For the Thrill of It | Nathan Drake

[ 004 ] like a bond movie or some shit

"Oh, the cat?" Nathan questions. "She's just for you."

"What?"

"Yeah. Your life seemed super sad."

Sully jabs a finger at the cat as Nathan walks away. "No, I'm not gonna keep this thing!" To the cat, he hisses, "You're gonna shit all over my floor."

"There are things called litter boxes," Tate reminds him. When Sully angrily storms after the boy, she leans toward the feline and whispers, "Make sure you shit right on that sofa."

The cat blinks at her as if in understanding.

The back of the shiny black SUV is cramped, with Tate squeezed between Nathan and Sully. She tries not to lean too far back so her hair doesn't touch the headrest. The result is her sitting in an awkward position that causes her back to ache after five minutes.

Though the glass exterior of The Aurora had been clear during the day, it's completely lit up at night, shining neon blue and purple onto the rain-slicked streets. Tate tries to make note of entrances and exits as they roll past along with the traffic. Seeing a blueprint on paper is much different than experiencing it in person, and her brain is already trying to translate the diagrams into what she's seeing in front of her.

"Hey," Sully says to get Nathan's attention. "These people can tell a fake when they see one. You have to believe the lie you're selling: You belong here. You're one of them."

Nathan nods and pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth.

"Or you can just go with the Bubblicious. Jesus."

"No, this is Bubble Yum," Nathan replies, because of course that is important information.

Tate closes her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation.

"Same thing," Sully dismisses, handing them both small earpieces. "Put these in your ears."

"No way!" Nathan exclaims, pushing the device into his ear and poking it. When Tate does the same, she can hear his voice coming from two places. "Hello?" Tap, tap. "Hello?"

"It's working," Tate assures him, grabbing his arm and pulling it away from his head.

"Yeah, we can hear you," Sully adds. "We're sitting right next to you."

"Oh, shit, I think I pushed it in too far." Nathan begins digging around in his ear with his pinky finger.

Tate and Sully share a look. This mission has sky-high chances of going terribly wrong.

"You're up," Sully says to her when the vehicle rolls to a stop near the back of the building.

"See you on the other side," she sighs as she gets up, awkwardly climbing over him to exit the car and step out onto the sidewalk. She smooths her uniform and releases a breath.

It's go time.

The most anxiety-inducing part is scanning her employee badge to get in through the employee entrance. Her heart hammers so hard against her ribs she's sure it must be audible above the NYC traffic as the red light flashes over the barcode on her fake ID. But it beeps and flashes green, allowing her inside, and Tate exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Inside the auction house is pure calamity. Employees in identical maroon vests — or jackets if they're bartenders and auctioneers — move in every direction, calling out orders and carrying trays filled with hors d'oeuvres or flutes of champagne. Tate narrowly misses knocking into someone holding a platter of tiny sandwiches. All around her are people dressed just like her. Sully was right— in appearance, she fits right in. Now she just has to act the part.