How does The Last of Us quietly teach you everything you need to know in its first level?
Before Joel and Ellie ever bond over a pun book or a giraffe, The Last of Us is already working hard to teach you how to survive its world — and you barely notice it happening.
The opening level of The Last of Us isn’t just a tutorial — it’s a masterclass in narrative onboarding, environmental storytelling, and player training. After the emotionally crushing prologue, the game fast-forwards 20 years into a world that’s unfamiliar, brutal, and layered with factions, dangers, and distrust.
So, how do Naughty Dog designers ensure the player doesn’t feel lost? Through a perfect blend of narrative beats, spatial language, character cues, and gameplay reinforcement. Let’s walk through how it all works.
1. Setting the Stage: “This Is Not the World You Knew”
The player wakes up in a changed world. Joel is older. Boston is in ruins. Curfews, rations, and military checkpoints dominate the landscape.
This is where the world-building kicks in, without walls of exposition. Tess walks ahead, then pauses. It’s a deliberate moment designed to let you take in the curfew announcements and watch the tension between FEDRA and the civilians. You’re not just playing; you’re absorbing.
2. Tess as a Human Tutorial Marker
Need to move forward? Tess moves ahead.Need to slow down? Tess stops.
Her presence subtly sets the pace. You’re learning through imitation, not instruction. This also sets a baseline: when (spoiler alert) Tess disappears later in the game, your learned instincts kick in.
3. Names That Echo Later: Building a Story World
In quick succession, the game introduces:
- Fireflies through a chaotic attack.
Before you know, you are already learning the mechanics of the game which make narrative sense. Here, as soon as they encounter the attack, Tess asks Joel to heal himself, and the player learns the healing mechanic.
This does not feel abrupt, it feels fitting and cohesive.
- Marlene as a key figure,
- And Bill, a character mentioned casually in dialogue, is encountered much later.
These names aren’t throwaways — they’re seeds. Dropping them early makes the world feel lived in and gives future moments more narrative weight.
4. Yellow Means Go: Building a Cohesive Visual Language
One of the smartest, most subtle teaching tools in The Last of Us? The color yellow. From planks and ladders to ledges and doors, yellow is used to highlight interactable elements and guide the player forward.
At first, you might not even notice it. But the more you play, the more your brain starts to associate yellow = progress. It’s not loud. It’s not explained. It just is.
This kind of visual consistency becomes a quiet lifeline. When the game later removes Tess, or the space becomes more open and ambiguous, many players instinctively scan for yellow objects to guide them. That’s not just good art direction — that’s excellent onboarding.
It’s a lesson in how visual language can reinforce design affordances. Yellow doesn’t just pop — it builds trust.
5. The Stealth Section: Introducing the Infected
The tension rises as Joel and Tess enter a dimly lit building with spores and a corpse. This is where the game teaches you stealth.
This is where The Last of Us introduces one of its most essential systems: stealth, alongside its most terrifying force: the infected.
But instead of throwing you into danger with a pop-up and a prompt, the game does something far more elegant — it builds fear first.
A Change in Mood
When you enter the building, Tess remarks: “These spores are fresh. Be careful.” This single line does double duty:
- Narratively, it builds dread — something bad happened here recently.
- Mechanically, it primes you — danger is near, so tread lightly.
The space narrows. Light fades. You’re forced to crouch. The building becomes a natural funnel that pushes you into a controlled situation, not just in layout, but in emotional state.
Smart Level Design: Teaching Through Environment
The level designers create a deliberate contrast:
- You just left an open, well-lit area.
- Now you’re in a dark, claustrophobic space.
This contrast doesn’t just serve the mood — it teaches spatial meaning:
- Dark = tension, stealth, danger.
- Light = safety, clarity, movement.
And it does this without ever saying it out loud. It’s an intuitive lesson — one you’ll apply dozens of times later in the game.
Negative Affordance at Work
Before the player even encounters enemies, the level design places them behind cover with low ceilings, debris, and broken furniture — creating negative affordances that subtly suggest: You should crouch here.
Why is this brilliant?
