Last of Us: Ellie and Riley

Prologue

She realizes that being a Firefly isn't all it's cracked up to be.

The Boston base she's resided in is home to herself and dozens of 'Fly faces that frequently give her the looks, not adjusting well enough to process the fact that Marlene had recruited an adolescent into their cause.

It's a strange thing to get used to, but no one questions it. Not even when Marlene orders one of them to press Riley's name onto the back of a pre-made Firefly pendant; not even when she's wielding a pocket knife and aims for the head of a restrained infected, stabs, and passes the initiation.

The second the creature's head gets pronged, Riley's gifted with pats on the backs and nods of approval as she stands before her kill, masking revulsion as a pool of red starts circling the dead infected. She can hardly steady her weapon, which is coated with infectious blood.

The sight of it reminds her of something, but it's ominous and bleak and the last thing she would want is to remember anything from the past.

Riley shakes her head, I should be grateful. she thinks. Of course, she's gotten what she wanted, after all. She's become one of them.

Well—in a way, at least.

It's slightly disappointing when the following days consist of simple drills that have already been taught to her long before her initiation. The first few weeks hold tests of stamina and agility which Riley passes with ease. The next week consists of firearm training where a gun finally lands on her anticipating palms. Melanie, one of the Fireflies, has tutored her through the whole thing, explaining with patience regarding the basics of aiming and shooting with a pistol. It's not a struggle for Riley either, and the entertainment for a good challenge diminishes each passing day.

At times, she forgets where she is, and finds herself wondering why the corridors don't lead to the mess hall.

It doesn't surprise her when Marlene confesses that she's too young to be placed in the front lines, or to be sent out with an armed posse to scavenge for items left strewn about in Boston. Instead, she's assigned as a medic, nursing wounded Fireflies and attending meetings despite the lack of participation. If anything, she's relieved. Sewing up somebody's wound is better than sewing her own. The higher the chance of her life probability, the more she hopes to see her again.

Of course. Her.

Ellie.

One thing that distracts her from her Firefly duties, is that green-eyed girl that peeks out out of every gaping hole in her mind. She misses her (it's not that hard to admit), and she's left to count the days since her departure from the school. The sour regret that coils in her stomach doesn't go away. It's a persistent itch that scratches her soul and berates her conscience, she wakes up every day with the same message playing over and over in her head that won't leave her no matter how hard she tries.

You left her there without saying a word.

The guilt is almost unbearable. Almost. Riley's found techniques at coping with it, at least, and she's discovered that sewing wounds is a sufficient suppressor. It earns her double points when the stitching is done well enough that the good deed passes around until it reaches Marlene. She's satisfied with the credit she's been given, but the itch is still there.

Even when days turn to weeks and those weeks turn to a month, it's been there ever since.

She remembers the words that she's assaulted Ellie with, and the poison seems to damage them both. She knows the scene verbatim, recalling how thorny her unintentional hatred was at the moment. It rings in her ears every now and then, and she's left sitting at the edge of her cot during the late night, curling up her toes, wondering if Ellie's going through the same experience she's forced to endure each night.