Surviving The Last of Us

Elliot stood in the rain, lined up with a group of recruits. The water soaked through his uniform, cold and relentless, as if it were trying to seep into his very bones. Around him, more than thirty young people stood at ease, their hands behind their backs and their faces hardened by exhaustion.

Elliot observed them, noticing details that would have escaped him before: some were trembling from the cold, others struggled to keep their eyes open. They weren't as many as he had expected.

But none of that really mattered. Nothing seemed to matter.

He was still grappling with the idea that all of this was real. He tried convincing himself it was a dream, an illusion created by his mind. But the cold biting into his skin and the rain falling on him like a constant punishment felt too real to ignore. "This is my life now," he thought. And if this truly was his new reality, the big question remained: why?

Why had he been reborn in a world like this? Why The Last of Us? Was it because it had been his favorite game? He couldn't find any logic in that, but neither could he come up with an answer that made sense. In the end, he stopped searching. It didn't matter. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was here, and he had to survive.

Though he wasn't tired, he could see that the other recruits were utterly drained. The shadows under their eyes and the way they pressed their lips together to keep from complaining said it all. Yet, they all held their posture firm, following orders like well-trained automatons.

In front of the group stood two instructors, probably corporals. Both looked young, between 20 and 25 years old, but their faces told a different story: lines of weariness, scars that time hadn't erased, and a cold, compassionless gaze. Life here spared no one.

Elliot tried not to think too much about them. He had never served in the military in his previous life. To him, it had always seemed like a waste of time; he had preferred dedicating himself to mechanics, a field that, in his old world, guaranteed money and stability. But here, there was no escape. Now he had to do something he had never wanted to do.

The sound of firm footsteps on the wet asphalt pulled him from his thoughts. The entire formation tensed as a figure emerged from the darkness. It was a woman.

Even in the rain, her presence was commanding. Her blue FEDRA uniform was perfectly pressed and spotless, as if the drops didn't dare to stain it. A pistol hung at her thigh, secured with military precision. She wore the characteristic blue FEDRA cap, and her short blonde hair framed a face that, despite its beauty, radiated authority and danger.

Yes, she was beautiful, but she was terrifying.

Elliot felt it immediately, like an invisible weight in the air. There was something in her posture, in her icy gaze and the way she walked, that made the silence feel even heavier. She was the kind of person who didn't need to raise her voice to be obeyed.

On her chest, she wore a nameplate engraved with her surname: Stroud.

When she reached the front of the recruits, her eyes scanned the formation as if she could see through them, as if her gaze could uncover every lie, every weakness. She stopped at the center and spoke, her voice firm as a gunshot.

"It's four in the morning. You've been here two weeks, long enough to learn that comfort doesn't exist. If any of you think the worst is behind you, let me correct you: we're just getting started."

Stroud took a few steps forward, stopping right in the center of the formation, her words lashing out like a whip.

"Today, you'll learn to move in open terrain. We'll practice team maneuvers under simulated fire, focusing on protecting your comrades while covering an advance. Later, you'll have theoretical lessons on the infected and how to identify the signs of a nearby horde. I expect you to pay attention because if you don't, you might be the next casualty."

The rain continued to fall, and the silence in the formation grew heavier with each word from the lieutenant.

"After that, we'll review urban combat strategies and tactics for repelling insurgent attacks. The Fireflies are not an enemy you can underestimate. They are organized, intelligent, and ruthless. If you're not ready, I assure you they will show no mercy."

Stroud's gaze swept over them again, stopping on each face as if she wanted to memorize their expressions.

"Today will be a long day, but that's what it means to be a FEDRA soldier. Get ready because there's no room for mistakes."

She turned sharply toward the corporals. "Begin the perimeter march. Twenty kilometers. No breaks." Then she looked back at the recruits. "And remember: every step you take here could be the difference between life and death out there."

The formation began to move, and Elliot felt the weight of her words fall on him like a slab. This wasn't just training. This was preparation for war. A war against a world that no longer belonged to humans.

