbrush caught her eye.

A large snowshoe hare, replete in its brown summer coat, was rooting around beneath a bush. Ellie took a quick breath in excitement before slowly pulling an arrow from her backpack. She nocked it into place on the bowstring and raised the bow. She let out a deep breath to steady herself, then drew the bowstring taut.

The memory of the fateful winter three years ago tore its way into her mind, causing her to falter for a moment. Her focus drifted as her eyes danced between the trunks of trees before her. The muscles in her arms started shaking, as they had when she was pointing it at the space between David's eyes those few short years ago.

Nightmares had plagued her ever since, and several nights of sleep had been cut short when she woke up screaming and scrambling to the nearest corner of the room. Joel had tried his best to soothe and comfort her, but she couldn't help but feel like a burden at times. Under her composed, rough-and-tumble outer shell, she was a mess, distraught with feelings of doubt, inadequacy, and apprehension.

Three years, and she still hadn't come to grips with the fact that that life was all behind her. Things had been quiet in Jackson. The life on the road, wondering if she'd live to see the next day, was over. In their new home, they were well-fed and lived in relative ease, ease interrupted only by her inability to shake past memories and living on a hair-trigger.

She suppressed the memories and returned her attention to catching breakfast. The hare was still there, sniffing around. She aimed down the shaft and released the bowstring. The arrow leapt toward its prey.

She flinched on impact as a resounding boom met her ears before rolling over the hills behind her. She blinked in confusion. The rabbit was dead, pierced through with the arrow. The boom could only have been an explosion, and it had come from the direction of Jackson.

Ellie pulled the arrow out of the rabbit and hastily tied it to her pack. She ran, darting over rocks and between trees, until the rooftops of Jackson could be made out through the leaves. A plume of smoke rose from the edge of town; the edge adjacent to the house she and Joel had called home.

The window rattled loudly in its frame as the explosion shook him from a restless sleep. He blinked and looked around, puzzled. It took a few seconds for his brain to register what the noise meant, and he snapped to lucidity quickly when he realized the spot on the mattress beside him was empty.

"Ellie?"

The room offered no response, nor did the rest of the house beyond the doorway. It wasn't uncommon for her to rise early to hunt or go for a walk. An explosion, on the other hand, was exceedingly uncommon.

He bounced up off of the mattress and grabbed a flannel shirt on his way to the window. Looking outside didn't reveal anything, as his view down both ends of the street was restricted. He buttoned the flannel over his undershirt, threw on his pack, grabbed the shotgun next to the door, and ran downstairs.

The moment his boots hit the hardwood of the main floor, a black figure appeared in one of the windows. Instinctively, he leveled the shotgun at the window and fired. Buckshot tore through the panes of glass and buried themselves into the chest of the figure. A surprised shout came from outside where the figure had been a moment before.

They were under attack.

"Ellie!" Joel shouted.

He swept the barrel of the shotgun over the living room, looking for more dark shapes in the windows. He inched backwards toward the kitchen and the back door, looking to sneak out and find her.

"Where the hell are you?" he muttered rhetorically as he slid a shell into the shotgun to replace the one he'd discharged.

If the explosion hadn't alerted half of the town, the ensuing gunshots must have. There would be backup here in no time. Joel peered out of the window of the backdoor before pushing it open part way. There were no signs of any more black figures, and he slid outside.

A crushing blow hit him in the back of the head as he stepped onto the back porch, and he stumbled, reeling, to his knees. The shotgun was pried from his hands, as well as the pistols from his holster and waistband. He was helpless, a position he didn't have much experience in, and thrashed out wildly at the mysterious assailants around him.

Where was she?

Why hadn't they put a bullet in him yet?

They blocked his wayward blows and returned them with sharp strikes to the backs of his legs. Before he knew it, he was being dragged back into the house by a pair of black figures. Glances to his left and right revealed riot gear and bulletproof vests. Whoever these people were, they were well-equipped. He was forced to his knees on the floor of the living room and felt a pistol driven into the back of his neck.

"We've subdued the guardian," one of the figures flanking him said, presumably into his radio. "No sign of the asset."

Guardian? he thought to himself. Asset? What the hell are they talking about?

"Good work. We've secured the street. We're coming in," a female voice answered over the radio.

Joel lifted his head as the front door opened, only to have it shoved back down by the pistol. From the sound of it, several people had entered the room, but he couldn't see much more than their legs.

