Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the following writing except the characters and events I create.

Prologue

-Graves-

Galeforth Tower, New York City

March, 2014

Ashlee Graves stepped down into the maelstrom of chaotic wind, leaving the relative calm of the helicopter's cabin. Holding the briefcase firmly, he moved towards the door that led down into the building, feeling the leather handle cut into the calloused skin of his palms. Twisting the knob with his free hand and throwing the portal open, he stepped in. It was amazing how quickly the noise and fury was cut off as he entered the building, the bright sky cut away into the dull gray stone. He kept a hand on the door until he felt one of his companions take the weight, resuming his quick pace down the metal stairs.

It was only three flights down to their destination, the only sounds to welcome them were the echoing footsteps of four people as they moved. Taking the door with the bright blue 'Stairs Entrance' icon painted on it, he took his first step in a long while onto soft carpet. It was the simplest thing that gave him a great sense of relief, a semblance of civilization, a rest for the well traveled. At the end of the long hall, a short secretary with blonde hair jumped as he and his companions appeared.

Given their appearance, he could not blame her, the frightened expression plastered on her face as they approached causing a twinge of regret. They passed office after office before they stood at the small desk. "C-can I help you..? You need an.." Her eyes wandered to his left, and a small whimper escaped through the young woman's lips. "..appointment to see Mr. Galeforth."

Watching her eyes snap back to him, he summoned the most dazzling smile he could under these conditions. "Your boss is expecting us, though we aren't on the guest list." He suspected the grin he gave did little, but the secretary composed herself enough to manage a nod, knowing better than to pry into business that was off the books. The small exchange over, he slid past the desk and continued upon the original path.

Heavy oak double doors swung open to announce his arrival, and reveal the penthouse office of his employer. A tall man stood by the window that looked down on the city below, dressed in an immaculate black suit. His hair was dark on the top, but graying on the back and sides, the signs of age worn into his features as he turned to greet them. "Graves! I'm glad your associate was able to get you out. Minimal trouble?"

Looking over his torn and ruined clothing, Ashlee let out a small chuckle. "This isn't my blood, Quinn. Still, I shouldn't return to China for..well, ever."

Quinn Galeforth shared in the laugh, nodding excitedly as he moved to the desk that sat proud in the middle of the office, a throne to the controller of an empire. He looked over the four of them with a calculating gaze, studying each like an old keepsake that he had deemed lost forever. "You all look terrible."

"Prison will do that to you." Taking the briefcase in both hands, Ashlee sat it down on the polished surface before opening it towards the other man. "As promised. It was right where you said it would be." He watched his employer reach towards the contents within before faltering, wonderment in the sapphire-colored eyes.

"The legend may well be true.." Straightening himself and running dainty hands over the fine suit, Galeforth pried a hand away from the clothing and closed the briefcase. "We will need a translator, the best money can buy! You ought to know someone in your line of business, Graves, no?"

Letting out a breathy laugh, he gave a nod. "Quinn, I think I know just the person for the job. Though it might take some convincing."

My heel slams into the iron bore, and the rotten supports give another minute inch. The vibrations reverberate through my leg, tearing the already torn muscles and causing even more bruises to form beneath the surface.

"..Come.."

Another kick.

"..On.."

Another failure.

"..You.."

Another shot of pain up my leg.

"..Bastard!"

Crying out with desperation, my boot connects with the bore again, filling air with cracking wood. The supports give in mercifully, and the cannon snaps from it's position enough that I can adjust it. Another pained moan escapes as I set my foot down, the ankle roaring in defiance of the action, the sprain making itself apparent. Hooking my hands around the lip of the iron barrel, I lift with all my strength and move as quickly as I can to aim it at the mast.

Yells are becoming louder from the way I came to this ship. Solarii. They are getting closer and shouting about what they will do when they catch me, the most pleasant of which is simply killing me. Lighting the torch in my hand with a swift motion, the flames spring to life, and I pray the powder I packed into the cannon is at the very least somewhat dry.

Touching the torch to the small remnants of a fuse, it sparks faster than I had anticipated. I don't even have time to curse as I run as well as I can with my ankle. A shattering boom replaces the sound of the shouts, leaving my ears ringing and a dull throb in my chest. Splinters shower the entire deck of the old vessel, digging into the back of my arms as I cower and protect my face.

The entire vessel shakes from the vibrations, and as I turn to survey my efforts, I see the after effects of the plan. Sea water rains down on the deck from the side, the iron bore now sinking to the bottom to join other parts of countless shipwrecks. Even in my deafened state, I can tell that I've succeeded simply by feeling the wood buckle and break under it's own weight. The mast falls forward, more to the side than I had wanted, but it crashes into the other ship just the same. Sprinting for the edge, I scramble over my makeshift bridge.

Then I'm stopped, my leg exploding into agony and pitching me forward onto the main deck. Screaming as I look down, I can see the rusted arrow jutting out of my shin, blood already seeping out onto the rotten surface beneath me.

"She doesn't get away this time, Brothers." The voice is above me, impossibly close. It's chilling, to hear that voice again. Mathias. I roll over, my hand flying to the gun holstered at my hip, but his boot pins it against my waist. "Not this time, troublesome girl." His sneer is triumphant as he raises the staff above his head, it's point aimed at me.

"..Sam." My last thought is of her, the image of the raven haired girl failing to block out the pain as the crude weapon punctures my chest. I try to scream, but only blood answers my call, bubbling up from my throat. For a moment, I almost think I can hear her voice.

"Lara! Wake up, Lara!"