Nathan Drake, professional treasure hunter, thief, and adventure-seeker, resided in his homely residence of the inner-city. In his hand he held a beer, cold and slick with perspiration. He'd just taken it out of the fridge. Drake brought the beer closer to meet lip of the bottle and let the cool ichor slide down his throat. Refreshing. As he sipped, he listened to the soft pitter-patter of the rain against his apartment window. The day was almost over and it was getting dark out.
Drawing in a lengthy breath, he let out an exhale just as long. He idly felt the texture of his leather recliner. There wasn't much to do today. Or the past few days, really. As a man of adventure, this feeling didn't really sit right with him. He'd promised himself he'd take a break, a short respite from the dangerous world of thievery and treasure hunting, but right now it'd be an understatement to say he was missing the action and how much it kept him busy. Not to mention how much it staved off troubled thoughts.
His breakup with Elena was still fresh in his mind and free to torment him without any distractions to keep his focus off it. It'd happened a while ago but Drake couldn't seem to shake the empty pit in his stomach that she'd left behind. He wanted to, and if he had a choice he would, but it'd stayed right where it was, vile and incessant. A very lonely feeling had stuck with him ever since. He felt like his feet were sinking into the mud and he couldn't get them out. Drake rested his cheek on his palm, elbow planted on the armrest of the recliner. He sighed a little. His mind was already over it but not his heart, and he hated the lack of control. That was always the problem.
Glumly, Drake took another sip of his beer in a poor attempt to drown out his sorrows. Drinking by himself. It didn't fill the void very well. In fact, it didn't fill it at all. He finished the last of the bottle and set it down on the table in front of him. There was no point in getting another one.
Drake didn't like that he had nothing to do. Idle minds left room for uncomfortable feelings. He began to think. He needed to fill the time with something, but there wasn't much around his apartment to keep him occupied and take the edge off this dreaded silence. He'd tried a multitude of things already. Food. TV. Solitaire. Nothing seemed to be working.
Drake got an idea. He pulled out his phone and headed to his contacts, scrolling down until he found his long-time friend Victor Sullivan. Drake considered calling him. They hadn't spoken much since the fiasco in Shambhala some time ago, and he probably wasn't doing anything besides getting into debt and doing under the counter business dealings as usual. Things were rather lonely without him and Elena around to keep the heat on. It was more agonizing than Drake thought it would be.
He shouldn't have taken it for granted.
Deciding it was better to just get some rest, Drake settled in for the night and went to bed. He awoke the next morning to find something had been slipped under his door.
An envelope.
And it bore the mysterious seal of a black, three-pointed star on a red background.
Being his curious self, Drake picked it up and examined the envelope like it was some long-lost relic. He didn't recognize the insignia but it gave whatever was inside an air of importance. Aside from the seal, there wasn't anything on it that could clue him in: no stamp, no postmark, no return address, nothing that indicated where it came from or who sent it. Odd. Very odd. With nothing better to do and a piqued interest, Drake sat down at a table so he could open the envelope right then and there. He found mail was more interesting when it was done the old-fashioned way.
Tearing it open, Drake unfurled the letter inside. It wasn't what he was expecting. Mr. Drake it began. We are told you have an open mind and a desire to seek out the new and unusual. And thus we are reaching out for your valued assistance. It has come to our attention that you are quite good at acquiring precious relics and offer you considerable payment should you be interested in acquiring a certain artifact for us. The price is of no concern. Be at Times Square no less than three days from now if you wish to inquire further. The letter ended there with no signature.
Drake gripped the paper tighter. Just my luck, he thought. Someone was in need of his services. But who?
The message possessed the shadowy smell of the underworld. Drake could recognize it anywhere. No doubt whoever was seeking to have him in their employ was not someone of particularly good nature. However, that didn't matter much at all to Drake if money was involved. Besides, he'd done jobs for some bad people before anyway. What was one more to that list?
Forgetting the part about the money, something like this ought to keep him busy for a while. With that thought, Drake made up his mind. He'd have to check things out. See where all this leads.
In the depths of an underground casino built below the streets of New York City, Drake got to meet the person who wished to hire him. With leering eyes, a man sat behind his desk, rolling a coin effortlessly between his fingers. He donned a gray business suit and blue-tie. The bold and penetrating gleam on his face seemed to cover any weakness that could potentially hide behind it. At first glance, there was something cold and ruthless to his demeanor. Maybe it was the way he was steepling his fingers and looking at him when the fortune hunter took a seat.
"So, Mr. Drake..." the man said as he sat down, "You are interested in our offer?"
Drake could detect a Russian accent in the man's gruff voice. "Well, that depends on what exactly your offer is." he said in a negotiating tone. "I suppose you're the one who wrote that letter. You made things sound pretty enticing. That wasn't all smoke and mirrors, was it?"
The man chuckled. "I am Nikolay Vtorov. And no, I assure you. It wasn't. We sent that letter to you because we have a problem, Mr. Drake. A big problem. I hear you're the best in the business..."
Drake leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. "Whatever it is, I'll take care of it Mr. Vtorov. For the right price, of course."
"Heh. You'll recieve a hefty sum in return for your work. Trinity pays those who do good by it well." Vtorov said. "Regarding what you'll be working on..."
"You mentioned an artifact in the letter?" Drake interjected.
"I did." Vtorov pulled out a folder containing some papers from the drawer in his desk. He opened the folder, taking one document out, and then slid the document over to Drake. "Tell me, how's your 16th century mythology?"
