The Last Of Us: Part I - Darker Days (Male Reader)

Prologue

The year was 2033, or so that's what he thought it was. 20 years ago, it all began then and there. The fungal infection spread across the globe, infecting, and later, killing anyone in it's way. But even after such a prolonged disaster, humanity still found a way to move on, to survive.

But how they survived was the question. The government, or what was left of the military put up quarantine zones in every city they could hold. Most fell, some survived through pure brutality and desperation. And just a couple lucky ones managed outlive the rest, barely reaching their breaking points.

But as the years passed, the hardships only worsened and took its toll on them. Food rationing became more forced and strict.
Riots happened, people rose up, people
fell down, and most perished in their own attempts.

Some would call it brave. To stand up against something, to believe that if you took matters into your own hands then everything would work out just the way you imagined it. But it wasn't, it was foolish, stupid, just bordering naivety.

Because rarely anything goes as planned. Most times, plans are futile, worthless. Because there always be that one bastard waiting behind the corner to fuck it all up.

But then those failures only made things worse. They, the oppressors were foolish to believe that after small protests, riots and even planned rebellions were just a one time thing, no, they were not. The fallen ones only became martyrs for the ones seeking power? Freedom? A just cause? No matter, the ideals of those before them were lost and only they knew what they were fighting for, not all of them had the same ideas.

Some thought for their own freedom, few wanted more than the crap they had at the end of the world, but most wanted power. Unconditioned, raw and flexible power. A means to an end. Because at the end of the day, only one thing mattered when the rest of the world was on its knees. And that was the power to do just about anything you put your mind to.

In time, more groups began to pop up. Some because they thought they had it all figured out, that they had a grand plan, some fucking plan. That those that sheltered them behind their walls were non-believers, heretics. That they did not desire the same passage as them, and so they destroyed them. Leaving behind nothing but carnage in their wake.

Others, like the Hunters. Bunch of fucking meth heads with their heads so far up their own asses that they can't see past the truth. That in the end, their ultimate destruction would be caused by their own will. Grouped in high numbers, killing off the old, the sick, children and anyone that didn't fit their perfect selection.

What happened to their bodies? The ones they killed? Meat for the rats, their own five course meals. Twenty years of prolonged psychosis mentality and that's what they turned into, a bunch of blood thirsty, sick bastards. It was hard to believe anything in the world was sane anymore. They certainly weren't.

Yet they were others, thankfully, or else the world would cease to exist in a good light, they were few in numbers. Groups that held some high value, that actually resembles any sort of normality. Fireflies. Bunch of prissily smartasses thinking that they could cure the world of it's deadly affection. Noble, and admirable.

Yet it was stupid all the same. They were good people for what counted, but like everyone else in the godforsaken world, they were desperate. Desperation never did anyone any good. Look at Hilter, driven all the way back to Berlin in 1945, his desperate attack on the Soviets blew any chance he had at victory, though, clearly speaking, he had no chance even before then, and in the end blew his brains out, or so they say.

Honestly, the man deserved way worse.

The thing was, when pushed towards the end of a cliff, the common man would do anything to steer clear of it, even going as far as to throw their friends and family off that very cliff in order to save themselves.