"You and you, go upstairs, look for the girl," a woman ordered. It was the same voice that had come over the radio.

"She ain't here," Joel interjected.

"Quiet!" the man to his right barked as he clocked him with the butt of the pistol.

"Hey!" the woman said with authority. "There's no need for that."

Joel could practically hear the man swallow nervously, and felt his grip ease up ever so slightly. Everyone in the room waited in the tension as the search was carried out upstairs. The sound of boots on the steps signaled the completion of a search Joel knew to be fruitless.

"He's right, she's not here," a different woman responded.

The leader exhaled in frustration. She pulled her radio to her mouth. "Rich, the girl's not here."

"Shit," Rich answered from the radio a moment later. "What do you want to do?"

She didn't answer until the sound of gunshots could be heard from outside. "How long can you hold the street?"

"Not sure. Rosenthal's got the APCs idling out here to spirit us away when I make the call. We didn't plan on entrenching. This wasn't supposed to be a siege, remember?"

APCs? Is this the military?

"Can you give me five minutes?"

More gunfire from outside. "I'll see what I can do."

The leader signaled the man with the pistol against Joel's neck to ease up, but the reprieve wasn't long-lived. He lifted his face to find himself looking down the barrel of a surprisingly large revolver.

"Where is the girl?" the woman asked calmly.

She was probably in her late thirties with sandy blonde hair and eyes that were a light bluish-gray. Joel found no hostility in them. If anything, there was empathy, and he somehow got the feeling that holding a gun to his face was the last thing she wanted to do in that moment.

"I told you, she ain't here. I got no idea where she is," he replied. "And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."

The woman reached a thumb up and pulled the hammer back. The heavy click of oiled gunmetal made him swallow hard. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, a look of scrutiny on her face. "I believe you," she said at last. A look of weariness took over her face. "Well, if you won't lead us to her, we'll have to get her to come to us."

She motioned to the men restraining him, and he felt himself being pulled to his feet. "Rich," she said into her radio, "we're coming outside. We'll need cover."

"On it."

The soldiers assembled to form a protective phalanx around them as they moved onto the street. More black armor-clad soldiers had stationed themselves along the street, forming a proverbial beachhead around the hole blown into the perimeter wall. Two black APCs stood, hulking and ominous, in the middle of the street. More black figures manned the mounted gun on each.

Thus far, they were holding the street without much contention. The first responders from Jackson hadn't expected a veritable army of shock troops with bulletproof vests and armored vehicles when they came to investigate the explosion. They could be seen scrambling about as a result, disorganized and unsure of how to deal with this threat.

"Rich!" the leader shouted to the soldier manning the lead APC's weapon. "Broadcast this channel over the loudspeakers."

He gave her a puzzled look before disappearing to relay the order below. He reappeared a few seconds later. "Alright, you're set."

The woman turned her attention back to Joel as the soldiers dragged him into position in front of the APC. A blow to the hamstring knocked him forward onto his knees once again. She leveled the revolver at his head. "What's the girl's name?"

Joel sneered. "I ain't tellin' you shit."

One of the soldiers chimed in. "He was yelling 'Ellie' as he came downstairs."

Goddammit.

"Hold your fire!" the woman yelled into the radio, which relayed over the APCs' loudspeakers. "I repeat, hold your fire!"

The sounds of gunshots died out as her comrades ceased their shooting. The residents of Jackson peered cautiously over their cover, curious as to why the ceasefire was called even though they were well overmatched.

"We're here for one reason, and one alone. You are harboring a young girl named Ellie. Though you may not know it, this girl is immune to the cordyceps! She is the only known case of immunity the world over. She holds the key to unlocking a cure for this infection."

Joel shifted uncomfortably. They had elected not to share the truth of Ellie's immunity with the rest of Jackson. It would only have complicated things. Looking up, he saw the townspeople looking back and forth between themselves, confused. "D-don't listen to her!" he stammered.

The woman continued, undeterred. "Ellie, if you can hear this, come out now and no more of your friends will have to die."

Anger ignited in Joel's stomach. It wasn't fair of them to pull that kind of guilt trip on her. Ellie was dealing with enough of it already.

"To the rest of you," she continued. "Bring us the girl, and we'll leave peacefully. You can keep your town. She is all that we want."

