The Last of Us: As Precious as Hope (Agnores x Ohm)

[Agnores]

For what felt like hours, Eoin dangled.

There was a light wind, giving him a small sway, but that didn't help anything. Eoin was sure that the traps they had set were for the Infected, not living people, so he doubted he would be alive by the time someone came to check. And if he made too much noise, they would assume he was a Runner and shoot him anyway. After all, normal people were usually a bit smarter about where they stepped.

When the leg trap had sprung him up, flipping him foot over head (and giving him a nasty smack on the head as he hit the ground before being hoisted up) Eoin's bag had come undone; scattered on the ground below him was bottled water, bits of cloth for bandages, a bedroll, thicker clothes for colder weather, a mace created from a lead pipe, tire tread, and bolts, his knife which had been attacked to his backpack strap had fell out of its sheathe, and just a tiny little bit of food, now ruined as the wind scattered dirt over it. The small bit of food had been why Eoin had approached the camp anyway; he was here to either steal their food or barter for it.

It was nearing the winter months, so Eoin had taken the time to let his hair and beard grow out. He had thick brown hair that, had he been standing upright, would have covered his ears. His beard was thick and full but not long; Eoin hated long beards, and tried to keep his as short as he could while still keeping his face warm. His shirt and light jacket hung down as he swung idly, revealing his body muscled and toned from years of hard survival, a product of his families strict code of self-reliance. His clothes were appropriately dirty, but who had clean clothes in this day and age?

Eoin was straining his ears, listening for tell-tale clicks or grunts that would signal Clickers or Runners. It was quiet for the most part, but when Eoin heard the foot-falls, he grew quiet, and willed that the creaking branch that was holding him up would make less noise. The last thing he needed was an Infected to show up. What eventually did show up, however, Eoin had a hard time deciding if it was better or worse.

"Look what we got here," said one of the men, dressed for the colder weather in dirty and torn clothing. He had obviously been doing this sort of thing for a while. The girl that was with him was giving Eoin a hard glare, checking over his body. Obviously, she was looking for bites. "He doesn't look like an Infected," she said. "I'll check him for bites."

"I've not been bitten," Eoin said as she approached, but she shook her head. "I'd rather be safe than sorry." Eoin couldn't fault her as she began to give him a once over.

The man began to dig through Eoin's supplies, and Eoin watched him carefully. He didn't like what this could possibly become. "Nice weapon," the man said, hefting up Eoin's mace, giving a twirl and trying out the weight.

"Aye," Eoin said, a faint accent apparent in his voice. "But I would appreciate it if I could keep it. For safety, you know." The man laughed, but didn't reply.

"He's clean," the girl said, stepping back to her partner. The man lowered the mace to his side, and set a steely stare onto Eoin. "So tell me, friend," he began. "What brings you out here, in our trap?"

Eoin sighed. "Just travelling west. Heard of a town a couple of miles west of here that had electricity and seveal other commodities. Got a bit off course and wound up here." It wasn't a complete lie, at least.

The girl didn't seem satisfied with his answer. "Bullshit," she said, shaking her head. "Only Infected or people scouting too close to our camp get caught. If you were going west, you could have followed the highway."

Well, she had him there. He had deviated from the highway simply because he found his food supply lacking. He was hoping to find a small camp or village he could steal from and go unnoticed. The man hoisted Eoin's mace into this hand, stepping forward menacingly. "Wanna tell us what you were really doing here?"

Eoin was really starting to hate this situation, and he suddenly wished Runners had happened upon him instead of this two. He might have had a better chance of living. "Like I said," Eoin replied. "I got lost."

The man didn't seem appeased by Eoin's answer, and lifted the mace up as if he was gonna strike Eoin. Eoin closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to come, but it never did. When he opened his eyes, the woman had caught the man's arms. "Hey, stop. You know the camp rules. Its possible he's a Firefly. If he's spying, the people in the camp will wanna know. We have to bring him in."

Suddenly, Eoin had hope again. Not a lot, but some. "Its your lucky day," the man replied, lowering the mace and dropping it to the ground. "The camp will get to decide if they believe your story." He pulled a knife from his belt and cut Eoin loose, letting him fall roughly on his supplies. Eoin let out a groan of pain, and within moments, was hoisted up and carried off to the camp.

