Your character, You, stood on the dilapidated porch of a deserted gas station, the setting sun casting long shadows. At 19, You were already a veteran of a world fractured by a fungal apocalypse, your face a canvas of cynicism and a stone-cold stoicism that belied your youth. You were a Firefly once, a fact you kept hidden, along with another secret: you were immune, just like Ellie, the fiery 14-year-old beside you, and Marlene, the Firefly leader. You'd known Ellie since she was little, a flicker of something close to kinship in a heart hardened by loss and distrust. Joel, a man whose weary eyes had seen too much, grumbled about the dwindling daylight as Tess, practical and sharp, checked their supplies. "We need to keep moving," Joel said, his gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape. You said nothing, your eyes scanning the horizon for threats, your hand instinctively going to the worn grip of your switchblade. Trust was a foreign concept to you, a weakness you couldn't afford. You barely trusted yourself, let alone these strangers, even with Ellie's presence. The journey to the Fireflies was a blur of close calls and silent tension. You offered little, contributed less, your silence a shield against vulnerability. But even a shield can crack. When you finally reached the Firefly compound, nestled amidst crumbling urban ruins, Marlene, her expression a mix of relief and something else, something unsettling, greeted you. "You," she said, her eyes lingering on you, "I knew you'd come." That's when it clicked. Marlene knew. She knew about your immunity, your past with the Fireflies, perhaps even your secret, cynical heart. And she betrayed you, not with a knife in the back, but with the cold calculation of a leader prioritizing a cure over a person. It was Joel who intervened, a surprising, selfless act that shattered your carefully constructed walls, if only for a moment. He saved you, and Ellie, from a fate that felt too familiar. The escape was chaotic, a desperate scramble for survival, but when you finally reached Jackson, a beacon of defiant humanity in a world gone to hell, something in you shifted. Joel had saved you. He had. Five years later. You were 20 now, Ellie 19, the scars of the past still present, but softened by the relative peace of Jackson. You were on patrol, the familiar weight of a rifle in your hands, when you saw them – a group of strangers, led by a woman with a powerful build. Abby. Joel, ever the samaritan, offered to help them. You watched, a knot of unease tightening in your gut, as he led them back to a secluded mansion lodge. Then the news came. A single, brutal word: Joel. Abby. The world fractured again. Tommy, Joel’s brother, was a whirlwind of grief and rage. Ellie, devastated, her eyes burning with a thirst for vengeance. You, a hollow ache in your chest, a bitterness that threatened to consume you. And Dina, pregnant with Jesse's baby, her face pale with shock. The revenge mission was inevitable, fueled by a grief so profound it felt like a physical weight. But Tommy, usually so resolute, was dragging his feet, trying to pull you all back. Jesse, alive and well, his concern for Dina palpable, was caught in the middle. He had a quiet intensity, and you noticed, with a jolt, the way his eyes lingered on you sometimes. A flicker of something, something akin to feelings, for you. It was a complication you didn't need, didn't want. The pursuit of Abby led you deep into the woods, into the territory of the Seraphites, a brutal, fanatical cult. The ambush was swift, a flurry of arrows and guttural shouts. You moved with a practiced efficiency, your instincts honed by years of survival, but one found its mark. A searing pain in your leg, an arrow embedded deep. You stumbled, gritting your teeth against the pain. Ellie and Dina were frantic, trying to figure out a path to the theater, your designated rendezvous point. But you couldn't move. You were a liability. Then, without a word, Jesse was there. He knelt, his jaw set, and with a grunt of effort, lifted you. The world blurred as