Surviving The Last of Us With My System

Elliot stood by the window, the bolt-action rifle resting in his hands, his gaze lost in the wood covering the broken glass. The light from outside barely filtered through the cracks, bathing the room in a dim orange glow. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally. His thoughts wandered between memories of his past life and the brutal reality of his current existence.

There were things he missed more than he would ever admit. Sex, for example. Shit, he thought with a bitter smile. It was absurd how something so simple had become some kind of unattainable luxury. Ever since he had been reincarnated, he hadn't had any action, and the absence was driving him crazy. He could perfectly remember what it was like: the sighs, the caresses, the skin against skin. Here, in this broken world, everything was cold, dirty, and devoid of any intimacy other than a fight for survival.

He had tried to relieve himself. Several times, in fact. But masturbating was like trying to put out a fire with a drop of water. All it did was remind him how much he missed real connection, the electricity of a shared moment.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, as if words could dispel the knot of frustration inside him.

The room they were in was spacious, though it was barely noticeable because of the clutter. Old boxes, broken furniture, and piles of dust littered the space. However, it was big enough for five people to sleep there without disturbing each other too much. At the moment, the rest of the group was gathered together, inventorying the supplies they had found while searching the house.

Owen was sorting through a pile of rusty cans on a wobbly table. His expression was marked by a mix of tiredness and frustration.

"A couple cans of food... half a bottle of water... bandages..." he listed, picking up the items one by one as if they were evidence of a collective failure. "Shit, we don't even have enough to make it to the weekend." He threw one of the cans down onto the floor with a sharp gesture, the clang echoing in the silence.

"Better this than nothing," Manny chimed in, sitting in the corner cleaning his rifle. "At least we can hold out a little longer."

"Yeah, but how long?" Owen replied, his voice thick with impatience. "We're just walking around blindly, hoping to find something in Seattle, but we have no idea what awaits us there. It could be worse than this."

Abby, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, let out an exasperated sigh. "And what do you suggest? That we just stay here and starve? At least in Seattle there's a chance for something better. Whatever it is, it'll be better than this hole."

Elliot didn't bother to intervene. He knew these discussions were getting nowhere. Instead, he stared out the window, his fingers playing with the trigger of his rifle as he tried to push the thoughts that plagued him out of his mind. His attention was drawn back to the room, however, when Mel sat in the corner, the small bottle of water in her hands. She looked more tired than anyone else, her face reflecting not only physical exhaustion, but also an emotional weight that Elliot recognized all too well.

What I would give for a moment of peace, for something to make me forget this hell, he thought as he watched the group in silence. Each of them carried their own burden, and even if they tried to hide it, the exhaustion and desperation were impossible to ignore.

"I knew that going to Seattle unprepared was going to be a problem," Mel said, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in the room. Her voice was calm, but loaded with a tension that none of them could ignore.

Abby, who was leaning against the wall checking her pistol, replied with a click of her tongue, a mix of frustration and disdain.

"Are we really going with the Wolves?" Manny asked, looking up from his rifle. "Okay, I understand that the Fireflies have disbanded, but we all know that the past between them and us is not exactly friendly." His words hung in the air like an echo, a reminder of old wounds that had never fully healed.

"It's our only option," Abby replied firmly, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her tone. Her words made Elliot, who was standing by the window, grit his teeth. "FEDRA is not an option, not even in my fucking dreams. The Wolves are strong, resourceful, and better organized. If we want to survive and live well, that's where we need to go."

"Live well?" Elliot couldn't help but interject, turning to face Abby. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes, a spark that always seemed to ignite at the most inopportune times. "Abby, don't give me that shit. We all know you're not doing this just for the group. You want to go with them because they're strong and because they can help you with what you really want." Her voice rose a little higher. "Revenge. This is all because of your fucking revenge for your father. What if they don't accept us? What if we die along the way? We're better than this. We could reform the Fireflies, try something different, something that doesn't end in a grave."

The atmosphere in the room immediately grew tense. Abby dropped the gun onto the table with a thud and looked up, her eyes flashing with suppressed fury. "Revenge? Are you really accusing me of that, Elliot?" Her tone was low, but each word cut like a knife. "Of course this is revenge. That fucking smuggler destroyed everything we knew. Everything we had. My father died for something bigger than all of us, and now here we are, in the middle of shit."

"So what!" Elliot snapped, taking a step towards her. "Look around you, Abby! Look at the fucking world we live in! Everything is fucked up. Everything. And you want to sacrifice what little we have, what little we have left, for some fucking personal vendetta? I feel sorry for your father, I really do, but—"

Elliot didn't get to finish his sentence. Abby launched herself at him in a whirlwind of fury, her fists clenched and her face twisted in rage. "Shut the fuck up!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as Manny and Owen immediately reacted to stop her. Manny grabbed her by the waist, immobilizing her as she struggled like a trapped lioness, while Owen put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"Get off me! I'm going to kill him! That son of a bitch has no idea what he's saying!" Abby struggled so hard she almost managed to break free, but Manny, with his size and strength, kept her under control.

"Abby, stop it!" Owen exclaimed, trying to sound authoritative, but the tremor in his voice betrayed how nervous he was. "This isn't going to solve anything."

Elliot, instead of backing down or apologizing, let out a dry, bitter laugh, laden with sarcasm. "What's wrong, Abby? Does the truth hurt?" he said, with a smile that only served to infuriate her further. "Because if this is your grand plan, I'd rather take my chances alone than follow you around like a fucking lamb."

"Shut up, you fucking wretch!" Abby spat out the words, trying to break free once more as Manny muttered something in Spanish under his breath, clearly frustrated by the situation.