- The player feels like they chose to crouch, but the environment gently nudges them into doing it.
- When the infected appear, the player is already in the correct posture to observe them safely.
This is how The Last of Us builds muscle memory — by giving the player agency within a tightly directed scenario.
Teaching Through Contrast
As you make your way out, the infected section gives way to light spilling in through collapsed walls. This contrast serves as both a reward and a guidepost — you learn to seek light after surviving the dark.
It’s a quiet moment of relief — but one that reinforces the game’s core design language:
- Dark, closed spaces = fear, stealth, infection.
- Open, bright areas = movement, freedom, clarity.
Again, not always. But just enough to anchor your expectations.
Now, there’s a whole new force at play: nature twisted by infection.
You don’t need an exposition dump to understand this. The spores in the air, the body on the ground, the guttural breathing of an infected behind a door — they tell the story, and they teach the stakes.
6. Spatial Design That Guides Without Hand-Holding
Once you step back outdoors, the level opens up — but only just enough. The Last of Us gives you the illusion of freedom, while still gently nudging you where it wants you to go.
This is where negative affordances come into play. Collapsed buildings, blocked hallways, and inaccessible doors narratively justify environmental constraints (“post-apocalyptic world = not everything works”) while simultaneously helping the player avoid unnecessary trial-and-error.
❝Why can’t I open this door?❞ is a question most games struggle with.
The Last of Us answers it before you even ask — by visually showing it’s broken, barred, or irrelevant.
Also in this phase, Tess physically demonstrates a climb mechanic. This isn’t just about mechanics — it’s teaching the language of traversal. When you are stuck and see a ledge, you try climbing, and it works.
Later in the game, when Tess is no longer around, players remember these subtle lessons. See a platform gap? Look for a plank. Need to climb? Check for a nearby ledge or ladder. The player is not just taught, but trained to recognize design patterns that feel natural.
7. Visual Grammar: From Explicit to Implicit
In the early combat areas, Naughty Dog highlights usable cover using environmental storytelling — cloth draped over crates, edges that look worn from use, or cover objects that “feel” safe due to lighting and framing.
In the early combat areas, Naughty Dog highlights usable cover using environmental storytelling — cloth draped over crates, edges that look worn from use, or cover objects that “feel” safe due to lighting and framing.
This is intentional visual grammar. Cloth = cover. Bright = guidance. Cluttered = optional exploration.
And it’s not static — the game evolves the visual language.
By the second combat sequence, these clues become less obvious. The designers begin to trust the player. If you’ve internalized the cloth=cover cue, you’re more confident, and now free to focus on how you’ll engage, rather than where to hide.
It’s a subtle ramp-up: from overt guidance to natural intuition.
8. Mastery Through Application: The Robert Chase
The final major encounter of this level is like a pop quiz — but one you’re fully prepped for.
All the mechanics introduced so far — movement, stealth, shooting, distraction, cover — come together here. But unlike earlier areas, the player has the freedom to approach it however they want. Flank enemies, go loud, stay stealthy — it’s your call.
And this choice matters.
You’re not being graded — you’re being empowered.
This section is all about satisfying player competence. A core design principle at play here is “teaching for mastery” — the idea that mechanics should be reinforced until players feel fluent.
The genius twist? When Robert runs and the chase begins, Tess is behind you. That’s not just a narrative beat — it’s a visual statement:
❝You don’t need a tutorial anymore. You lead now.❞
10. Final Beat: Marlene and the Road Ahead
As you catch Robert and move into the last stretch, you meet Marlene, the leader of the Fireflies.
From a narrative perspective, this is the moment the real game begins. But from a design perspective, it’s a victory lap.
The final act of the mission gives you total freedom. Fewer prompts. Less direction. More choice.
Think of it as a soft “graduation ceremony” from the tutorial phase — but wrapped in story and emotion.
You’ve learned the rules. You understand the world. You’ve developed your own playstyle. And now, The Last of Us invites you to use it — without rails.
This crescendo of systems, story, and agency all converging in one level is why it’s so impactful.
