Five years later and we are still talking about it. Most games vanish from the collective memory about three weeks after the credits roll, but The Last of Us 2 refuses to go quietly into that good night. It’s a polarizing, jagged, and sometimes miserable experience that forced players to live inside the skin of a character they were actively coached to hate. Naughty Dog didn’t just make a sequel; they made a 30-hour argument against the very idea of traditional video game heroism.
It’s messy.
If you played the first game, you probably walked into the second one expecting a "Joel and Ellie Save the World" victory lap. Instead, Neil Druckmann and the team at Naughty Dog decided to deconstruct the cycle of violence by making you participate in it until your hands felt dirty. It’s a bold swing. Some say it’s a masterpiece of interactive storytelling, while others think it’s a narratively bloated mess that disrespected the characters we grew to love in 2013. Honestly? Both sides have a point.
Why the Abby Switch Still Stings
Let's talk about the elephant in the room: Abby Anderson. The moment the perspective shifts from Ellie to Abby midway through the game is one of the most daring—and loathed—design choices in modern gaming history. You've just spent ten hours as Ellie, hunting down this woman and her friends in a rain-slicked Seattle. You’ve killed her dog. You’ve killed her lover. Then, the game forces you to hit the "reset" button and see her side of the story for another dozen hours.
It feels like a betrayal at first.
Players weren't just mad because Joel died; they were mad because the game asked them to empathize with his killer. This isn't a standard "villain origin story" where you see a few flashbacks and go, "Oh, okay, I guess she had a reason." No. The game makes you live her life. You play through her nightmares. You see her vulnerability with Lev and Yara. By the time you reach the final confrontation on that beach in Santa Barbara, the "villain" isn't a monster anymore. She's just another person trying to survive a world that has already taken everything from her.
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The brilliance—or the frustration, depending on who you ask—is that The Last of Us 2 doesn't care if you like Abby. It only cares that you understand her. Most games use "choice" as a mechanic to make the player feel powerful. This game uses the lack of choice to make you feel complicit. You have to press the button to swing the pipe. You have to pull the trigger. There is no "good" ending because, in this world, there are no good people left.
Technical Mastery in a Post-Apocalyptic Seattle
Forget the plot for a second. We need to talk about how this game actually feels to play. Even years after its release, the sheer technical fidelity of the Seattle environments is staggering. The way the grass moves when you crawl through it isn't just eye candy; it’s a core stealth mechanic. Naughty Dog’s "Motion Matching" technology makes every movement feel weighted and intentional. If Ellie hits a wall, she braces herself. If she’s exhausted, her breathing becomes ragged and audible, which can actually give away your position to enemies.
The AI is terrifying.
I’m serious. The "Human" enemies in this game aren't just fodder. They have names. When you kill a WLF soldier, their comrade might scream "Omar!" or "No, not Sarah!" It’s a psychological trick that works perfectly. It reminds you that every person you’re stabbing in a dark hallway has a life, a backstory, and people who will miss them. It turns a standard stealth-action loop into something deeply uncomfortable.
The Seraphites—or "Scars"—bring a different kind of dread. Their whistling communication system is haunting. You’ll be sitting in a ruined office building, hearing those echoes bounce off the walls, and you realize you aren't the hunter anymore. You're the prey. The verticality of the level design in the Seraphite sections adds a layer of tension that the first game never quite reached. You aren't just moving left to right; you're climbing through shattered skyscrapers and navigating precarious sky-bridges that make your stomach drop.
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The Cost of Revenge and the Santa Barbara Pivot
By the time you get to the third act, most players are exhausted. This is intentional. The game is long—maybe a little too long for some—but that length serves a purpose. It mimics the soul-crushing fatigue of a life lived for nothing but spite. When Ellie leaves the farmhouse, leaving Dina and the baby behind, it’s a moment of pure tragedy. She has the "perfect" life, or at least as perfect as one can get in a world full of Clickers and Shamblers, but she can't let go.
That’s the tragedy of The Last of Us 2.
