Five years after the heart-wrenching conclusion of Season 1, The Last of Us returns to HBO with a Season 2 premiere that is more emotionally charged than action-packed. Titled “Future Days,” the episode quietly reopens the wound left behind by Joel’s devastating decision in the Fireflies hospital and gently introduces new characters, dangers, and dynamics that will shape the emotional landscape of the coming season.
Showrunners Craig Mazin and Neil Druckmann, in adapting the controversial yet deeply resonant narrative of The Last of Us Part II, make some bold structural choices from the outset. We get a glimpse of a quieter life in Jackson, Wyoming—one that’s filled with echoes of peace, but more pointedly haunted by trauma, regret, and unspoken truths.
The Last of Us season 2
At the emotional heart of the premiere is the noticeable absence of closeness between Joel (Pedro Pascal) and Ellie (Bella Ramsey). Season 1’s tender, hard-earned relationship between them has given way to discomfort, avoidance, and quiet resentment. While their physical proximity is minimal in this episode, the few shared moments between them are deeply telling. The warmth has cooled. The ease is gone.
Pascal’s performance is, once again, remarkably nuanced. Joel’s softer, more civilian existence as a carpenter and community member in Jackson has made room for reflection. The grey in his beard and the longing in his eyes speak volumes. His therapy sessions with the sharp yet compassionate Gail (played masterfully by Catherine O’Hara) reveal a man wrestling with emotional burdens too heavy to voice out loud—especially when those burdens involve secrets as catastrophic as the one he carries.
Meanwhile, Ellie seems physically tougher and emotionally guarded. Ramsey brings a new physicality to the role, demonstrated in a barn fight scene that serves as a narrative bridge between the two seasons. She’s no longer just the cheeky, curious girl from Boston—she’s a young woman learning to navigate rage, loss, and love in equal measure.
Season 2 wastes no time in delivering on Mazin and Druckmann’s promise of more infected encounters. Ellie and Dina (Isabela Merced) face off against a new variant: the Stalker. Unlike the Clickers or Runners, this iteration is eerily silent, crawling with a quiet intelligence that adds a folk-horror edge to the infected threat. The near-silence of the scene, punctuated by the Stalker’s distant groans and fungal headgear, brings a visceral new terror that may surpass even Season 1’s museum sequence.
The encounter also showcases the evolving chemistry between Ellie and Dina. Their interaction while clearing the store is part tense horror, part youthful mischief. They’re warriors, yes, but also teenagers—rebellious, snarky, and increasingly in sync. Their dynamic brings a new kind of warmth to the series, setting up a key emotional arc for the season.
The biggest structural deviation from the game comes in the early reveal of Abby (Kaitlyn Dever). Instead of preserving the ambiguity of her motives, the show signals her vengeful intent right from the premiere. While some viewers may appreciate this clarity, longtime fans of the game might feel that the emotional punch of the reveal later in the story is blunted.
Still, Dever’s performance is immediately arresting. Her Abby doesn’t bear the hulking physique from the game but radiates danger and determination through steely eyes and tense posture. When she gazes down at Jackson in the episode’s final moments, the ominous tone is unmistakable. Combined with the visual of cordyceps tendrils creeping through Jackson’s infrastructure, the message is clear: safety is an illusion.
One of the premiere’s quieter triumphs lies in its portrayal of emotional reckoning. Joel’s therapy sessions with Gail aren’t just narrative devices—they’re windows into the soul of a man who has become a father again, and who is terrified of losing everything all over. O’Hara brings both comedy and gravitas to the role, and her scenes with Pascal are among the most intimate of the series to date.
This exploration of mental health, grief, and masculinity in crisis elevates the show beyond typical post-apocalyptic fare. Joel’s desire to talk about Ellie, and nothing else, is revealing. Sarah, the Fireflies, the infected—all have receded in his mind. Ellie is now his axis. That emotional dependency is as beautiful as it is precarious, especially given how far apart they are emotionally.
Dina is a delightful addition to the ensemble, and her scenes with Ellie sparkle with tension and possibility. Their rapport is effortless: rebellious, sincere, and occasionally flirtatious. It’s the kind of companionship Ellie has long been denied, and the writing wisely leans into that potential.
A standout scene at the town council, where the two slouch like scolded teens, captures the kind of quiet intimacy that sets this series apart. We know where this relationship may lead, but watching its genesis in real time is deeply satisfying.
As always, The Last of Us is as much about the little things as the big plot points. Nirvana’s “Love Buzz” playing through Ellie’s headphones, the snow-blanketed wilderness, a dismembered bear lying in eternal hibernation—each detail contributes to a hauntingly immersive world.
These textures are not just set dressing. They reflect the story’s mood, its melancholy, and the ever-present juxtaposition of beauty and horror. This episode may be a slow burn, but it glows with emotional resonance.
“Future Days” is a powerful, introspective premiere that chooses subtlety over spectacle. While a few narrative decisions—like the early reveal of Abby’s motivation—may divide longtime fans, the overall direction is promising. With stellar performances, chilling infected scenes, and deeply felt character work, Season 2 of The Last of Us is off to a strong start.
