I thought he was just another corpse at first.
Body bruised and blackened, he looked dead, anyway. That said, I’m so used to death at this point – both the humdrum and the heartbreaking ones – I barely register the bodies scattered around, and didn’t notice this one at all until he raises his head. He lifts bloodshot eyes to mine and begs for mercy, pleads to be put out of his misery. Clem stares back, unblinking.
My gut instinct is to oblige, of course. Perhaps yours would be, too. But I hesitate. I have no idea how many bullets are in the chamber of this misappropriated firearm. What if I’m one bullet short for a key fight later? What if stopping this guy from turning now means he isn’t there to attack someone – someone bad – further on in the story? My decision-paralysis roots Clementine to the spot and I realise how deeply Telltale’s evocative take on Robert Kirkman’s cruel, zombie-soaked universe has affected me.
