How The Last Of Us Part 2 Should Have Ended

Okay, so we all played The Last of Us Part II. Right? It was… a lot. We cheered, we cried, we maybe threw a controller or two in frustration. It was intense. But if we’re being honest, with a little wink and a nudge, maybe, just maybe, there was a slightly different way things could have wrapped up.

Imagine this: Ellie finally confronts Abby. The big, dramatic showdown. Swords are drawn, emotions are high. The world is holding its breath for the epic conclusion we were all promised. But instead of… well, you know… things take a sharp left turn.

What if, just as Ellie is about to deliver that final, cathartic blow, a rogue squirrel bursts onto the scene? Not just any squirrel, mind you. This squirrel is wearing a tiny, knitted acorn hat. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.

The squirrel, with the bravery only a tiny rodent can muster, scampers right between Ellie and Abby. It squeaks, a surprisingly loud and indignant sound, as if to say, "Hey! What do you two think you're doing? This is a perfectly good patch of grass!"

Ellie freezes. Abby stares, utterly bewildered. The tension dissipates faster than a spilled milkshake on a hot pavement.

The squirrel, having asserted its dominance, then proceeds to bury a nut right at Abby’s feet. It gives a little triumphant flick of its tail. Abby, bless her heart, can’t help but crack a tiny, confused smile.

Ellie, her grip on her weapon loosening, just watches. The sheer absurdity of the moment is too much. The rage she’d been carrying for so long suddenly feels… silly. Like trying to swat a fly with a bulldozer.

Abby, sensing the shift, slowly lowers her own weapon. The acorn-hatted squirrel continues its important nut-burying business, blissfully unaware of the world-altering event it just interrupted.

Ellie looks at Abby. Abby looks at Ellie. They’re not enemies anymore. They’re just two people who’ve had a really, really rough time, interrupted by a fashion-forward squirrel.

Maybe they share a weary sigh. Maybe they even manage a small, awkward laugh. The squirrel, meanwhile, has found a shiny pebble and is now contemplating its next treasure.

What if, instead of a bloody finale, they decide to… share a granola bar? It’s probably stale, but at this point, anything seems more appealing than more fighting.

They sit down, not quite friends, but certainly not mortal enemies anymore. The squirrel occasionally darts around them, looking for dropped crumbs. It’s a strange, peaceful truce brokered by woodland creatures.

Think about it. Abby could tell Ellie about her gym routine. Ellie could complain about Dina’s questionable taste in music. It’s the everyday stuff, the mundane details that make us human again.

And then, a herd of domesticated chickens wanders into view. Yes, chickens. Just… strolling along, pecking at the ground. Apparently, someone nearby has a very poorly managed farm.

Ellie and Abby look at each other again. They both start to chuckle. The absurdity has officially reached critical mass.

They decide to help herd the chickens back towards their presumed home. It’s a surprisingly effective, albeit chaotic, team effort. Abby’s strength and Ellie’s agility prove to be a surprisingly good combination.

As they round up the last straggling hen, they see a sign. “Joel’s Petting Zoo & Pâtisserie.” Wait, what?

It turns out, they’ve stumbled upon a bizarre, post-apocalyptic theme park run by… well, we’re not sure who. But it involves petting animals and eating fancy pastries.

Ellie and Abby look at the sign, then at each other. A shared, silent understanding passes between them. This is it. This is the ending.

They decide to go in. They’re tired. They’ve seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime. Maybe a bunny hug and a cream puff is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Inside, there are gentle llamas, surprisingly well-behaved goats, and a small stand selling tiny, artisanal muffins. The world hasn't suddenly become perfect, but for a brief moment, it’s bearable. It’s even a little bit… pleasant.

Ellie notices a poster for a llama-grooming competition. Abby spots a flyer for a “best scone” contest. They both look at each other, a spark of something new in their eyes.

Perhaps, in this new, bizarre reality, they can find a different kind of peace. A peace found in the gentle bleating of goats and the delicate sweetness of a well-baked pastry. No more revenge. Just… snacks and farm animals.

And the acorn-hatted squirrel? He’s probably running the gift shop, selling tiny hats to unsuspecting tourists.

Ellie and Abby could even get jobs there. Ellie could be in charge of the artisanal jam. Abby could be the head llama whisperer. It’s a living. A strange, wonderful, completely unexpected living.

They’d still have their memories, of course. The pain wouldn't magically vanish. But maybe, just maybe, the overwhelming desire for vengeance would be replaced by the simple joy of a perfectly fluffy scone.

And that, my friends, is how The Last of Us Part II should have ended. With a chuckle, a croissant, and a whole lot of adorable, slightly-too-well-dressed rodents.

It’s a little unconventional, I’ll admit. A bit out there. But wouldn’t it have been something to see? A true testament to finding joy in the most unexpected, and frankly, the most absurd places.

Think of the sequels! The Last of Us Part III: The Great Granola Bar Heist. Or perhaps The Last of Us Part IV: Llama-geddon. The possibilities are endless!

So, the next time you’re feeling that post-game existential dread, just picture the acorn squirrel. Picture the chickens. Picture Ellie and Abby sharing a moment of quiet absurdity over a fancy muffin. It’s a much happier, and dare I say, funnier, ending.

And who knows, maybe somewhere out there, a squirrel is already polishing his acorn hat, waiting for his big break in a more whimsical apocalypse.