I was so smitten with the idea of navigating exotic locations in search of rare antiquities, alluring women and of course punching Nazis in face that I was devastated when I learned the duties listed above weren’t actually prerequisites for archaeology. To me Nathan Drakes calamitous escapades are a modern-day equivalent to the films I grew up watching, as well as an homage to Henry Jones Jr’s fedora wearing swashbuckler. But because I wanted to be Indiana Jones. As a kid I wanted to pursue a career as an archaeologist, not because of some habitual fascination with excavating material artefacts from a bygone civilisation. Has there ever been a better, more dramatic opening to a game? That’s rhetorical, of course there hasn’t! “Uncharted 2: Among Thieves” exemplifies everything I admire about modern gaming: the consummate union of graphics, Gameplay and story. Exhaustion consumes him and laying on the glacial parapet he slips into unconsciousness, fully aware of his fortuitous escape.” With the carriage sliding, Drake sprints desperately towards the safety of the cliff, making one final leap, clutching the blunted rock with a last gasp reprieve, struggling back up to the relative security of land. With a final excruciating heave Drake gains purchase onto the connecting carriage, hoisting himself up just as it begins to tilt, gravity endeavouring to punish its precarious situation. The metal grating slows his descent and is somehow able to cling to the frigid bars.ĭrake clamours onto the underside of the carriage, heaving himself up as it sways precariously, edging closer to the ashen depths below. Nate clings on to the chair in front but slips, tumbling down. The train is vertical?! Drakes chair suddenly begins to shake, bolts loosening it falls through the gaping hole in the back. Suddenly a crate comes tumbling through the carriage puncturing the steel doors at the rear, revealing the snow-covered rocks below. The wound causing significant discomfort as he struggles to regain his faculties from his hallucinatory stupor. A knife? Shrapnel? A bullet? With the wind piercing through the shattered windows, the cold bracing, Nate’s eyes begin to adjust to his surroundings. As he slowly moves his hand away the claret that stains his palm reveals a puncture sustained from an unknown object. He tries to move but flinched in agony, gripping his side to the source of the pain. How long had he been out? The train carriage he was sat in was empty, eerily quiet.
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