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[The video turns on to show the outskirts of town, nearby is a fence of sorts made of junk Pratt collected from the Colosseum and some baling wire. It's encircling a fancy new shooting range complete with training dummies and targets and some other items that aren't immediately identifiable.

Okay fancy isn't the right word, everything is made of remnants he found and some of the targets are empty soup cans on sticks but it looks serviceable.]

This is Deputy Pratt. I know we're all busy freezing to death, but if you'd like to take your mind off that, I've finally got this all together. Range is up and running!

It's set up by the orchard, or well.. where the orchard should be anyway.

[He pans the camera towards the orchard to show where it is and then starts walking towards the range. The camera is surprisingly steady, this is someone who has filmed hundreds of Vine videos of him and other deputies doing stupid stuff on slow days. He's a pro at this shit.]

I've got training dummies up front for anyone who wants to get their melee fighting on. But uh.. try not to completely destroy them because I don't have a ton of wood to fix them up.

For the range itself I've got targets at 10 meters, 25 meters, 50 and 100. It's not perfect because I'm measuring this with my feet, but it's close enough. Spinner targets are for guns, and the bigger baled ones are dirt and wood so they shouldn't chew up your arrows too bad.

This thing is a work in progress.

[He sets a can onto a contraption off to the side of the range, stomping his foot on a pedal and sending it shooting down the lane and a little to the left. The camera gets unsteady here as he launches a knife that's far too big for this at the can and it tumbles to the ground.]

Keeps shooting them off to the side, but it's better than throwing something and then trying to hit it.

As for weapons... [He walks over to a large but very battered chest and opens the lid.]

I've got some throwing knives that aren't stupid like the hunting knife I have. A few bows. And some arrows in here. Keep them in this crate because the weather is not kind to bowstrings and you don't want these things snapping when you're shooting.

It's on the honor system because I'm not going to freeze my ass off monitoring this twenty-four seven. So try not to burn it down in the next two days.

[Please guys. He worked hard on this. Don't set it on fire.]

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[Nate hasn't used ear protection around firearms for his entire goddamn life and he certainly isn't about to start now. His eardrums have suffered worse things than a 9mm.

He's pleasantly surprised that someone from law enforcement is this competent, nodding in impressed approval as the cans rocket off their posts and into the permafrost. In Nate's personal experience cops aren't exactly experts in aiming, but it's probably different way the Hell out in the woods and mountains, where Pratt is from. Hunting folk know their way around fire power.]

Pretty good.

[Nate compliments without a trace of irony, sincere. He holds his hand out to accept the gun, glancing toward the nearby pedal.]

You wanna pick some junk for me and man the trap?

[He hands the gun back with an unnecessary spinning flourish because he's feeling a lot like his old self; that cocky asshole coming out again. He's always had fairly good aim just because there's nothing better to do than practice at the range 20 hours a week. There aren't a whole lot of call outs in Hope County where the entire Sheriff's department is four people.

And then his aim improved a whole hell of a lot when held hostage by a guy who was likely to rip out a fingernail for each wasted bullet. ]

Show off.

[Pratt's one to talk. But he grabs a few cans, dropping them one by one onto the trap and sending them flying.]

[The little twist has him grinning, because Nate can distinctly recall the number of times he's done the same thing and had his gun knocked out of his hand in under a second. Flashy, but not a good move to execute in any circumstance but this one. Nate checks the chamber and cocks the gun.]

Nah, I'm just used to moving targets.

[The indifference that bordered on sheer laziness is gone the instant the trap springs: three cans vault off in different directions, propelled by their weight. He picks them off speedily, with delicate pings that follow the crack of the Beretta and they spin toward the earth again. By the time the fourth one is airborne Nate is expecting its height and he tracks it for a split-second, peppering it through with three shots before it hits the dirt.

It rolls to their feet and he grins, raising his eyebrows at Pratt.]

Still got it.

[He's impressed, and a little pissed off that he's impressed.]

Yeah yeah.