Drake, who was laid-back in his chair, suddenly shot forward when he caught a glimpse of the picture on the document. He pulled the document closer. He wasn't sure if his eyes were malfunctioning but a second, much closer look, confirmed they weren't. In front of him was an artist's depiction of what Vtorov's organization was seeking so badly. A perfectly spherical crystal orb, smooth as a marble, dark and soulless like the night. The blackish green surface of it was reflective as much as it was glassy. The orb itself seemed to consume light like an endless well, as if the on inside was the very fabric of space. It was around the size of a large canteloupe.
The artist's depiction was spot on. Based on legends, it was what the orb was supposed to look like if it indeed existed and anyone ever found it.
"The Eye of the Overseer!" Drake blurted out with much interest inlaying his words. They wanted him to go after this?
It was an Incan artifact. They called it the eye because it allowed the user to see what one cannot. The future and everything it holds. The orb was believed to be crafted by the Incan god Viracocha himself as a gift to his people. In Inca culture, he was the god of everything. Of the Earth, of the stars, of all living things. An artifact of such immense power wouldn't be an easy find. No wonder Trinity contacted him specifically.
"Ah. So you are familiar with it then?" Vtorov said.
Drake continued to examine the depiction and then glanced back to Vtorov. "Very. Let's just say I've spent some time studying Incan civilization."
"I would hope so. The artifact is of great importance to our cause." Vtorov replied. From the same folder, he removed a photograph sticking out from the stack of papers. It was the face of a young woman with elegant facial features and deep brown eyes. Her thick, dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to work fast in order to obtain it. You have competition."
"Who's the pretty face?" Drake asked, sliding the photo closer.
"Lara Croft." Vtorov informed him. "She's an archaeologist and her skills have proven troubling as we've been unable to get rid of her. She's after the Eye as well."
Skeptical, Drake said, "One person? C'mon, she can't be that much trouble."
"Don't underestimate her." Vtorov warned. "My last colleague made that mistake and payed the price. Croft's extremely dangerous. You'll need to be careful. As for finding the artifact, we believe she's onto something."
"Don't worry, Mr. Vtorov. I work fast. I'll see to it she doesn't get her hands on the Eye."
Vtorov seemed pleased to hear that. "Good! Trinity has faith in you, Mr. Drake. Do not fail us."
Drake took a liking to his assignment. He already knew a lot about the myths surrounding the artifact he was hunting - one of the perks of being a self-educated historian. According to legend, the Eye of the Overseer was hidden in the lost City of Patagonia so Drake considered starting there. He began to review what he already knew.
The City of Patagonia was a legendary mythical city of South America that could hold spectactular wealth for any adventure who found it. Believed to be located somewhere in the Andes, the lost city was founded by Incan Emperor Atahualpa after he escaped execution by the Spanish. Fearing for his culture and his people, Atahualpa brought all the riches of the Incan Empire there before the Spaniards could seize them. Gold. Silver. Diamonds... But precious metals and gemstones weren't all that the Incans treasured. The Incans supposedly possessed artifacts as old and arcane as time itself. Most were destroyed by the Spaniards during their conquest. In the eyes of the Spanish, mystical artifacts were an abomination of God's laws. However, Atahualpa managed to save one. The Eye of the Overseer. The most powerful artifact of them all: a crystal orb capable of seeing into the future and bestowing upon those who wielded it the burden of seeing fate itself.
As he attempted to discover more in the search for the artifact, one name kept recurring: a conquistador named Francisco Pizarro. Apparently, he had sought to possess the orb and the riches that Atahualpa had so vehemently denied him. In his conquest, Pizarro tried to locate the city, which is where everything would be, but whether or not he found it was shrouded in mystery. How far did he get?
He ended up returning to Spain to report his findings to Charles V, the ruler of the Spanish Empire at the time, or at least that was the plan. The ship and it's crew never did make it back. They were never to be seen again. Except for one man - a castaway. Starving, dehydrated, and his skin beaten by the scorching sun, the sailor was found tucked away in a small boat, emaciated and on the verge of death. In his hand he clutched a logbook - the records of Francisco Pizarro's ship, the Castilla, and its travels. The man died shortly after, taking whatever secrets he had with him, but the logbook remained. It was all Drake needed to find Pizarro's ship. And more importantly, the clues it could contain.
Drake grinned. It was his first lead.
As it so happens, the logbook was in the hands of an owner who was unwilling to part with it, but that mattered little to Trinity. They pulled a few strings - a gun here, a bribe there - saving Drake the usual trouble of stealing it.
The organization turned out to be more nefarious than Drake was expecting. He soon realized who he was working for and it wasn't the run-of-the-mill crime boss. They had no rules, trading money for blood and anything inbetween. It didn't matter. All that seemed to matter was their devout beliefs and the religion they held in such high regard. Trinity worked behind the scenes, operating in the shadows and manipulating the world like chess pieces on a board. Their influence knew no limits. They seemed to believe God was guiding them.
The mercenaries and agents of Trinity were no less deluded than their superiors, thinking their work to be righteous and the atrocities they commit to be a small evil in the grand scheme of things. Drake found it nothing short of scary but he kept his mouth shut for his own good. The very handsome amount of cash they were paying him was all the more reason to. Still, something didn't sit right.
Drake was a criminal, a two-bit thief some would say, but he had standards. He was professional. Although he didn't flinch at death, Drake wouldn't kill unless he absolutely had to. It was hard to find any semblence of that in Trinity. He wondered what Sully would think.
Drake knew now why they wanted the Eye. In the right hands, anyone wielding its power would be nigh untouchable. It seemed appropriate for a secret society to desire such a thing. Control. At least they had gotten him the logbook. It proved useful in locating the Castilla.