"We don't turn our back on our own!" a familiar voice shouted from somewhere behind cover. Joel immediately recognized it as Tommy. "Y'all are either gonna have to leave empty handed or go through every last one of us to get to her!"

The soldiers surrounding them tightened their grips on their weapons. The woman was growing exasperated. "We did not scour the country to leave empty handed. We know she's here. This girl could mean the end of the infection! You have no right to deny that chance to the rest of us! To the rest of the world!"

The two sides continued their heated exchange, but to Joel, they faded into the background. The longer this dragged out, the higher the chance of more people getting killed, which meant his brother, his sister-in-law, and the other citizens of Jackson who had shown him and Ellie kindness. But more pressing was the fact that the longer it dragged out, the higher chance there was that Ellie would show up and trade herself for him. Whether these attackers knew it or not, they had an powerful, effective piece of leverage in Joel.

His mind raced. What could he do? He was unarmed, and one wrong move would result in him being riddled with holes. It was a fate he would rather avoid, and had somehow been successful in doing so until this moment. But if he didn't act quickly, the outcome would be worse. Ellie deserved to live a full life, not to be coerced into sacrificing herself to save a bitter old man who had been living on borrowed time for too long as it was.

He felt himself being pulled to his feet. A hand grabbed the back of his collar before he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel on the side of his neck. The tension of the exchange was reaching its zenith. He had to act now, before it was too late. In his mind, there wasn't even a choice to make. He knew exactly what he had to do.

He made his best estimate of the location of the woman's head, then thrust his own backwards with as much strength as he could muster. The contact sent stars streaking across his vision.

She pounded on the gate again.

"Hey! Let me the fuck in!"

The guard posts had been abandoned, no doubt drawn away by the explosion. There was no way inside. She gave up pounding and looked down along the wall in both directions, searching for a place she could climb over. A hundred yards away, a tree stood next to the wall, one of its branches reaching out enough that she might be able to jump it.

She sprinted in that direction as her mind darted between thoughts and fears. Was it just another bandit raid? Was it worse? Had the Fireflies changed their mind and come back to take her, by any means necessary?

Her hands met the rough bark of the tree and she clambered up its trunk. She hoisted herself up several branches until she reached the one protruding towards the wall. Shakily trying to keep her balance, she inched out onto the branch, searching for the softest landing spot. Distant pops that could only be gunfire drifted over from the direction of the plume of smoke. She didn't have any time to waste with hesitation or caution.

She ran down the length of the branch and leapt forward with all her might. Her shoes came down on the top of a wooden crate, and she felt herself lurch forward. She attempted a roll to absorb the impact, but her momentum led her to land hard on her right side. The impact forced the air from her lungs and she wheezed frantically for a breath. A sharp pain sprung from her side, and she desperately hoped she hadn't reinjured the rib that had bothered her since David had viciously kicked it years before.

Scrambling, she forced herself upright and took off in an uncomfortable run toward the sounds of conflict. Faint sounds of distant shouting had replaced the gunfire, but the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears overcame them, making her mental speculations all the more audible. She darted between buildings, determined to fight her way to Joel, who was undoubtedly entangled in the showdown.

A hail of automatic gunfire erupted from a block away, and she strained herself in order to marginally quicken her pace. A chorus of return fire spouted off, closer than the first bunch, mixed with more shouting that could barely be heard over the fray.

Ellie rounded the corner and beheld a chaotic scene. Several people, adorned in black armor and bulletproof vests, had hunkered down around two lumbering personnel carriers and were firing into the citizens of Jackson. Twenty yards from her, Tommy was shouting, a look of rage on his face as he unloaded round after round from his hunting rifle, pausing only to swiftly work the bolt and chamber a fresh round. Maria was at his side firing an assault rifle from behind cover.

And then she fell back onto the ground. A dark red circle began growing from her shoulder. She placed a hand to it, then pulled it away, mystified at the sight of blood. A moment later, Tommy hit the ground beside her, clutching at his neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The blood was seeping through his fingers, indifferent to his efforts.

Ellie stood, paralyzed at the spectacle. In front of the personnel carriers, the lone figure of a woman remained. A dark line of blood ran down from her nose as she looked down at a pile on the ground with an expression that conveyed horror, shock, and perhaps even remorse. The man behind her was yelling at her between bursts of gunfire.

"Susan! Susan, we have to move! Let's go!"