 

[Shoegaze]

• 
  
  By now, winter was approaching with frightening speed.
  The leaves were laden in a thin veil of frost and the pines were naked, exposed to the winds sweeping down from the mountains. As per routine, a group of scouts were dispatched to patrol the peremeter of the camp and comb through the thicket in search of anomalies—humans, clickers or any of the infected had high priority, but on occasion an untried doe would happen into their traps and take precedence.
  
  The camp itself was situated on the lip of a half-frozen lake in the ruin of what was once a summer camp for children. The scouts hauled their victim into the heart of the camp where the majority of the survivors congregated. All were in rags, threadbare and windburnt and yet, they carried some semblance of happiness. Men and women in queerly marked overcoats eyed their visitor with hateful gazes, cocking their weapons as warning. “Stand down,” the scouts growled.
  
  On the adjacent side of the camp overlooking the lake was the lakehouse, a fortified bungalow with a thick spiral of smoke pouring from the chimney. Inside was a perfume of half-cooked meat and, predominantly, metal. “Elliott. Is Frost around?”
  
  The scout shook his head as he gnawed absentmindedly on a heel of stale bread. “He’s in the hall.”
  
  The group proceeded until they came to the atrium. Two individuals were present—a tall, foreboding looking man with heavy chestnut tresses and a woman who was, surprisingly, bald. She was a beautiful sight with her thick, pouty lips and golden skin dotted with freckles. “Look what we’ve found.”
  
  With little to no hesitation, the scouts shoved their victim forward. Frost threw himself into an old chair and poured himself a glass of water while his female companion observed from afar like a hawk. The two exchanged words in a foreign language, one that was guttural and altogether gravely. “Who’s this?”
  
  “’Found ‘em in the woods.”
  
  “Did you pat him down?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  Frost, the leader of the camp, climbed from his chair and sauntered towards their captor with his usual foreboding nature. “Start talking.”

 

[Agnores]

When they had decided to take him to the camp, and spent the few moments gathering up all the supplies Eoin had, he had felt hope. Hope that he could sweet-talk his way into living. But now, staring at this forboding beast of a man and the beautiful but bald woman in the back, Eoin had felt his chances of survival going right down the drain, again. Neither one of them seemed the type to respond well to emotional appeals, and at this moment, that was all Eoin had. His position wasn't very good in any other terms, and it was likely these two would pin him for what he would have been: a thief. He idly wondered how well these two would respond to straight honesty.

"About what, exactly? What I was doing before I was so rudely trapped? I was travelling west. There is a city out here, somewhere, that has electricity and a bunch of other commodities. I going to find that city, and live there. As for how I got here, I took a detour. Running low on food, you see." He paused, wondering how to continue. Lie, or tell the truth...Lie it would be. "I was hunting a deer, trying to lead it to a trap I had set, but in trying to coax it, I traveled to close to your camp and hit one of your traps in a fit of irony."

He grew quiet, nodding. "That's about it, I'm afraid."

 

[Shoegaze]

• 
  
  Mid rebuke, Frost drove the butt of his rifle into Eoin’s cheek. He was a fire-blooded Arab man with little to no tolerance for cheeky individuals. A curt response was what he desired—nothing more, nothing less. “You’re lying,” Frost interjected, “We’ve hunted every last doe from miles around and if a herd was passing through, it would be going east, not west.” Even the likelihood of that was virtually nonexistent. Food was scarce—especially with winter encroaching—and a hunter stalking fresh meat so far from his camp was unusual. “Listen. Frankly, I don’t care where you’re going or where you’re coming from. Fate’s fucked you and left you here—the now.”
  
  The camp heard tales of this city; this utopia. Frost believed it existed once upon a time, but when the seasons came and went and he watched some of his very dear friends wither away from starvation, his hopes were dashed.
  
  “Samosa, you’ve been quiet. You don’t have any input?”
  
  Frost gestured to the Egyptian woman perched on a pile of confiscated crates. She was a lovely sight if ever there was one and her pert cheekbones were being licked by the fur limning her hood’s collar. She was quiet for a long lapse, silently observing their prey with her insidious, light eyes. Finally, Samosa parted her lips. “Continue with procedure,” she said curtly, “no loose ends.” Frost agreed with a short nod, flipped his rifle and pressed the barrel against Eoin’s forehead.
  
  Samosa thrust herself up from her haunt and glided over, standing uncomfortably close to Eoin. “I don’t give a flying fuck as to where you want to live, but when you’re pussy-footing around my territory looking to steal, I begin to develop some concern.” She glanced over her shoulder to his pile of confiscated personal effects, eager to rummage through them.
  
