My eyes shot open with a gasp, lungs burning like I had drowned. Every muscle screamed as if I had been left to rot underwater for days. My fingers scraped against cracked tile—cold, wet, filthy. A faint smell of mildew and mold clung to everything.
It wasn't my bed. It wasn't my apartment. It wasn't even my body.
When I stumbled to my feet, legs trembling like rubber, I caught my reflection in a broken shard of glass. A stranger's face stared back at me. Dark brown eyes, younger, smoother skin. A boy—twelve, maybe thirteen. African American. Lean, underfed, but alive. Not me. And yet… it was me.
Before panic could set in, a sharp ping echoed inside my skull. A glow lit up before my eyes, words forming in mid-air as if projected onto reality itself.
System Message (Translucent Box)
[Welcome, User: Drevari Mar'killiviss-Black]
Your consciousness has been successfully transferred.
Explanation: In your original timeline, your physical body ceased synchronization during an attempted "speed-run session." As compensation, your *soul* has been reborn into this younger host body within the post-apocalyptic world of *The Last of Us.*
Reason:it was estimated that you originally were not supposed to live as long as you managed to in your previous life. This led to a wager among spectators; eventually they got fed up with your choice of the 'neet' lifestyle and created a scenario that led to your demise. However; even in death your consciousness demonstrated *unusual persistence*—.
Your consciousness refused termination during your body's collapse. This created an anomaly that the spectator's higher-ups caught wind of and resulted in their termination. As compensation; you were granted a second life as a character in the game you were killed playing, you are now Sam Burrell. Only after the action of transferring your consciousness into the character did they choose to read through your memories upon this universe and this character; deeming it necessary to grant you the ability you praised the most in your previous life.
[Reward Granted: Graphical User Interface] For the inconvenience of involuntary transfer, you have been gifted a GUI (Graphical User Interface).
This interface will allow you to interact with reality through *RPG-like functions.*
The "Diligent Progression System".
Description:
The host earns Experience Points whenever they're actively diligent in doing tasks, finish quests, and defeat opponents.
Once the host's skill Experience Points passes a certain threshold number of Experience accumulated in a skill; the host will gain a skill attribute point, any accumulated skill point(s); the host can choose to horde and ration or the host has the option to use immediately. In addition; After increasing a skill's level, the host is rewarded with a (passive) perk/proficiency that corresponds with the skill mentioned andimproves efficiency whenever the skill is active. This passive ability improves whenever the skill's level is increased. To simplify this; I'll use the terms: Skill Exp.
Each time the host gains a level as a character (personal not skill), the host will receive one Attribute Point, which the host can use to develop/create an Ability or improve any already existing capability the host already has. To simplify this; I'll use the terms: Character Exp. (e.g. for example. Cole's skill shop from infamous. Not including the karmic aspect)
**Leveling System** –
Every action you take (hunting, crafting, combat, survival, etc.) grants EXP. •
**Skill Growth** –
Skills improve through usage (dexterity). •
**Stat Progression** –
Strength, Agility, Endurance, Intelligence, Perception, etc. can be upgraded. •
**Health & Stamina Bars** –
Direct tracking of survival status. •
**Status Screen** –
View physical condition, skills, inventory, and corruption level.
[Reward Granted: EXP Shop]
The EXP you earn can also be spent directly within the [Shop]. This feature allows for (you) the player to spend points gained from leveling up, these points can be attributed to previously created/unlocked skills. —choose wisely.
[Warning] This world operates by its *own rules.* Death is permanent. Pain is real. There are no checkpoints. Survive, adapt, and grow… or become prey for whatever this world holds.
Good luck, player.
The glowing System box blinked out of sight, leaving me in silence. My pulse was still pounding, the words carved deep into my mind.
It was a sick kind of mercy—they knew what I would kill for.
I made a mental note to find or craft a Compound Bow;
Something silent. Efficient. And it fit like instinct. looking for it alongside a few medications: painkillers, antibiotics, bandages. My mental "wishlist." My survival plan.
That's when the silence cracked.
Click… creeeeaaak…
The door edged open, slow, cautious, like someone didn't want to wake a corpse. My head snapped toward it, heart hammering.
When a man stepped through, he froze mid-step. His eyes went wide, mouth parting in disbelief. For a moment, we just stared—like mirrors caught in different times.
"…Henry?" My voice rasped, raw, like sandpaper scraping my throat.
"You're—" His voice broke before he finished, words shattering in his mouth. "You're awake."