"Please, both of you, stop it!" Mel raised her voice, her tone cracking slightly as she looked at the two of them, her eyes filled with exhaustion and desperation. "We can't keep fighting each other. If we keep this up, we're not going to get anywhere."

"Fuck you, Abby," Elliot snapped, his voice firm and laced with a venom that made the entire room go silent for a moment. His eyes burned as he addressed her, each word landing like a blow. "I'm done with following you around in this shit. If you guys want to leave, fine, go. But I'm not going to Seattle to play Russian roulette, to try my luck and see if they'll accept us... or kill us. I'd rather stay in some shitty corner and start over. I'll form the Fireflies again, even if I have to do it alone."

Without waiting for a response, Elliot abruptly turned and walked out of the room, his boots clicking against the wooden floor as everyone watched him in tense silence. No one tried to stop him. The door creaked shut behind him, leaving a heavy stillness in the air.

Abby stood there, motionless, her chest rising and falling violently as she clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Her lips trembled, and though she seemed to be holding back, each breath was a stifled scream. "Fucking coward…" she muttered under her breath, before exploding into a torrent of curses that filled the room like a roar.

"That moron has no idea what he's talking about!" she screamed, slamming the table so hard that it made one of the cans wobble and fall to the floor with a crash. "He thinks he can do better! So let him try! Fuck him and his stupid fucking ideas."

Manny, who had been holding her until then, carefully released her, taking a step back when he felt she was no longer willing to physically fight back. His gaze remained fixed on Abby, however, assessing her as if she could still lose control at any moment. "Easy, Abby. It's not worth it," he said in his deep, calm voice, though it was clear he didn't expect his words to actually calm her.

Instead, Owen took a step toward her, placing a hand on her arm in a clumsy attempt to calm her. "That's it, Abby," he said, his tone low, almost pleading. "Let him go. You know how Elliot is. He doesn't want to understand—"

"Don't tell me to let him go!" Abby snapped, shaking her arm to push Owen's hand away. "He always has to challenge me, always has to question me. Who the hell does he think he is?"

While Owen tried to come up with an answer, Mel watched from the corner, her eyes fixed on the interaction. Her face was marked by a mix of weariness and disgust. When Owen tried again to take Abby's hand, Mel pressed her lips together and shook her head slowly, as if she was seeing something she could no longer bear.

"This is no good," Mel said finally, her tone full of frustration as she turned and walked out of the room, her steps quick and determined.

Elliot went down to the basement, leaving the noise and bickering of the group behind. To his surprise, it was the most decent place in the house. The concrete walls were solid and the humidity wasn't as stifling as he'd expected. An old, worn couch lay in one corner, its upholstery torn and its color faded, but still more comfortable than the bare floor of the rest of the house.

"Well, I guess this will be my room tonight," he muttered, flopping heavily onto the couch. His body welcomed the rest, but his stomach, empty and growling, soon reminded him of another problem. Elliot had no food, and he was too proud to go back upstairs and ask for some. He wasn't going to stoop to that, not after everything he'd said.

"I miss playing Play," he said out loud, staring at the ceiling as if someone could hear him. A bitter nostalgia crept into his thoughts. "At least I have something comfortable to sit on." His words were more to convince himself than anything else.

Time passed slowly and boringly. He took his rifle apart and put it back together a dozen times, each click and snap echoing in the empty basement. Then he began searching through the rubble piled in the corners, hoping to find something useful. But all he found was a pile of useless junk: rusty tools, empty boxes, and machine parts that had probably been valuable at one time, but were now little more than trash.

"The apocalypse sucks," he muttered bitterly, throwing a piece of metal to the floor. There were no video games, no cell phones, none of the things that used to make life worth living. And to make matters worse, this mess had started in 2013. There weren't even modern consoles to look back on fondly, just memories of a technological era that now seemed as far away as another planet.

A small window at ground level let in the cold light of the night. Elliot looked out of it, watching the darkness take over outside. The cold was beginning to set in, but his stubbornness kept him firm in his decision. He wouldn't go back upstairs. Not after what he'd said, not after making it clear that he didn't need anything from them.

The growl of his stomach brought him out of his thoughts, and just as he was considering swallowing his pride, a flashlight beam illuminated the stairs. Elliot looked up, puzzled. The soft footsteps of someone descending broke the silence. Then he saw her: Mel, her small figure illuminated by the dim beam of the flashlight.

"Elliot, are you here?" she asked, her voice soft and a little shy, as if she was afraid of disturbing him.

He blinked, surprised to see her there. They weren't close. They got along, sure, but never to the point of caring too much for each other. Plus, there was Owen. The mere thought of that idiot brought a grimace to Elliot's face. Yet there was Mel, carefully walking down the stairs, something in her hands.

As she got closer, Elliot could see she was carrying a plate with some food and a bottle of water. His stomach growled so loudly that he almost felt embarrassed.

"Mel... what are you doing here?" he asked, lowering his voice and softening his tone without realizing it. Something about her presence disarmed him.

"You didn't come up to eat," she replied, with a small smile as she moved toward him. "I got worried, so I brought you this." As she reached him, she had to look up to meet his eyes. The difference in height was obvious, but Mel didn't seem intimidated.

Elliot stared at her for a moment, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and bewilderment. He accepted the food with a lopsided smile, taking the plate and bottle. "Thank you," he said, his voice lower than usual.

Mel stood there for a moment, watching him as he took the first bite. "I didn't want you to go hungry," she added, her tone sincere but filled with a warmth that took him by surprise. There was something in her voice, something he hadn't noticed before.

Elliot swallowed the first bite, feeling the hunger hit him harder now that he knew he could satisfy it. "I appreciate that, Mel," he finally said, looking up to meet her eyes. There was something about her presence that made the cold and darkness of the basement more bearable, something he couldn't quite define but was definitely starting to notice.

End of Chapter 3.