THE LAST OF US SEASON 2: FUNGUS, FEELINGS & THE SLOW, MUSHROOMY DEATH OF HOPE

Grab your emotional support machete and settle in, folks—The Last of Us is back, and it’s been doing squats, therapy, and some light homicide prep. Season two picks up five years after Joel’s little “I swear I’m not lying to you” bedtime story, and things have gotten... messy. Emotionally. Biologically. Existentially.

Let’s start in Jackson, where the apocalypse has somehow gentrified itself into a peaceful little snow globe of denial. Joel and Ellie are no longer the fungal-dodging dream team we remember. Joel lives in a house. Ellie lives in the garage. You know, like a stray cat with trauma and a knife collection.

*Joel and Gail letting it all out… kind of.*

They don't talk. They don’t laugh. They barely grunt. It's like watching a dad and daughter silently break up over canned beans and cold stares. Meanwhile, Joel’s going to therapy, which sounds healthy until you find out his therapist is Gail, the widow of Eugene—a man Joel shot in the freakin’ face, you guys.

We’re told Joel “had no choice” but to kill Eugene, which is what everyone says when they absolutely had choices but preferred the one with bullets. Gail says she tried to forgive him. She failed. You know someone’s therapy is going great when their shrink tells them to their face, “I can’t forgive you for murdering my husband, but let’s keep doing the sessions.”

Oh, and Eugene? He was a weed-farming ex-Firefly who lived off-grid and apparently died so hard it haunts the narrative like a joint-rolling ghost. Thanks, Joel.

Meanwhile, Ellie and Dina are flirting like horny teenagers at the end of civilization. There’s a dance, a kiss, and a slur from a homophobic townie named Seth, who might as well wear a red shirt and a bullseye on his forehead. Joel steps in to defend them, and Ellie rewards him by publicly detonating their emotional relationship in front of the whole town. We love a cathartic explosion. Just not when it’s aimed at our soul.

But who needs healing when you’ve got evolving Infected? That’s right. Cordyceps 2.0 is here, and it’s smart. One infected lures Ellie into a trap, hides behind shelves, takes cover like it went to zombie military school, and then tries to infect her with tactics. Strategy. INTENT. We’re one season away from clickers getting tenure at community college.

If that’s not enough to ruin your day, Jackson’s entire pipe system has been infiltrated by fungal tendrils. Yeah, the plumbing is planning a coup. You thought mold was bad in your apartment? Try sentient spores conspiring in your toilet.

And just outside the gates of domestic despair and DIY death mushrooms stands Abby, queen of revenge curls and rage reps. Joel killed her surgeon father who was going to dissect Ellie back in the season 1 finale. She’s here with her Firefly crew, ready to make Joel pay in installments. Slow, personal, painful installments. Like therapy, but with baseball bats and better results.

Oh, and she knows Joel’s “handsome.” So at least he’s dying pretty (fingers crossed).

As for Ellie and Dina? Adorable. Tragic. Doomed. But still adorable. I’m rooting for them. We know it might not end well, because nothing ends well in this hellscape, but let us have this apocalypse romance, damn it.

So what’s next?
Jackson’s about to become a fungal buffet. Joel’s got a therapist-slash-grieving-widow. Ellie’s trying to love while emotionally self-immolating. And Abby’s about to enter stage left with a murder boner the size of Seattle.

The real question isn’t whether someone’s going to die—it’s how many. And which part of your soul you won’t get back this time.

Catch new episodes Sundays at 9PM on Max and HBO—while your emotional stability lasts.

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