You’re crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, sweat and dust sticking to your skin, while the sun beats down mercilessly. Nathan Drake is ahead of you, prying open an impossibly heavy ancient door. “Need a hand?” you call out. “Ha! You think I can’t handle this?” he grunts, straining. “I’m basically a professional treasure hunter… and by ‘professional’ I mean questionably competent and ridiculously lucky.” The door suddenly shifts, grinding ominously, sending a cloud of sand bursting out. Nate coughs, waving it off. “See? Just a little dusty. Adds character.”

Inside, ancient traps trigger immediately—a spike shoots up from the floor. Nate lands clumsily on one knee and mutters, “Yep… still got it. Totally meant to do that.” You duck, narrowly avoiding the spikes. “You really enjoy showing off, don’t you?” he says, brushing off dust. “Look at me—dangerous, charming, and modest as ever. Now come on—glorious disaster waits for no one.” With a grin, he offers a hand to help you up a ledge.