Two years later

The group advanced in silence along the desolate road, a line of nine figures wrapped in a mixture of exhaustion and despair. Their steps were heavy, echoing through the emptiness and occasionally punctuated by the crunch of gravel under their boots. Except for a young man at the back of the line, all their faces shared the same somber expression.

Destroyed and rusted vehicles lined the road, a grim reminder of a more civilized time, now unrecognizable. Car bodies overgrown with weeds, shattered windows, and open doors bore witness to chaos that no longer felt urgent but eternal.

"Owen, how much longer until we reach Seattle?" Abby asked, her voice hoarse and subdued, as though carrying the bolt-action rifle on her shoulder was as burdensome as the weight of the memories haunting her.

"At this pace... days," Owen replied, keeping his gaze fixed on Mel, who walked beside him. He attempted a small smile, a fragile gesture that seemed as out of place as a flower growing between the cracks in the pavement.

At the back of the formation was Elliot, a 19-year-old, the youngest of the group. While the others ranged from 20 to 23, Elliot didn't quite fit in—not completely. In truth, he shouldn't have been there. He didn't belong in this world.

Elliot was a reincarnator, someone who had died in another life and been reborn in this universe. His death, though fuzzy in his memory, had left him with one burning desire: to be reborn in the universe of The Last of Us. But that dream, so ironic now, had turned into a living nightmare.

Two years ago, he had awakened in the body of a Firefly, just as Joel had destroyed the Fireflies at the hospital to save Ellie. His arrival had coincided with a moment of chaos and death. Instinctively, Elliot had expected his rebirth to come with some kind of system, an advantage to survive in such a brutal world. After all, wasn't that what happened in those stories he loved so much?

But the system never came.

Two years had passed since that day, and in that time, Elliot had learned to survive without magical aids or absurd perks. Everything he had, he had earned through effort, ingenuity, and an absurd amount of luck. To make matters worse, he was now stuck with a group of survivors who barely tolerated his presence. A group that, like him, bore the scars of a world determined to break them.

It was 2034, and though he had overcome things he couldn't even explain, he couldn't help but look back with some bitterness. Why did I choose this world? he wondered as his boots crunched over a shard of glass. And more importantly, what the hell am I doing here without a damn system?

The Fireflies had ceased to exist just over two weeks ago. With Marlene's death, everything had collapsed like a house of cards. The cause so many had fought, bled, and died for was gone. The organization had disbanded, its members, once united under a common ideal, scattering like dust in the wind.

Elliot knew all of this perfectly well. He knew why the group was heading to Seattle, but he didn't share their enthusiasm. His goal was different, far more ambitious: to change the course of history. There were still two years until Joel met his fate, and Elliot had no intention of following the narrative as he knew it. However, without the system he had longed for, that plan had become a distant dream.

Now, he simply survived. He had been forced to adapt and seek refuge among the strongest. This group, though far from perfect, was his best option. For now, he contented himself with keeping pace and pretending he shared some common purpose with them.

Abby was the central figure of the group—and for Elliot, also its greatest obstacle. Since her father's death, she had been nothing but a whirlwind of determination and bitterness. If she was difficult to endure in the video game, she was worse in person. Stronger, more irritating, and with a temperament that could wear down even the most patient. But, unlike her future self, she had not yet become the mountain of muscle that players hated or admired. She still retained an attractive figure: well-defined hips and a backside that caught attention even in the apocalypse. Of course, beyond that, she was still a constant pain in everyone's ass.

The group marched under her leadership and Owen's, leaving the others as mere followers. Elliot, for his part, was already at his limit. They had been walking almost nonstop for two weeks, following abandoned roads and slipping through the remnants of a world that no longer had a place for them.

Fortunately, they hadn't encountered any threats during that time: no infected, no raiders, no bloodthirsty fanatics. In this world, silence was a gift no one took for granted.

But Elliot knew that calm wouldn't last forever. Walking behind everyone, hands in his pockets and gaze fixed on the horizon, he couldn't stop wondering how he would change this group's fate and, with some luck, the course of the entire story. Without a system, he would have to rely on his wit and his ability to manipulate the pieces on the board.

"Owen, I'm tired..." murmured Mel, her voice barely a whisper, heavy with exhaustion.

"No, we need to keep going," Abby replied without looking at her, her tone cold and authoritative. "We'll rest when we reach Seattle."

"We haven't rested properly in days. We barely stop to sleep for a few hours," Jordan interjected, his tone revealing his frustration. "Leah's exhausted too."

Owen glanced at Abby, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, but he closed it immediately. He didn't dare challenge her. Elliot watched the scene with a mixture of disdain and resignation. Of course, he wouldn't stand up to her. The bastard was with Mel, but everyone knew he loved Abby. A real piece of work.

This time, it was Manny who broke the silence. "We need to rest," he said, his Mexican accent even more pronounced by the seriousness of his words. "We can't keep walking like ghosts down the road. Besides, we have no idea what's waiting for us in Seattle. There could be another faction or something worse."

Abby stopped abruptly, not looking at anyone. The tension was palpable. Owen, in a gesture that seemed more impulsive than brave, placed a hand on her shoulder. The slight touch made Mel clench her jaw, a detail only Elliot noticed from his position at the back of the group.

"Fine," Abby conceded, though her voice was still heavy with impatience. "We'll rest tonight. But tomorrow, no more excuses. We keep heading to Seattle."

A few sighs of relief escaped from the group. Instead of continuing down the road, they took a detour toward a small town visible in the distance, less than a kilometer away. The sky was beginning to take on hues of orange and purple as the sun descended, adding a strange beauty to a world that no longer had room for it.

Elliot walked behind everyone, lost in thought. He missed things from his past life, things he had once taken for granted. Yes, he loved being in the world of his favorite video game, and yes, he enjoyed the idea of never having to work again. But he hated it all at the same time.

Humans were awful, even to their own allies. There wasn't a single moment of peace. Every day was a constant fight for survival, and death lurked around every corner. He had been reincarnated without the system he had so desperately hoped for, the one that was supposed to give him some sort of edge. He went hungry every day, and though his physique had improved over time, it was nothing impressive. Certainly not the body of a Greek god, and that annoyed him more than he cared to admit.

I came to this world to change it, not to be pathetic, he thought bitterly.

He had arrived with a dream: to reform the Fireflies, to turn them into a symbol of safety and hope. He wanted to pursue a cure for the virus, seek out the town in Jackson, and forge an alliance that would prove the future wasn't lost. He wanted to erase the failed legacy of the old Fireflies and build something new.

But all of that had gone to hell.

Two years of living in misery had taught him that dreams were a luxury few could afford. His aspirations were as rusted as the bolt-action rifle slung over his shoulder, a relic that barely worked. With a resigned sigh, he adjusted the weapon on his back and kept walking behind the group, putting one foot in front of the other.

For now, all he could do was survive.

End of Chapter 1.