A little background here: This story is set between Golden Abyss and Drake's Fortune.

"Ambition leads me not only farther than any man has been before me but as far as I think it possible for a man to go"

Captain James Cook

Nathan Drake burst through the hatch and onto the open deck of the ship. The still of the early morning struck him in stark contrast to the angry cries of his pursuers. He dodged right as several bullets sailed past and embedded themselves in the rail. Crouching in the shadow between the two deckhouses that were the salon and the galley, Nate took aim with his gun. He picked off several of the sailors as they emerged before the gun clicked, telling him he had just exhausted his ammunition. Nate shoved the gun in his holster in frustration and raised his fists to meet a sailor who was coming at him. Blocking the sailor's first and second blows, Nate delivered an elbow punch to his temple, then grabbed his collar and threw the sailor over the side.

"I love watching me work," Nate said with a self- reassuring smile. But his victory was short lived as he heard a hatch open behind him and turned.

Out stepped the cook, a short, burly man with shaggy black hair and a goatee, and brandishing a meat cleaver.

"Hey, pal, there are better ways to motivate people for kitchen clean-up," Nate tried.

The cook snarled and lunged at Nate with the knife. Nate dodged, and then dodged again as the cook swung at him a second time. The two combatants were now on the quarterdeck, by the open structure that served as a small pilot house.

Nathan swung a right hook that connected solidly with the cook's jaw, and, in a rage, the cook lunged wildly at him, planting the meat cleaver into the ship's wheel. Nate took the spokes of the wheel and spun them hard, sending the knife clattering across the deck. The cook was thrown of balance and staggered forward into the spinning wheel. The spokes struck his head, and the cook took a clumsy step to his left. Nate brought an elbow down hard on the back of his neck, and the cook crumpled.

"Dinner is served, asshole." Nate said.

Shouts behind him told him that more people were escaping the burning lower decks, and he quickly crouched down next to the wheel. "Fine time to run out of ammo," he muttered. Next to him was the navigator's desk, and he opened a drawer that was at eye level. Inside was a flare gun and several flares.

"Hellooo," Nate said, smiling. He opened the bright orange pistol, loaded a flare, and stepped out from his hiding place. He shot the first flare into the group of surprised sailors, then took cover in the wheelhouse to load another. A few shots came his way from the bewildered crew. Nathan closed the gun and looked ahead at where the ship was headed. The sails were flogging wildly as the ship drifted on its undirected course, and ahead loomed a low bridge. They had about a quarter mile before the masts collided with the bridge and stopped the ship completely.

" Here goes nothin'," Nate said grimly. He jumped from behind his cover and fired a second flare at the ship's crew, the explosion causing another cloud of chaos to ensue. Throwing the gun aside, Nate sprinted to the main shrouds and began to ascend. He was almost to the crow's nest when the bullets began to fly again. He scrambled over the edge of the crow's nest and paused for a moment to catch his breath. I just have to make it to the foremast, he thought, looking up. Near the top of the mast was a cable angling down toward the crow's nest on the fore. If he could just make it there...

The sound of voices drawing near snapped Nate back to alert, and he scurried up the top shrouds. He quickly reached the cable and pulled out his gun. Resting the crook of his gun against the cable and holding the muzzle with one hand and the grip with the other, Nate launched from the main mast and slid toward the fore.

The cable was steeper than he had anticipated. On the other side he dropped off and hit the crow's nest hard. The wind was knocked out of him, and for a moment everything seemed to swirl around him.

"Uhh, that hurt." Nathan stood up, one hand on the mast to support himself.

There was no time to waste, the bridge seemed to be practically within reach. Nate shimmied up the small topmast until he was over the height of the rail on the bridge, which now appeared to be rushing toward him.

"Ohh crap!" Nate groaned as the mast collided with the bridge with a mighty crack.

Three Weeks Earlier...

A midnight blue Lincoln town car splashed through a puddle and rolled to a stop in front of a small house in Chelsea. The glow of the headlights briefly caught the glint of a raccoon's eyes that was digging in the garbage can before the animal scampered away and the headlights flicked off.

Victor Sullivan turned the key in the ignition and the purr of the engine cut out.

"Whoo!" Sully sighed, placing his hands on the back of his head and leaning back in the seat. Looking over at Nate through the corner of his eye, he added "That was a close one."

"Yeah, good thing for that pile of topsoil in the garden," Nate said, running a hand through his hair. " Otherwise that jump from the balcony would have been a lot rougher."

Sully reached in his pocket and pulled out a golden, turtle-shaped pendant. "Well, this little baby's gonna give us a payday that will be worth the tumble."

Nathan Drake eyed the emerald at the center of the pendant that formed the turtle's shell. "Bounty from the Nuestra Senora de Atocha." Nate smiled. "Hey, with that we could maybe afford a new car."

"Now, now, there's nothing wrong with the 'ole girl."

"Just because it's old doesn't mean it's bad right?" Nathan quipped.

"Well, that's what she said." The corner of Sully's mustache lifted as his mouth curled into a smile. The two shared a brief chuckle, and then Sully opened the car door and said, "C'mon, boyo, time for dinner and a drink."

"Legs or thighs?"

The question hit Nate at the exact moment he was about to take another swig of beer, and he paused, the bottle poised just above his mouth. "Excuse me?"

"Legs or thighs?" Sully repeated, his head buried in the open refrigerator.

"Kind of a personal question don't you think?"

Sully stood up just enough to look at him over the fridge door. "It's about dinner, genius. I'm cooking chicken. Legs or thighs?"

"Oh," Nate said sheepishly. "Uhh, thighs."

"Good man," Sully said, pulling a tray of chicken out. "Get ourselves some lemon pepper chicken, sauteed vegetables..."

"High living for a couple of bachelors." Nate agreed.

Sully emptied a bag of frozen vegetables into a skillet on the small stovetop. "About that. I saw the most gorgeous little lady the other day. Looked just like that girl in Costa Rica. Remember that one?"

"At the villa? Sure do."

"Yeah, so there I was, just outside that little cafe over in Boston, when..." Sully looked up as a knock came at the door.

Nate glanced over at him. "Expecting company?"

"Uh-uh." Sully said. "Better see who it is. Just, ah," he looked at Nate meaningfully. "Just be careful."

Nate picked up the .45 defender he had thrown on the couch and moved to the door. His left hand on the doorknob, Nate took a deep breath and opened the door just enough to peek around it while keeping his body hidden behind it. Outside stood a man, average height, in a dark suit and tightly gelled-back hair. He stood silent while Nate gave him a visual once-over.

"If you're here to sell me life insurance, just know I'm the wrong guy to cover." Nathan pushed the door shut, but the stranger slipped his hand in and caught the edge of the door. Nathan sighed, and reluctantly opened the door again, a little wider this time. "Friend of yours?" He called to Sully.

Sully was holding the frying pan in a way that suggested he was considering using it as a weapon. "Not mine," He replied dryly.

The stranger finally spoke. "I'm Lee Turner," he said, "Federal Bureau of Investigation."