"Come on..."

Nathan Drake inhales slowly, carefully controlling his breath as he slowly pulls a yellow wire from a small, metal box mounted near the ceiling on the wall. He lifts up wire cutter and carefully lines it up to where the cord sits right between the blades, and closes his eyes as he quickly cuts it.

No alarms. No screaming. No gunfire. That's a first.

His eyes slowly twitch open and a menacing grin spreads across his face. He glances down from the tall wooden crate he stands on and jumps, landing on the floor with perfect coordination.

Drake puts his tools back in his cargo pants pocket and brushes dust off of his beige long sleeve shirt. He always has the sleeves pulled up to his elbows to ensure he doesn't end up getting caught onto anything. A brown leather holster is tossed over his shirt, but instead of his regular handgun he has a dart tranquilizer snapped in the holster. He runs his hand through his spiked hair as he glances around the empty security room. So much for secure.

He was only able to disable the alarms for the outside windows, but that's all he needs. He approaches one of the windows and peeks out into the courtyard of the massive museum. A large narrow building towers above the room he's in from across the enclosure, and he spots a window centered on the third floor of the structure.

A few minutes later, Drake is scaling the wall with ease. His boots dig into the deteriorating stone, sending a cloud of dust flying beneath him. He grabs onto the window ledge and pulls himself upward. He leans forward and slams his palm against the latched windows, breaking the locks and sending them flying wide open.

He pulls himself up through the window and overlooks one of the museum's many exhibit rooms on the third floor. He scans the area to make sure he's the only one nearby and jumps onto the marble floor.

Popping his neck, he stands up straight as he looks around the room yet again. He digs out a rather small, handmade leather journal out from one of his pockets and flips to a certain page. On it is a drawing of a stone pendant of some sort, colored in green, and looks as if it were an ancient symbol. He glances up from the book and immediately locks eyes on a glass case a few feet ahead of him.

As he approaches it, he can't help but smile. This was too easy. A light green pendant, only three inches or so tall, glistens from a small metal stand it is propped on. It looks almost exactly like his drawing, which he had sketched from just the buyer's description. A thin leather strap is tied through a small opening in one of the stone's carvings. A few other relics fill the cabinet shelves, but they are relatively worthless compared to this piece. He doesn't know much about it other than the fact that his buyer is willing to pay him near $50,000 for it. That's all the information he needs.

He compares the drawing to the necklace and smirks, taking a brief moment to admire his own work. He shuts the journal and slides it back in his pocket before pulling out something else.

Drake holds what looks like a metal pen attached to a suction cup and sticks it against the glass. He rotates the steel pen-like stick in a circular motion and watches as a thin piece of metal sticking out underneath it cuts straight through the glass. He rotates it until a portion of the glass, in the shape of a perfect circle, pops off with the suction cup. It's just enough room for him to fit his arms in. He sets the piece of glass, along with his equipment, on the floor next to him.

"Come to papa." He shoots a menacing grin as he reaches for the artifact.

A figure suddenly emerges from the shadows behind him. He freezes, hearing a loud click as the person pulls down the hammer on their handgun, steadily aiming it at the back of his head. Their finger rests on the trigger.