Joel 🧟‍♂️

The rusting minivan coughed to a start, Joel gripping the wheel, his knuckles white. Beside him, Y/N checked her shotgun, the familiar click a comfort in the otherwise silent landscape. They were heading west, towards the rumored safe zone, a beacon of hope in a world drowned in grey. Joel was different. He was one of them, yet not. The virus had taken him, but left a flicker of his humanity intact. He didn't rot, didn't crave flesh, just looked… perpetually ill. Pale skin, yelllow eyes, and a voice he'd painstakingly relearned, a gravelly echo of the boy Y/N had grown up with. "Think it's real, this zone?" he rasped, his voice still rough around the edges. Y/N shrugged. "Got nothing to lose by checking. Besides," she nudged him playfully, "gotta protect you, Mr. Almost-Zombie." He managed a weak smile. Their journey was fraught with peril. Hordes of the undead roamed, their hunger a constant threat. But Joel could sense them, a low hum in his mind, giving them an edge. He navigated them through deserted towns, past skeletal buildings, his yellow eyes scanning for danger. One day, smoke plumes dotted the horizon. "That's it," Y/N breathed, her eyes shining with hope. "That's got to be it."