Ellie's eyes drifted to the pile on the ground. It was wearing a plaid shirt, pocked with holes and more red splotches than she could count. It wasn't moving, its arms sprawled out over a head of badly graying dark hair. A broken wristwatch was strapped to its wrist.

The realization hit her with such unexpected ferocity that she involuntarily tore her eyes from the scene and fell to the ground. It was him. He was gone. Like a stubborn candle that had been burning for years, snuffed out in an instant. He was dead.

"Joel!" she shouted as she sat up.

It was cold, and she shivered as the light sheen of sweat covering her body amplified its chilling effect. She looked around, unsure of where or when she was. A waning moon hung overhead, casting a cool bluish glow over her surroundings.

Her mind began recollecting, piecing things together. She had made camp here the night before, huddled up in a small hollow in the side of a hill. Her backpack was serving its duties as her pillow, the guitar was still propped against the wall of the hollow, and charred logs had crumbled into an unceremonious pile a couple feet away, glistening red embers smoldering at their base.

The shivering turned into trembling as her mind started picking up the fragments of the dream that had shattered upon waking. She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. It had been months since she had fled Jackson, since Joel had been killed, and still she dealt with the nightmares. They were unrelenting. Night after night, her restless sleep would be cut short by being forced to relive that wretched day.

Her instincts had forced her to run at the sight of Joel's lifeless body. He was her anchor; wherever he was, she would be also, and so when the tether between them was severed, she lost all bearing and fell helpless to the wayward current, drifting to whichever direction she felt pulled.

She had no idea what had come of Tommy and Maria, whether or not they were even still alive. She ran and never looked back. There was no telling exactly who the attackers had been, but they were undoubtedly after her. There were no Firefly insignias, so it clearly wasn't them. All she had was the woman's name, and that wasn't much to go by.

The life she had known was gone, and she was relegated to one that was familiar: life on the road, surviving, looking for a place to sleep and food to eat. This life wasn't dissimilar from the one she had lived with Joel, but his absence yielded a glaring emptiness that she couldn't ignore. She knew she could survive out on her own, but she didn't know if she could survive truly alone.

Ellie pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them. She stared into the dying embers of the fire for what felt like hours, knowing she wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. By the time she roused herself and stood up to stretch and shake out her limbs, light was creeping over the eastern horizon. A rumbling from her stomach reminded her that it was nearly breakfast time. She grabbed the small notebook from her backpack and stuck it in her back pocket, threw the guitar strap over her shoulder, and picked up the bow and a few arrows before setting out to search for food.

An hour of fruitless walking brought her to the shore of a lake. A heavy mist hung over the glassy pane of the surface, still and tranquil in the cool morning air. The lake reminded her of Joel, as so many things did since his passing. She remembered her floundering efforts to swim, and his patient instruction that led to her mastery of the sport.

The shore was lined with large, flat rocks. She stepped onto one of them, testing its stability before setting the bow down and taking a seat on the rock. She swung the guitar around and pulled the notebook from her back pocket. It was filled with the chords and fingerings that Joel had managed to teach her. She was lousy at it so far, but improving, and the notebook had become as prized of possession as any in her backpack.

She strummed a few chords, searching for a few that would go well together. Joel had only ever sung her one song, right before giving her the guitar as a gift. She had been searching for its chords ever since, too stubborn to ask Joel to teach it to her. With each passing day, the memory of the song and its melody faded just a bit more, so the search for its chords had become a dire mission for her.

Ellie played another chord and let it ring out. Another sound rose between the fading notes of the guitar. Footsteps. Her eyes drifted to the bow and arrow beside her.

A woman's voice came from somewhere behind her.

"Hello, Ellie."

POST-SCRIPT A/N: So there you have it. There are a couple of Easter eggs in here, but I'll let you discover them on your own. I hope you enjoyed this little vignette of what shape a sequel might take. Though I think Joel and Ellie's story is probably over as far as the two of them is concerned, I think there's definitely more stories to tell with Ellie, which is why she would be the main playable protagonist in a sequel. It's hard to think of Ellie without Joel, but she's definitely a strong enough character to carry the narrative load. Joel's story has more or less run its course, and his arc is completed. Ellie's, on the other hand, is just beginning. Or at least, that's my opinion. Hope you enjoyed it, and please, check out the blog! I just posted an entry that goes into this story in more detail than I put here.