[That last one with the three shots was a pure dick move and Pratt is more than annoyed he didn't think to do that first. Well now he can't because that would be like admitting Nate was better at this than him. Harrumph.]

Not bad.

[Turns out his shooting range buddy is a sour patch kid. Nate tries to soften the blow with a friendlier smile: nothing that pities, but settles for understanding.]

I used to get into some pretty crazy shit.

[He explains, by way of explaining very little. Maybe he should extrapolate.]

I'm talking shoot-outs on speeding trains, car chases, and stuff. This is kind of my thing.

You had a shootout on a speeding train?

[pre-cult he sometimes had to chase down drunk guys on ride-on lawnmowers. His life was not exactly exciting.]

Are you a bank robber or something?

[He alllllllmost believes him. But not entirely. ]

Uh- no.

[It has him huff a laugh, disarming the Beretta with deft, experienced hands that don't require him to look down. It isn't wise (probably, definitely) to be straightforward with his on-again, off-again profession from the days before legitimate employment, especially with a cop, but what's he going to do? Throw him in the pokey?

He'd have to actually subdue Nate first.]

No, but I used to acquire things for people. Like Indiana Jones, but without the academic funding.

[So, illegally.]

Wait, like you raided tombs?

[Like Tomb Raider Nate? Like that? Is that what it's like?]

I didn't realize that was a real thing that people did that wasn't just .. for the movies.

And people care enough about random things to crash trains and have car chases?

Oh, yeah. [Nate says with an earnestness too sincere to be lying.] The time with the train it was a Serbian warlord with a private army, totally psychotic. Before I showed up back here I was getting shelled by mercenaries off the coast of Madagascar.

[In a rinky-dink boat. In a tropical storm.]

I used to work with big clients - usually wealthy, with a hard-on for historical mysteries - but most of the time it was more of a self-employed thing.

Edited 2019-01-07 21:41 (UTC)

You know, it sounds like you're fucking with me, but I can't really tell.

[Nate definitely sounds convincing, but everything he's saying sounds ridiculous. On the other hand, Pratt could say he's from a place where a homicidal ex-soldier with PTSD is turning people into sleeper agents via songs from the 1950's - so Pratt isn't really one to talk.]

You must go through a fortune in ammo.

Not really?

[Now that he thinks about it, Nate can't recall buying much more than a few magazines' worth of ammo for one handgun at a time. He travels light when working, and there isn't always a need for a full arsenal.]

I usually carry this- [He indicates the Beretta in question.] -and kind of pick stuff up off of mercs along the way. Why buy an RPG when somebody else is carrying one, right?

Leaving a lot to chance there. How confident are you that there'll be enough dead mercenaries to pilfer stuff off of?

[Because they do the same thing, but Pratt would never rely on dead Sinners or Cultists for ammo. Be prepared and all that.]

Uhhh.

[Nate trails off for a moment, only mildly uncomfortable because he is aware how this looks to others. Particularly those who come from a background like Pratt's, first amendment rights endorsers and all. He rubs at the back of his neck, a little sheepish.]

I kinda...have a reputation, in the business. Mercs tend to arm up because- um, of that reputation.

[Which is to say that there is probably a mercenary support group somewhere, exchanging consolation and stories about the mass destruction that tends to follow in Nathan Drake's wake.]

[Dude. Dude seriously.]

So, as a law enforcement officer I don't want to ask about your body count do I?

[In classic Nathan Drake style, he conveniently avoids answering the question by posing one of his own. Pratt can't exactly lean on his title of deputy when he pointedly stated he wouldn't be joining the Guard.

Nate groans, because yeah, maybe his phrasing could have made him sound a little less like some kind of psychopath.]

You're pulling the cop thing now? Seriously?

Hey man, I didn't suffer through all the Academy hazing for nothing.

Fine fine. It's not like I'm going to do anything about it.

[He snorts. It's not like his body count makes him feel any better about all this.]

So if the Null invade you can be our one man army and the rest of us can go back to tending our gardens.

