Games usually play it safe. They give you a hero, a villain, and a clear path to feeling like a badass. But then there’s The Last of Us Part II. It’s been years since Naughty Dog dropped this bomb on the gaming world, and honestly, the conversation around the game and daughter figure Ellie hasn't slowed down a bit. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s deeply uncomfortable.
People expected a road trip. They wanted more of the "dad-joke Joel" and "curious Ellie" dynamic that defined the first game. Instead, Neil Druckmann and Halley Gross handed us a brutal meditation on grief and the consequences of a lie. If you’ve played it, you know the feeling. That pit in your stomach when the perspective shifts.
The relationship between the protagonist of the first game and daughter surrogate Ellie isn't a fairy tale. It’s a tragedy built on a foundation of 20 years of trauma and a single, world-altering decision made in a hospital in Salt Lake City.
The Lie That Broke the World
The core of the friction in the sequel isn't just the violence. It's the honesty—or lack thereof. At the end of the first game, Joel saves Ellie from a surgery that would have killed her but potentially cured the Cordyceps brain infection. He tells her the Fireflies had "stopped looking for a cure."
It was a lie. A massive, selfish, beautiful, and devastating lie.
When Ellie finally finds out the truth at the St. Mary’s Hospital ruins, the game shifts. This isn't just about "the game and daughter" bond anymore; it’s about the autonomy of a young woman who was told her life didn't matter unless she died for a cause, and a man who decided her life was the only thing that mattered to him.
You see it in the flashbacks. The museum scene is arguably the best sequence Naughty Dog has ever produced. It's quiet. It's tender. Joel gives Ellie a space capsule birthday gift, and for a moment, the world isn't ending. But even then, the shadow of the lie is there. You can see it in Ellie's eyes when she looks at the Firefly graffiti. She knows. Or she suspects. And that suspicion rots the relationship from the inside out until the moment Abby Anderson walks into that basement with a golf club.
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Understanding the Backlash and the "Replacement"
Let's talk about the elephant in the room. The community split.
A significant portion of the player base felt betrayed. They didn't just lose a character they loved; they felt the game forced them to empathize with the person who took him away. The introduction of Abby as a parallel to Ellie was a massive gamble.
In many ways, Abby is the "daughter" of her own story. Her father, Jerry Anderson, was the surgeon Joel killed. The symmetry is deliberate. The game and daughter parallels are everywhere if you look for them. Abby is seeking justice for her father; Ellie is seeking justice for her father figure. Both are blinded by it.
Critics like Gene Park of the Washington Post have noted that the game asks the player to perform an act of radical empathy. It’s not easy. It’s actually pretty miserable at times. But that’s the point. The cycle of violence doesn't care about who you started the game rooting for.
Why Ellie’s Journey is Unique
- Autonomy: Ellie’s rage stems from the fact that her choice was taken twice. Once by the Fireflies who didn't ask her to die, and once by Joel who didn't let her.
- The Guitar: Music is the tether. Joel teaches her to play. By the end, after losing her fingers in the fight with Abby, she can’t play the song he taught her. It’s the ultimate physical manifestation of her loss.
- The Porch Scene: This is the heart of the game. Ellie tells Joel, "I don't think I can ever forgive you for that. But I would like to try." That’s the tragedy. They were just starting to heal when the world tore them apart again.
The Technicality of Grief
From a gameplay perspective, the mechanics reinforce the narrative. Ellie is faster, smaller, and more desperate than Joel was. Her combat style is scrappy. You feel every stab. You hear the enemies scream each other's names.
Naughty Dog used a system called "Neural Breathing" to make the characters sound more human based on their exertion and stress. When Ellie is hiding in the grass, her breath is ragged. It’s not just a game and daughter story; it’s a sensory experience of PTSD.
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The AI is also tuned to be uncomfortably human. When you kill a dog in this game, it’s not just an "enemy unit." The owner screams the dog's name. It’s designed to make you feel bad. It’s designed to make you question why you’re even doing this. This isn't "fun" in the traditional sense. It’s compelling, which is a very different thing.
Looking Toward the Future (Part III?)
Is there a way back for Ellie?
She ends the game alone. Dina is gone. The baby, JJ, is gone. The house in Jackson is empty. She leaves the guitar behind and walks into the woods.
Some fans interpret this as a total loss. Others see it as a clean slate. She is finally free of the weight of Joel’s lie and the weight of her own revenge. She didn't kill Abby. She broke the cycle, even if it cost her everything she had.
If we ever get a Part III, it won't be about the game and daughter dynamic in the way the first two were. That chapter is closed. Joel is gone, and Ellie is no longer a daughter looking for a father. She’s a woman looking for a reason to live that isn't tied to her immunity or her trauma.
How to Process the Story (Actionable Insights)
If you’re struggling with the ending or the themes of the game, you’re not alone. Here is how to actually engage with the text of the game without getting bogged down in the internet shouting matches:
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Replay the Flashbacks Only
If you have the encounters unlocked, watch the flashbacks in order. It tells a completely different story when separated from the Abby sections. It's a story of a girl outgrowing her mentor and finding her own moral compass.
Study the Journal Entries
Ellie’s journal is where the real character development happens. A lot of people miss the poems and sketches. They show a level of guilt and love for Joel that she can't express out loud. It provides context for her "obsession" that the cutscenes sometimes skip over.
Listen to the "One Night Live" Epilogue
There is a scene that was performed live by Troy Baker and Ashley Johnson that isn't in the game. It takes place after the main story and shows a slightly more hopeful interaction. It’s canon-adjacent and helps soften the blow of the ending.
Separate Joel the Hero from Joel the Human
Joel did something monstrous for a beautiful reason. Understanding that both things are true at the same time is the key to enjoying the sequel. If you view him as a flawless hero, the game will feel like an insult. If you view him as a complicated man who made a choice with consequences, the game becomes a masterpiece of character writing.
The Last of Us Part II doesn't want you to be happy. It wants you to be honest. It’s a game that respects the intelligence of its audience enough to be "unlikeable." In an era of focus-tested media, that’s a rare and valuable thing. Whether you love it or hate it, the impact of the game and daughter journey Ellie took is undeniable. It changed the way we talk about narratives in big-budget gaming forever.
Moving forward, the best way to appreciate the depth here is to look at the work of character designers like Ashley Swidowski. Look at how Ellie’s model ages and wears the stress of her journey. The details tell the story as much as the dialogue does. It's all there, written in the scars and the silence.