"I did not tell half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed..."

- Marco Polo on his deathbed, 1324

Darkness. Then light, blinding light as sparks flared and seared Nathan Drake's eyes as he slowly opened them. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with one hand, trying to get himself alert and assess the situation as snow swirled around him.

"Whass' goin' on," he slurred groggily to himself. From what he could see, he was in the wrecked chassis of a train. The seat he sat on was identical to the row of them down both sides of the carriage, faded red but comfortable.

Nate was sprawled on one, but strangely, rather than his backside pressing against the seat he felt as if his back was the one being held against the seat by gravity. He tried to stand, but a searing pain shot through his side and he collapsed back into the chair with a moan of agony.

It was only when he glanced down at his side that he saw the blood.

A lot of blood.

"That's my blood... that's my blood, that's a lot of my blood," he murmured.

He'd been shot, no doubt about it. As he stared at his blood coated hands and thought about who'd done this. A name was starting to come back to him... then he glanced out the window and saw the blinding white snow falling to his right instead of down.

"What?" Was all he managed to say before something slammed into his chair and broke apart on impact. He looked up the carriage, and stared in horror as a barrel tumbled past him to the doors at the other end.

"Oh God!" Nate gasped as all thoughts of who had shot him vanished from his mind as the barrel crashed through the doors, and tumbled down. And Nate realized why he felt gravity on his back and not his backside. Oh, this is even better than I expected. He thought sarcastically, trying to keep the horror from setting in. It didn't work.

Then his seat shifted. It began to peel away from the wall, lured by gravity and it's sweet embrace. As the seat slowly wrenched free Drake leapt from his chair in a last ditch attempt to save his skin.

As the chair tore free and tumbled out of the carriage, Nate managed to grab and hold on to another one of the chairs. His wound reminded him it was still there, but Nate ignored it. He grinned as he began to climb the chair, but then it gave way too.

Nate found himself falling feet-first towards a grisly death at the hands of gravity, hands grasping for something, anything to save him.

There was nothing.

Fortunately for him, as he plummeted through the doors he passed a bright yellow railing.

He reached for it and hooked his fingers around it, holding on for dear life even as his arm was nearly jerked out of its socket and the pain from his gunshot wound nearly blacked him out.

And there he hung, who knows how high in the air, dangling from a wrecked train carriage which in turn was dangling off a cliff. And he had only one thing to say.

"Oh crap."

It's short, I know, but this is just the prologue! More will come, I promise. As of now, just sit back and enjoy. Reviews will be greatly appreciated, so go ahead and tell me what a crap writer I am.