Nathan Drake, the Ur-Protagonist of the late 2000s: hot, stubbly white dude with a gun. He’s both immature and insecure, covering his cowardice with false bravado so thick you can see it from space. He blazes through at the centre of his world, whole cultures exist purely to play a part in his riddles, whole cities exist to be his burning playground for an hour, whilst he remains oblivious to the fact this world was all built for him. No wonder he’s so immature. No wonder he’s so insecure. How could he be anything else? Not once does he solve a problem by talking to someone. Not once is he required to do anything other than jump or shoot. Not once is there any long term consequence for the decisions he makes.
As he hangs over the edge of a cliff, he looks down and makes that face to camera he always does, the one that says “how does this shit keep happening to me,” unable to fathom that as the only constant in these equations he may be complicit in some way. Nathan Drake is the hero who’s reward is to think of himself as the victim.