He crossed the room in three strides, dropping onto the mattress like a man who'd just seen a ghost crawl out of its grave. His hand clamped my shoulder, firm and trembling all at once. I felt the quake in his fingers, like he was testing if I was solid, real.
"You scared the hell out of me, kid," he muttered, jaw clenched, eyes shining too much for comfort.
I managed a tired smile. That alone seemed to knock the weight out of him—his shoulders sagged, relief spilling from his body in a heavy exhale.
The man who stepped into the room. Taller, lean, only a few years older, but with eyes sharpened by hardship. The memories that weren't mine whispered the truth: This isHenry Burrell—the older brother of this body's previous host.
Seeing the confusion written across my face, Henry pulled in a breath and explained.
"Three days ago…" His voice was low, steady, but there was a crack under it. "We were out with the team. Seven of us. On a run. It was supposed to be simple—scavenge a few buildings, get in, get out." His eyes narrowed, jaw working. "Then they came. Infected. Same number as us. Matched one-for-one."
I swallowed, throat dry.
"You almost didn't make it. Clicker came down on you—if I was a second slower, it'd have torn your throat out. I took it down, but…" He hesitated, hand flexing. "…you stumbled. Window was right behind you. Second floor. You went out head-first."
My hand lifted unconsciously, brushing my temple. The throbbing ache behind my skull pulsed in agreement with every word.
Henry's voice hardened. "You've been out cold for three days. I thought…" He trailed off. I didn't need him to finish.
But as his words settled, so did the truth: that fall was the bridge. My soul had slipped into this boy's body when his brain went dark.
Which meant one more thing—clearer than glass, sharper than the pain in my head.
I was the only one who could see the System.
Skimming Memories
I closed my eyes and let the pounding in my head guide me deeper. Threads of memory unspooled—memories that weren't mine, but now belonged to me. They pressed into my mind with the clarity of scars.
A few days back… Henry had chosen to follow in our parents' footsteps. Their plan: escape Hartford's quarantine zone in Connecticut, trek toward Boston, and seek out the Fireflies.
( Flashback Begins )
Dad was a guard in Hartford Q.Z. He'd seen things. Too much. He watched his commander slide into tyranny—hoarding rations, punishing civilians for whispers, turning the guards into wolves against their own flock.
Dad had decided he wouldn't be part of it.
He smuggled Mom and us out, past the fences, past the spotlights, using every ounce of his connections and favors. Before slipping back inside, he pressed a battered walkie-talkie into Mom's hands. His voice was firm, steady:
"I'll keep in touch. Every night, no matter what."
But that was the last time we saw him.
They singled him out the moment he returned to his post. We knew it. We heard it. His voice never came through the walkie-talkie again—just the brutal, wet sounds of fists and boots against flesh. He didn't give us away, no matter how hard they tried. His silence cost him everything.
We sat in the dark, clutching the walkie, waiting for a voice that would never come.
Mom… she refused to believe. She clung to that walkie like a lifeline, holding out hope. "He's alive. He'll call." Her voice trembled, but she repeated it over and over.
She waited all night.
The worst decision she ever made.
Because sound carries. And in the ruins of Hartford, outside the quarantine zones, sound means death.
It came without warning—a stalker. The shriek that tore from her throat jolted Henry and me awake, hearts hammering in terror.
Henry didn't hesitate. He grabbed the fire axe we'd carried since leaving the Q.Z. and sprinted into the next room.
I sat frozen, clutching the blanket, my own breath choking me as I listened. The sound of struggle, a body hitting the ground. Silence… and then footsteps.
When Henry came back, the axe was slick. In his other hand, he carried Mom's backpack.
I didn't have to ask.
I didn't want to.
I knew.
( Flashback Ends )
We buried her the next morning, a shallow grave beneath a broken tree. Henry left the walkie on top, the last tether to the voices that betrayed us.
He didn't speak much after that. Didn't need to. Losing both our parents in twenty-four hours was more than enough explanation for why he became what he is now: a shield, a wall, a boy forced into the role of father.
-x-
Back in the Present
My eyes opened, the weight of those memories pressing like lead in my chest. Henry's hand was still on my shoulder, strong, grounding. Overprotective? No—desperate. A boy trying to hold together what little family he had left.
And it struck me then: if this really was before the canon timeline, then we weren't even in Joel and Ellie's story yet. Which meant…
How much time do we have before it begins?
And a minor thought—how many more graves would we leave behind before we got there?
Author's Note: Thank You for reading the chapter. Leave comments. if you liked it; please show your support.