There’s something beautiful about the lush, vibrant world presented in the Last of Us. It’s abandoned. Broken. Savage. Deadly. And yet strangely gorgeous, with vegetation overflowing from every crack and corner. A sign that Mother Nature has taken back what humans have failed to protect - what humans couldn’t handle, as their society decayed and crumbled in their very hands.
I’d never played The Last of Us until now. In fact, I’d barely watched any footage. I’d stayed away from impressions. I’d not seen a demo or, to the best of my recollection, a full trailer. For whatever reason, this game had been peripheral to my interactions with the game industry, until today, when I tested to very different slices of Joel and Ellie’s adventure.
Despite the fact that Joel and Ellie have each other, the best word I could use to describe this game is “lonely.” Shells of buildings have been shattered by time. A silence hangs in the air, so foreboding that it’s almost palpable. Every object, every remnant of this lost civilization feels haunted to its core, forgotten by the people that have long since fled. Cars line the streets. Life, as any of us would define it, is gone.
That’s why Joel and Ellie stand out so much. They are the last sign of life in this evergreen wasteland. Watching them attempt to find a way out, to change their lives, is captivating. This manifests itself both in the way these two interact with each other, and in how they observe the world around them. Joel is hardened by his past, and it seems clear that he has almost let the emptiness of this desolate land swallow him whole. Yet Ellie seems to bring him balance. He cares what happens to her, cautioning her and chastising her if she ventures too far ahead. In a cutthroat world starved for resources, Joel is willing to add this young girl to his burden.
These are the sorts of observations and emotions that playing the Last of Us evokes. I didn’t know Joel or Ellie before sitting down with this game, but their connection with each other was incredibly clear, and that dynamic made each character much more interesting. And Joel’s maturity, skepticism and understanding of the threats around every corner began to echo my own. Silence was unnerving. Calmness seemed threatening. I started to crouch more often. I snuck around more corners. I used my stealth-like ‘listening’ ability to see if I could detect infected enemies or worse - other humans.
Despite the fact that I fought nothing for the bulk of my demo, I felt compelled to seek out resources. I gathered supplies to upgrade weapons, craft health kits and improve Joel’s skills. I found ammunition and discarded weapons to keep in my backpack. I found so many items and resources, and yet it was never enough. Not because I was in constant danger, but because I thought that danger might be around each and every corner. The absence of a threat created one in my mind. And with good reason - when your enemies show up, you’d better be ready.
Violence found Joel and Ellie twice, once against a horde of infected humans, and once against a group of opportunistic, savage survivors. Both were incredibly challenging in their own way, requiring different tactics and mentalities. In both scenarios I died multiple times as I felt my way through adapting and surviving.
Fighting these 'mutates' was a bit unfair. In his quest to find a friend who owed a favor, Joel is caught in a rope trap, suspended mid-air in a garage. The commotion raises the alarm of nearby creatures, who then descend upon our dynamic duo as Ellie attempts to cut Joel free. Two types of enemies rushed at me - the weaker ‘Runners’ (which assess their surroundings through sight) and the heavier, stronger ‘Clickers’ (which operate on sound alone). I let the runners get a hold of me, as I was able to fend them off and quickly draw headshots (assisted by the game) as they staggered back. The Clickers afforded me no such luxury. They would kill me instantly. No fending. No shot. Eventually I was cut free, but this led to a chase, and even though my friend, Bill, stumbled across us, the pursuit was merciless.
What’s so incredible about The Last of Us is the dynamic reactions of characters, no matter the situation. There's a core, raw unpredictability to events, so they feel in the moment and not scripted. If Joel and Ellie wander into a music shop, Ellie will stop and peruse the records (moving some of them individually), and make a remark about how it’s sad no one will ever listen to this music again. In the heat of battle, as a mutate was about to lunge at me, Bill stepped in with his machete and cut it down. I would have sworn these moments were scripted, but the only reason that enemy lunged was because I had to reload my gun. And that was because I didn’t hit my target. These reactions, these moments, are spontaneous. And you only realize how intricate they are after the fact, once the tension has died down.
Combat in this game is tense, and that’s because it’s not always concerned with minute-to-minute chaos. The Last of Us allows its world and characters room to breathe, to interact and to function - and it also just wants you to just soak in its gorgeous environments, to digest how everything we accept as modern society has collapsed.
My second confrontation occurred out of context with my encounter with the mutates and subsequent rescue by Bill. This time I fought a group of humans in a hollowed out convenience store. I died several times, mostly because I underestimated the pack mentality that these brutes work with. They coordinate. They come from different angles. They’re cautious yet thorough.
But they’re not perfect. Between my listening ability, which I used to pinpoint their location, and a few well-thrown bricks, I gained the upper hand. It turns out a brick to the head will stun anyone with a shotgun, and a devastating cross with a wooden beam will put them down for good.
I survived. Or, rather, Joel and Ellie survived. With a precious few bullets left, and few resources to work with, the quest for... existence continued. It’s a quiet, beautiful, savage world out there. Whatever is ahead... it’s not going to be easy. The Last of Us stunned me. Not in any one aspect, but through its collective polish and crisp attention to the smallest details. And it’s unlike any adventure I’ve embarked upon. It’s not an action game. It’s not survival. It’s not horror. But it is pretty damn special. And it’s less than a month away. Somehow that feels like an exceptionally long time.
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