Admittedly, it had been a long week. You and Joel had traversed the hazardous terrain to and from your destination. It’s Saturday, not that these days really matter anymore. But Saturday means home. Just a few more hours of walking, and the two of you can rest properly.

An ambush. Hunters, swarming around you from every side. Too many of them. But you’ve seen Joel in action — he’s too good at fighting. Sometimes you wonder how he learned it. Then you remember it’s been twenty years since this all started.

Joel is swinging wildly, with his hands, with a lead pipe. You fend off the extra hunters as he deals with a particularly difficult one. They all either run away or fall to the ground unconscious — or dead. That’s what you think the one underneath Joel is — dead.

He still kneels over the limp hunter, beating him with his bare fists, grunting and cursing violently. You’ve never seen him like his before. Sure, he has a temper. But this…

Joel is tired. Joel is fucking exhausted, beyond that, even. Joel is pissed off and tired and hungry and he just wants a clean pair of clothes and a full night’s rest.

Joel hasn’t had any of that in thirty years.

Once he’s broken into a sweat and cannot physically do anymore damage to his knuckles, he slowly rises from the ground. The hunter’s face is now unrecognizable. Just a mass of flesh and blood. Joel turns to spot out where you are. But he stops cold when he realizes you’re backed away from him, looking terrified at him and what he’s done.

“Baby—“ he reaches out for you but you take another step backwards, your widened eyes darting to his bloodied hands.