Joel is beginning to give up hope of ever finding Ellie.

It doesn't sit well with him. At all. There's a deep, unnerving twist of apprehension clawing its way through his gut and up his throat, a sickening sense of dread that Ellie didn't make it. That Ellie had fucking died on him when-- Jesus. Jesus. He can't bear to think of it.

The crowded streets and the unsettling reality of civilisation thriving all around him already have his nerves teetering right on the edge. The thought of not being able to find Ellie, of not being able to push his last memory out of his mind of her lying unconscious and lifeless in front of him is what's going to push him right over it.

He's lost deep in panicked, grief-stricken thought about her when someone suddenly comes barging right into his personal space. Sends Joel staggering to the side. The apology rebounds off his ears unheard; alarmed anger spikes in him, fight response suddenly taking over, and he slams his hands against the assailant to send them sprawling backwards, as far away from him as he can get them before they get a chance to shoot him, or before they get a chance to sink their infected teeth into his flesh--