Once upon a time in the post-apocalyptic world of The Last of Us, there was a Clicker unlike any other. This Clicker, let's call him Clive, was young, with a sun-kissed, blonde mop of tendrils that somehow managed to sprout through the fungal growths encasing his once human head. His physique was a sight to behold - sinewy muscles wrapped tightly under a layer of nature's design, all au naturel, as he had adapted to the wild. But perhaps the most remarkable trait was his still distinctly human face, peeking out from under the Cordyceps' onslaught, as if trying to reclaim some semblance of his past self. One day, Clive stumbled upon a serene pond, a rare haven in the brutal wilderness. He decided it was the perfect spot for a bath. Clive, being part free spirit, slipped into the water gracefully, making hardly a ripple - a tranquility that seemed almost comic against his monstrous form. As he began washing, marveling at the way water cascaded down his unique physique, a sudden urge overtook him. "When in Rome," Clive thought, or rather, buzzed in a series of clicks and gurgles that formed his new manner of communication. With a push, he released a mighty fart into the pond. The bubbles that emerged were grotesque, a visual fest as they distorted his muscular, albeit fungal-covered butt - an odd juxtaposition of the natural and the unnatural. The fart, a symphony of sounds, was perhaps the closest thing to a laugh Clive had experienced in years. Unfortunately, the comedic relief had a darker turn. As the bubbles dispersed, several fish floated to the surface, victims of the toxic cloud Clive had released. It wasn't until he turned to splash some water on what remained of his face that he noticed the carnage. "Click-click-urgh," he murmured, which roughly translated to, "Well, that's new." Despite the initial shock, the Clicker's primal instincts took over. Surveying the motionless fish with a tilted head - an oddly human gesture of curiosity - he decided wastefulness was not in his nature. Picking up one of the unfortunate fish, he examined it with an almost comical intrigue, poking at it as if expecting it to come back to life. Finally, shrugging (a movement that conveyed both his acceptance of this bizarre new weapon in his arsenal and a nonchalance only a Clicker could muster), he tossed the fish into his mouth. "Urgh-click-click-grr," he mused satisfied, roughly interpreting to, "Not bad for fast food." Thus, Clive the Clicker continued his adventure, a little cleaner, a little hungrier, and with a story to buzz about to any who would listen - the tale of the Clicker, the Pond, and the Fatal Farts.