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Bolivia, 1989 (2 years before Nate)

The narrow streets could not hold the number of people in them. Everyone, from businessmen to the housewives shopping for groceries, was shoulder to shoulder. They nudged and pushed each other with familiarity. The heat of the day and stuffiness in the crowd was stifling. Occasionally men on scooters would try to squeeze through and the people would part to make way for them.

Hiding in a group of traders, Victor Sullivan managed to sidle into a smaller road where groups of men congregated in doorways, cigarettes hanging precariously from their mouths, while they conversed in hushed voices. They glanced at the stranger that passed them, but took no interest; best to stay out of the way of a man that would no doubt lead to trouble.

A few children ran across his path, screaming joyfully as they chased a worn football. A group of women followed soon after, baskets hooked on their arms as they headed towards the market stalls on the main street. They glanced at Sully as he passed by under the brim of their hats, trying not to make direct eye contact. They hurried by him, hitching their long skirts up to avoid tripping, before resuming their original pace once they were a fair distance away.

Sully didn't know where he was going, but he needed to find somewhere quiet, just for a few days. He'd stolen a few things, killed a few men and now there were people that wanted him dead; just the usual. Hopefully they weren't pissed off enough to follow him half way across the world, although Europeans could be pretty persistent.

He noticed a couple in an alleyway, giving a knowing huff as he sauntered by. However, about two metres further he heard a pained female cry from the same alley. Sully paused, pivoting on his heel, debating whether or not it was worth it. It wasn't really his business to get involved. There were other people about, but they were either deliberately taking no notice or had not heard the commotion. Sully was on the verge of taking another step in the opposite direction, but his own thoughts paused his foot: he could not abide unfair play from anyone besides him.

Striding confidently back to the alley, he poised his hand to grab his gun. Someone was struggling, but they stopped when a blunt force came into contact with their face. With his back against the wall Sully peered round the corner. A man, who had to have been not much younger than Sully but with a much broader build, had his dirty hand firmly planted around a young lady's neck. Her struggling was clearly in vain; every time she tried to throw a slap or a punch or tried to wriggle free he merely countered it or tightened his grip.

'I think you'll find it's rude to treat a lady like that, buddy.' Sully had crept up on both of them. He was right behind the man, who turned to be greeted by a fist to the jaw. The man staggered backwards, losing his footing and slumping to the floor in a mixture of pain and surprise. He clutched at his bruising face, whimpering pathetically.

'And that could've been a lot harder,' Sully scoffed, flexing his hand out with a satisfying crack from his knuckles. He turned his attention to the young lady, who was supporting herself against the wall, watching the scene unfold. 'You okay, lady?'

She didn't reply, in fact she backed away, her body shaking slightly from the shock of it all.

'Lemme take a look,' Sully continued, pointing at the proud bruises on her face. She glanced between him and the man still creased up on the floor, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Sully could tell by her scrutinizing eyes that she was weighing up her choices. 'I'm not gonna hurt ya'.' She made up her mind. Carefully she moved towards Sully presenting her face to him. He brought his hand to her chin, tilting her head with his thumb and forefinger. She flinched noticeably, but whether it was from the sore spots on her face or the contact Sully didn't know.

As her face caught the light her features became more visible. Her skin was tanned but not as dark as the rest of the local townspeople and her face was splashed with freckles. She could only have been half Bolivian at the most.

Sully scrutinised all the bruises, some were bound to scar but no real damage was done. 'Just get some ice on that.' She pulled away from him with the slightest nod.

'Not the first time,' she said through heavy breathing, her English words coated with a Spanish accent.

Her attacker was now climbing to his feet, pulling himself up on the nearby wall. He was still rubbing his jaw, but the look on his face had changed from stupefied to pure anger. 'Bastardo,' he growled at Sully, moving towards him, fists clenching. Sully was ready for a second round, readying his fist also, but the young woman forced her way between him and the other man.

'Dejar. Ahora.' She glared at the man, refusing to break eye contact. Her voice was much firmer, although her breathing was still paced. The man snarled gently, glaring at both figures before him. Sully pulled his shirt back just a little, letting the flash of light off his pistol catch the man's eye. With an obvious threat, the man backed away, departing through the other end of the alley.

'What was that all about?' he asked, letting his shirt flop back to cover his gun and turning to the young lady. The woman ran a hand through her hair, pushing the stray curls back from her face, but did not utter a word. Instead, with her eyes fixed on the ground, she moved to push past him.

'Well hold on there.' Sully almost attempted to grab her arm, but refrained from such a brash gesture. 'You sure you're alright, lady?'

The woman slipped past him, pausing at the entrance of the alley way and just loud enough for him to hear said, 'Gracias, señor.' Without another word she vanished from view, the tail end of her skirt being the last thing to slip out of sight. Sully watched her go, as she ran from the scene of the assault, fading into the large mass of people he had just come from. He grunted, almost indignantly that she had not been more friendly, but carried on his original path to…wherever it was that he planned on holing up.

Translations:

Dejar. Ahora. - Leave. Now.

I started writing this last year just after I'd finished playing Uncharted 1 through 3 for the first time, but I haven't managed to continue it until now. But I love Uncharted too much for my own good! I hope you enjoy the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it!