Although it is a bit slow, I have recently discovered Uncharted and have fallen in love with it. I am particularly in love with Sam; he's a bad ass and he's adorable at the same time. So I wanted to write a story about a possible adventure he had after India, where it's not all about the greed of finding a treasure and instead about finding who he is as a person, told through the eyes of my OC. Enjoy!

I ran away from home when I was twelve years old. It had been a wintry night, snowflakes falling from above and chilling me down to the bone, but I couldn't find a nerve in me that cared. That night was the last night. That night was the night I vowed I would never allow myself to be hurt by anyone ever again. No more pain, no more crying myself to sleep, no more dreaming for a better life.

I remember them screaming my name as I ran through the door and into the corridor. The block of flats was old and decrepit, more than likely deemed unsafe to live in. Yet there remained thirty flats, full of people struggling on with their lives and making the most of what they had. But not me. I refused to do it anymore. I was starting my life anew.

Anyone would think that a twelve year old running away would be cause for concern. Yet I knew that as I fled down the stairs and into the snow, no one would miss me. No reports would be made, no worries passed on. After a week I would be forgotten, lost in a city bigger than anything I could comprehend. The only thing that would be missed was the credit card I had stolen, safely tucked into the zip pocket on my sleeve. I knew the pin off by heart, and though I knew the funding was little, it was enough to get me by for a few weeks.

As I weaved between the hundreds of people on the streets of New York, I convinced myself I could do it. Despite the snapping cold and the pushing and shoving of strangers, my hopes remained high. I had my backpack, packed with a change of clothes, an apple, a bottle of water and my favourite book. It wasn't much, but in my mind it was enough. I walked with pride, my chin held high, my eyes watering against the wind but the smile on my face was clear. I could do it. I knew I could do it.

Yet just three weeks later I found myself in an alley, wrapped in a blanket I had stolen from a poor woman's washing line. The snow continued to fall for it was a particularly bad winter that year. I remembered not feeling my fingers or my feet, and I struggled to breathe because it was so cold. I tried to huddle in the corner of this alleyway, alone, tired and hungry. Someone had stolen the credit card from me a few days prior, some teenage rookie who had no shame in stealing from a kid. And it had happened in plain sight, with many people around, but no one had tried to help me.

By that point I was convinced I would never have a family, never have a home, and never be happy. I couldn't even change my own life for the better by taking myself out of a bad situation. Instead I led myself to a bitterly cold, lonely, and dark place. And nobody cared. That's what hurt the most.

In truth I thought I would die that night. But as fate had it, it took one person to notice me, and everything changed.

He had been walking through the alley like everyone else had been. This man was tall, with hair slowly turning to silver and a moustache that was hard to ignore. His wore smart clothes, but the one thing I remember most was the long black jacket he wore, with its collar pulled up to fend against the cold. He looked like a man of business, and something else I couldn't quire fathom.

I stared at him from the cold ground as he strode past me, and for a moment our eyes met. His gaze was guarded, like he was a man of many secrets, and yet there was softness to them, too. When he looked at me, it wasn't a fleeting glance. Though he continued to walk, he didn't look away. For a moment he looked like he had a better mind to just walk away, but for some reason he didn't.

He stopped some few feet away, looking at me quizzically. "Where are your folks, kid?" he asked me, his voice gruff, almost condescending.

I shrugged at him. He frowned at me. "What does that mean?"

"They're gone." I said, and my voice cracked with the chill.

"Did you lose them?"

"No. They lost me." I replied.

He paused, looking confused. "Do you need help finding them?"

"If I go back, they'll kill me."

We stared at each other, a child violently shaking on the ground and a man looking at a terrible loss. He looked like he was having an inner argument with himself, like he was thinking about doing something he shouldn't. I watched him curiously.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Riley." I said.


"Just Riley."

For the first time, a smile tugged at his mouth. "You look like you could have a bite to eat and some hot cocoa."

I didn't hesitate. "Yes please!" I scrambled to my feet and stumbled in my excitement.

"Easy, kiddo, take it steady." The stranger told me. I wrapped my blanket tightly around myself, and keeping a small distance between us, I followed the stranger into the open city.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"You can call me Sully for now." Came his reply. I never looked back.