The morning passed like that. Elliot remained silent, focused on following orders as the training continued under the relentless rain. He didn't try to connect with his comrades; the intensity of the activities and the lack of time didn't allow it. Between marches, combat drills, and maneuvers, the only constant sound was Lieutenant Stroud's authoritative voice echoing across the field.

That woman wasn't just dangerous; she was relentless. Elliot saw it firsthand when a recruit, too exhausted to continue, made the mistake of asking for a break. Stroud didn't yell, didn't make empty threats. She simply knocked him down with a single blow, and as the young man struggled to get up, she pinned him to the ground and forced him to repeat the movements under her supervision. Her message was clear: there was no place for weakness.

Hours later, the training ended, at least for the moment, and the recruits were taken to the cafeteria. The place was spacious but austere, with metal tables lined up precisely and an oppressive atmosphere reinforced by armed soldiers guarding every corner with M4 rifles. The presence of the guards made it clear that even within the quarantine zone, control was absolute.

Elliot sat at one of the tables with other recruits. His gaze dropped to the plate in front of him, surprised by what he saw: bread, eggs, bacon, and even a cup of hot coffee. Food that civilians in the quarantine zone wouldn't see in months. It was a feast compared to the bland rations he'd received over the past two weeks.

"Eat it all, you damn bastards!" Stroud's voice rang out from the front of the cafeteria. Her tone wasn't one of someone losing patience but of someone used to being heard. It wasn't a yell; it was an order.

"Food is scarce in these desperate times, and FEDRA hands it to you so you can become strong, capable soldiers. If you waste a single bite, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

Elliot lowered his head, trying not to draw attention, and began eating. The smell of bacon and coffee filled the air, a fragrance that would have been ordinary in another life but here felt like an excessive luxury. He took a sip of coffee, feeling the warmth burn his throat, but he didn't care. It was the best thing he'd tasted in weeks.

"Damn, this is good," commented the boy sitting next to him. It was Lawrence, his bunkmate, a young man with dark hair and an ever-curious expression.

Elliot looked up and saw him enjoying his breakfast as if it were a royal banquet. "I've never had bacon before," Lawrence said between bites. "My mom always said it was delicious, but I never thought it would be this good."

Elliot smiled slightly at the comment. "It's the best damn thing in the world," he replied before taking another sip of coffee. Despite the circumstances, the moment felt oddly comforting.

"Do you think this is part of the training?" Lawrence asked, gesturing to his half-empty plate.

"What do you mean?" Elliot responded, cutting a piece of egg with the bread.

"I don't know... like some kind of reward. Something to keep us going through all that crap out there." Lawrence gestured toward the window, where the rain continued to batter the glass.

Elliot thought about it for a moment. Was it a reward or just a way to keep them functioning? It was hard to say. Here, everything seemed to have a purpose, even the good things.

"Probably," he finally said, shrugging. "But honestly, I don't care. This is better than anything I've eaten since I got here."

Lawrence nodded and returned to his breakfast. Around them, the other recruits ate in silence, some with vacant stares, others clearly exhausted. The atmosphere was tense, but the food offered a brief respite, a moment of normalcy amid the chaos.

As he finished his coffee, Elliot noticed the guards moving around the room, watching every corner. A voice in his head reminded him that this wasn't just a cafeteria; it was another battlefield where any mistake could be punished.

When everyone was finished, Stroud stood and scanned the cafeteria with her icy gaze. "Enjoy this moment," she said, her tone strong and direct. "Because it's the last breather you'll get today. From now on, I want you ready for a day that will make this morning feel like a walk in the park."

The silence in the room became almost tangible. The recruits exchanged nervous glances, but no one dared to speak. Stroud's smile barely flickered, a smile that held no kindness.

"I'll see you in ten minutes on the training field," she ordered before leaving, leaving behind an oppressive air that seemed to swallow any trace of comfort.

Elliot took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. This was just the beginning.

End Of Chapter 2