Ellie is a mess. By the time the credits roll on Naughty Dog's polarizing sequel, she isn't the quippy, pun-telling kid we met in the back of a Boston quarantine zone. She’s something else. Something harder. Honestly, looking at Ellie in The Last of Us Part 2 feels like looking at a car crash in slow motion—you want to look away, but the sheer gravity of her descent keeps you glued to the screen.
She's nineteen now.
Living in Jackson should have been the dream, right? Electricity, community, movie nights, and a chance at a normal life with Dina. But trauma doesn't just evaporate because you have a steady supply of electricity and a roof over your head. When Joel is taken from her in the most brutal way imaginable, Ellie's world doesn't just tilt; it shatters. And that’s where the game really begins, dragging us through the mud of Seattle.
The Ellie in The Last of Us Part 2 We Didn't Expect
Most sequels play it safe. They give you more of the same. But Neil Druckmann and Halley Gross decided to dismantle the protagonist we loved. It’s uncomfortable. If you felt a knot in your stomach while playing as Ellie in The Last of Us Part 2, you weren't alone. That was the intended effect.
The game forces us to inhabit her obsession.
We’re used to video game violence being a "fun" mechanic. You headshot a bad guy, you move on. But here? Every kill feels heavy. When Ellie stabs an NPC, they scream a name. "Omar!" or "Melissa!" Suddenly, you aren't just clearing a room of nameless goons. You're ending lives. Ellie feels this, too, even if she tries to hide it behind a mask of cold fury. You see it in her face—the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands shake after the more intimate kills, like the encounter with Nora in the hospital basement.
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That Red Filter and the Loss of Self
Think about the lighting in that scene. The red emergency lights. It’s basically a descent into hell. When Ellie returns to the theater after that encounter, she's physically shaken. She’s losing herself. It’s a far cry from the girl who was obsessed with Savage Starlight comics.
Is she still the hero?
That’s the question that broke the internet back in 2020 and continues to spark debates today. Some players felt betrayed. They wanted Ellie to remain the symbol of hope, the "cure" for humanity. Instead, she becomes a vessel for hate. But that’s the reality of grief. It isn't a straight line. It’s a jagged, ugly circle.
The Santa Barbara Mistake
By the time Ellie reaches Santa Barbara, she’s a ghost. She has a farm. She has a baby (JJ). She has Dina. But she doesn't have peace. The PTSD is depicted with startling, painful accuracy. That flashback in the barn? That wasn't just a jump scare. It was a manifestation of how trauma traps you in a moment you can't escape.
She leaves.
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She leaves the warmth of the farmhouse for the bleaching sun of California. Why? Because she thinks killing Abby will finally stop the noise in her head. It’s a desperate, failing logic. When she finally finds Abby, the woman who took Joel from her, Abby is a shell of herself. Tied to a stake, emaciated, hair shorn. The "boss fight" on the beach isn't empowering. It’s pathetic. Two broken people clawing at each other in the surf.
When Ellie loses her fingers—the very fingers she needs to play the guitar, her last connection to Joel—the symbolism is almost too much to bear. She traded her last piece of Joel for a revenge that didn't even make her feel better.
Why the Ending Actually Works
People hated that she let Abby go. They wanted blood. But if Ellie had killed Abby, there would be nothing left of Ellie. Letting go was the only way she could reclaim an ounce of her own humanity. It wasn't about Abby deserving mercy; it was about Ellie deserving a life that wasn't defined by a corpse.
Complexity Over Comfort
Let's be real: Ellie in The Last of Us Part 2 is a hard pill to swallow. She makes bad choices. She hurts the people who love her. She's selfish. But that's what makes her one of the most "human" characters ever written in gaming. We're used to "Power Fantasies," but this is a "Weakness Reality."
The game asks us to empathize with someone who is doing things we hate. It's a psychological tightrope.
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- You start by wanting revenge alongside her.
- You start to question her methods halfway through.
- You eventually want her to just stop and go home.
- You realize home might not be there anymore.
What This Means for The Last of Us Part 3
If we ever get a third chapter—and let's be honest, we probably will—where does Ellie go? She’s a character who has been stripped of everything. Her immunity, which used to define her worth, now feels like a footnote. Her family is gone. Her mentor is dead.
The path forward for Ellie has to be about more than survival. It has to be about purpose. She spent the first game being a "cargo" and the second game being a "weapon." In the next one, she needs to figure out how to just be a person.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Writers
If you're looking back at Ellie's journey or trying to understand why this story stuck with so many people, keep these points in mind:
- Study the facial animation: Naughty Dog used incredible tech to show micro-expressions. Watch Ellie's eyes in the quiet moments. The conflict is always there, even when she isn't speaking.
- Analyze the Journal: Ellie’s journal is where her true self lives. The poems and sketches provide a context for her mental state that the cutscenes sometimes skip. It’s the only place she’s still "Ellie."
- Embrace the Grey: Stop trying to figure out if she's a "good guy" or a "bad guy." Characters in this universe are survivors. "Good" and "bad" died when the Cordyceps hit.
- Contextualize the Violence: The gameplay isn't separate from the story. Every bullet spent and every wound taken is part of Ellie's narrative arc.
Ellie’s story is a tragedy, but it’s a necessary one. It challenges the idea that violence is a solution and forces us to look at the cost of our own anger. She's a reminder that even when we lose ourselves, there's always a chance—however small—to walk away and start over. She left the guitar behind, but she’s still breathing. And in that world, breathing is a victory.