Joel is getting mighty damn sick of this place already.
The constant throng of people. The endless activity. The overwhelming sights and smells and noise. The way people keep getting into his damn personal space with things they're trying to sell and haggle. Joel has spent twenty years wishing for civilisation the way he knew it - an organised society, predictability, the mundane life of people simply going about their business without the fear of Infected or of the military exterminating people in order to meet ration demands - and now that he's back in some semblance of an organised society--
Well, it don't help that he doesn't recognise anything. It sure as hell don't help that every nerve ending is on edge, waiting for something to happen. Something bad. Twenty years of surviving in terror and fear and martial law has taught him to expect little else.
Pushing a hand through his hair and wiping away sweat beading along his hairline, he pushes his way through the crowd, his other hand ready to reach behind him for his pistol at any sign of danger. Earth sector. He's trying to find his way back to the Earth sector but damn it, these streets are like a maze, and the endless confusion of people bustling everywhere doesn't help.
There, he suddenly realises, craning his head to peer over the tops of people's heads. He can see what looks like the beginnings of the Earth sector just ahead in the distance, if the sandstone buildings are any indicator. Jesus, about fucking time.
He pushes through another unnerving bottleneck of people and makes himself let out a steady, even breath to calm his nerves as he walks as quickly as his tired, blistered feet will take him. His eyes cut here and there, watching for any danger, his gaze skimming across different people's faces - and his eyes land on a woman staring back at home. Someone who looks a dead ringer of--
He stops in his tracks. And as the woman (Tess?!) approaches him, comes to a stop before him, hands on her hips, admonishing him with a familiar brusque tone, Joel takes a hasty step backwards, his usually hard and steely eyes wildly looking her up and down.
"Jesus," comes an absent, bewildered utterance from his lips, "what the hell--"
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The constant throng of people. The endless activity. The overwhelming sights and smells and noise. The way people keep getting into his damn personal space with things they're trying to sell and haggle. Joel has spent twenty years wishing for civilisation the way he knew it - an organised society, predictability, the mundane life of people simply going about their business without the fear of Infected or of the military exterminating people in order to meet ration demands - and now that he's back in some semblance of an organised society--
Well, it don't help that he doesn't recognise anything. It sure as hell don't help that every nerve ending is on edge, waiting for something to happen. Something bad. Twenty years of surviving in terror and fear and martial law has taught him to expect little else.
Pushing a hand through his hair and wiping away sweat beading along his hairline, he pushes his way through the crowd, his other hand ready to reach behind him for his pistol at any sign of danger. Earth sector. He's trying to find his way back to the Earth sector but damn it, these streets are like a maze, and the endless confusion of people bustling everywhere doesn't help.
There, he suddenly realises, craning his head to peer over the tops of people's heads. He can see what looks like the beginnings of the Earth sector just ahead in the distance, if the sandstone buildings are any indicator. Jesus, about fucking time.
He pushes through another unnerving bottleneck of people and makes himself let out a steady, even breath to calm his nerves as he walks as quickly as his tired, blistered feet will take him. His eyes cut here and there, watching for any danger, his gaze skimming across different people's faces - and his eyes land on a woman staring back at home. Someone who looks a dead ringer of--
He stops in his tracks. And as the woman (Tess?!) approaches him, comes to a stop before him, hands on her hips, admonishing him with a familiar brusque tone, Joel takes a hasty step backwards, his usually hard and steely eyes wildly looking her up and down.
"Jesus," comes an absent, bewildered utterance from his lips, "what the hell--"