And I didn't ask to have my jobs interrupted by people who bankroll their own paramilitary organizations.

[He says a little defensively, feeling caught out. That people with that much power are constantly looking to gain more will never cease to amaze him.

It's an optimistic thought, that he alone might bring down a complex hive mind army.]

I've just- seen a lot of shit. Had to fight a lot of really bad people. It's not exactly something I look forward to.

Does it ever get better? Do you get used to it?

[He means the seen a lot of shit part. Because boy has Pratt seen some shit, and if anything he thinks he's getting worse. Maybe Jacob's conditioning to horrors was wearing off but Pratt is pretty sure he'd have a panic attack seeing a regular corpse at this point much less the flayed ones that Jacob used as chandeliers.]

I don't think anyone looks forward to fighting. It's just a thing that happens sometimes. Or has to happen I guess.

[That's not true, there's people who revel in bloodshed, but they're crazy and not who Pratt is talking about.]

That's...a hard question.

[The sincerity of the Pratt's next comment actually startles him, and Nate takes every second he can to pull his jacket back, tucking the Beretta into his shoulder holster. He isn't certain how qualified he is to answer something like that. When he was younger - fifteen, holding a gun for the first time as a professional killer cornered him - the idea of taking a shot was terrifying.]

How you deal with it improves, I think.

[Now he doesn't spare second glances, doesn't double-take. Rarely hesitates. He squeezes a trigger and takes a life and justifies it because they were trying to take his. Having never been asked how he processes the amount of death he's seen, Nate finds it difficult to articulate.

It is a testament to his genuine desire to provide Pratt with a thoughtful answer that he hesitates around his words, trying to choose them wisely.]

I don't know that you ever get used to it so much as you get desensitized to it? Like wearing blinders. After a certain point, it's just...there.

I guess that makes sense. Conditioned to not even notice anymore.

[He doesn't sound happy about it, but he understands. There's a part of him that wants to be desensitized to all of the trauma, but there's a larger part that doesn't want to normalize what he's seen. Like it's okay that he skinned someone. Just a thing that happened.

But it isn't, and he shouldn't think that it's normal.]

I'm not to that point yet. I dunno if I'll ever get there.

[Conditioning makes it sound uncomfortably clinical, when the reality is that Nate has had to look past the trauma of killing for his own safety. One tends to feel less bad about snapping someone's neck when the someone in question is heavily armed and talking to his buddy about how badly he wants to fill you with lead.]

I'm not saying you should get to that point. Caring about this means you're human.

[Having never questioned his own methods, but rather the stakes involved, Nate knows for a fact he doesn't take any pleasure in taking lives. Adrenaline is a Hell of thing, but it never influences him to blood lust. He'd much rather get in and get out with no one the wiser.]

I've gone into plenty of situations unarmed, no intention of hurting anyone, and sometimes shit just goes sideways. Or I get screwed by someone I trusted. For me, it's just- when it comes down to it, if they're gonna kill me, I either let them, or I don't.

I hope I'm still human.

[But he does wonder sometimes.]

No I understand. You do what you must to survive. We all do. I just wish we didn't have to.

[He did not become a cop to shoot people. That was never his intention.]

Yeah, me too.

[A statement meant to echo all of Pratt's sentiments. He'd much prefer that his jobs veered away from violence, but he also knows how much those jobs contributed to who he is today. Who he became, what his motivations are.

It's a hard line to walk.

The conversation has taken a turn for the miserable, though, and in coming out here it wasn't Nate's intention. He gives Pratt's shoulder a brief clasp and manages a tight smile.]

I've done a lot of stuff I'm not proud of. You look pretty human to me.

[Look at him trying to do something kind of like a smile. His face doesn't really move in that way anymore, all those smiling muscles have probably atrophied from months of disuse.]

Well thanks. Trying to keep it that way.

[That's oddly uplifting to find out that very few people here think he's a complete monster.]

If nothing else it made you a way better shot than me.

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