The Santa Barbara section feels like a fever dream. The lighting changes from the oppressive greys and greens of Seattle to a harsh, bleaching California sun. The "Rattlers" are perhaps the most purely evil faction in the series, but they almost feel like a distraction from the real conflict: Ellie’s internal collapse. When she finally finds Abby, emaciated and tied to a stake, the "boss fight" isn't epic. It’s pathetic. Two broken people hitting each other in the surf.
The decision to let Abby go wasn't a "forgiveness" moment in the traditional sense. It was Ellie finally realizing that killing Abby wouldn't bring Joel back. It wouldn't stop the nightmares. It would just be one more body in a pile that was already too high. She lost her fingers—the very things she needed to play the guitar Joel gave her—as a physical manifestation of what her obsession cost her. She can't play his song anymore. The connection is severed.
Accessibility as a Standard, Not an Afterthought
One area where there is zero debate is the game's approach to accessibility. Naughty Dog set a new industry standard here. With over 60 accessibility settings, they made it possible for legally blind players to complete the entire game. This isn't just about remapping buttons. It involves:
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- High-contrast modes that highlight enemies and items.
- Text-to-speech for all in-game menus and documents.
- Audio cues that indicate when you are near a ledge or an interactable object.
- Combat toggles that allow players to slow down time or skip puzzles entirely.
This level of inclusivity is honestly more impressive than the graphics. It proved that "prestige" gaming doesn't have to be exclusive. It opened up a complex, mature narrative to a whole segment of the population that had been previously locked out of the medium. Lead designer Emilia Schatz and the team deserve every bit of praise for this.
The Cultural Fallout and the "Meta" Narrative
We can't ignore the backlash. The leaks that happened before the game's release poisoned the well for a lot of people. It’s a shame, really. Seeing a plot point out of context is very different from experiencing the emotional build-up over 20 hours. The discourse around the game became a proxy war for larger cultural issues, which often obscured the actual merits (and flaws) of the writing.
Some critics argue the game is "misery porn." They feel the violence is too gratuitous and that the message of "violence is bad" is delivered with a sledgehammer. While I see where they’re coming from, I think that's a bit reductive. The game is exploring the limits of empathy. It’s asking if you can still care about someone even after they’ve done the unthinkable. That’s a much more interesting question than "Is revenge bad?"
Halley Gross, the co-writer, brought a lot of nuance to the female characters. The relationship between Ellie and Dina feels authentic—full of small, quiet moments that ground the larger-than-life violence. The "Take On Me" scene in the music shop is a perfect example. It’s a brief moment of beauty in a world that is rotting, and it makes the subsequent tragedy hurt that much more.
What You Should Actually Do Next
If you’ve been avoiding the game because of the internet drama, or if you played it once and hated it, it might be time for a re-evaluation.
- Play the Remastered Version: The No Return mode is a roguelike addition that strips away the narrative weight and lets you just enjoy the combat mechanics. It’s a great way to appreciate the AI and encounter design without the emotional baggage.
- Watch the "Grounded II" Documentary: It gives incredible insight into the development hell the team went through, including the impact of the leaks and the COVID-19 pandemic. It humanizes the creators behind the game.
- Listen to the Podcast: The official The Last of Us podcast breaks down each chapter with the actors and writers. It helps explain the "why" behind some of the more controversial choices.
- Engage with the "No Return" Combat: Try playing as different characters like Mel or Manny. Each has a unique playstyle that changes how you approach the game's arenas.
The Last of Us 2 isn't a game designed to make you happy. It’s a game designed to make you think, feel, and occasionally, turn off your console in frustration. Whether you think it’s a masterpiece or a mistake, its impact on the medium is undeniable. It pushed the boundaries of what we expect from a big-budget sequel, and for that alone, it's worth the journey.
Actionable Insight: If you're struggling with the game's difficulty or the intensity of its encounters, don't be afraid to dive into the deep customization menus. You can keep the "hard" AI but give yourself more resources, or vice versa. The game is best experienced when the tension matches your personal comfort level, allowing the story to take center stage.