  “So, tell you what. You loosen your lips or he’ll blow a hole in your skull. Either way, we get your belongings, including that pretty-ass cudgel you’ve been toting around.”

 

[Agnores]

Ouch. Stars floated around in Eoin's vision after the strike, and it took him a few moments to collect himself. His lie had a glaring mistake in it, one that he would have seen had he not been in such a stressful situation. It only made things harder for him, as now everything he said would be cast into doubt and scrutinized that much harder. And now, with a gun barrel pressed against his head, and a very beautiful but incredibly threatening woman bearing down on him, Eoin realized he had only one weapon in his arsenal now. It was a lie that had gotten him out of many a messy situation, and he only hoped he didn't mess it up now. After all, if he told the truth, they would kill him anyhow.

"Kill me then," Eoin replied, bressing his head painfully into the gun barrel. "But be warned: the Fireflies won't be too happy when they don't hear back from me. They'll follow the marks I left, leaving my trail. They'll find your camp, and how my trail never leaves from here. Then they'll see you guys...what was the phrase?...pussy-footing around with my stuff, and then you'll be really fucked. They'll destroy everything you have here for no other reason then you killed me. One of the perks of being the son of one of the big-shots." He fixed the man with a gun with a steely gaze.

That wasn't a complete lie. Eoin's dad had been a big-shot within the Fireflies before he passed away. This afforded Eoin some modicum of special treatment within select Firefly groups, but hardly anything as grandiose as what he had said. Of course, not many people were willing to fuck with the Fireflies, and Eoin hoped this camp wasn't one either. He hoped beyond hope that his acting held through. He hoped beyond hope that this guy wasn't ballsy. Because if he was the least bit brave, he would kill Eoin, and then nothing bad would happen to him.

Oh, how life sucked right now.

 

[Shoegaze]

• 
  
  Samosa, the Firefly emissary, was well prepared to end their infiltrator's life, but not with their precious confiscated ammo. In stead she drew a stiletto from her belt, lurched behind Eoin, grabbed a healthy handful of his hair and bit his skin with the knife. Before she pounced, Frost interjected. He threw his hand to her shoulder in an attempt to wrest her from her prey. "Just wait," he griped, "Put that away."
  
  Samosa bristled but did as she was bid and retreated. "A Firefly?" Frost's voice was half laden with surprise, half sodden in grief. A fraction of their camp were Fireflies - excommunicated or otherwise - and one that was dispatched to infiltrate their peaceful encampment would likely irritate old wounds that had yet to fully heal.
  
  "He's lying," Samosa announced, but Frost would hear none of it. He merely smiled and pulled a half rotten stool undernearth him. It cried out in protest but Frost seemed uncaring.
  
  "He probably is, but it's not a chance we can take. Not right now at least." Frost rubbed his beard, gently combing through the hairs while he pondered. His pensive expression only stiffened the tension between the trio. "Where are you tags? Don't tell me you've lost them." Frost thrust open Eoin's jacket and, as he assumed, the military tags around his neck were altogether absent.
  
  "I have a feeling you're not at all as clever as you're pretending to be, friend. But, for your sake, we'll play along with your game. If you have Firefly affiliates, they'll know Sam." He gestured to the exotic Egyptian woman behind him. "And if you don't have Firefly affiliates, Sam will kill you."

 

[Agnores]

The man was right. Eoin wasn't nearly as clever as he was pretending to be. The pain he felt from the knife's bite was a testament to the situation he had got himself into. However, he had a few saving graces. For instance, in the inside pocket of his jacket, he held his dad's tags. They would not know that they weren't his, and he was sure he could come up with an adequate enough excuse to explain why he wasn't wearing them. That only solved that issue, however.

A bigger problem was that Eoin had no idea where Firefly group was, and it would be even less likely that they would recognize him or remember his dad's name. If he was told to bring to this Sam girl to his group of Fireflies, he would be in deep shit. Of course, it was likely he could lead her into a situation that got her killed...but he couldn't be sure of that. He didn't know this girl or her skill set, and he was more likely to bet she would be able to make it out of most situations. Inwardly, Eoin gave a sigh. At least he wouldn't die here.

"Check the inside jacket pocket," Eoin said. "My tags are there. I hate the feel of the chain on my neck, so I don't wear them unless I have to." Eoin fixed the man with a hard stare. "Sam won't be killing me, methinks." Eoin gave a cocky smile, hiding his inner turmoil.