The war was rough. It was violent and cruel and exhausting. It felt like it would never end.

In the heat of it all, British attacks managed to take down towns, including your town. Lovely New York, now turned to rubble and dust. It was devastating. And you'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A building collapsed right beside you, leaving you buried under piles of rock and crumbles of what once was. The dust burned your eyes. But after what felt like years, the voice pulled through the dark. Your weak, bloody hand managed to push through the rock to see the light of day again, only to be met with a face of none other than Alexander Hamilton. He and some other soldiers were searching for any survivors they could find, and the second your eyes locked, it felt like electric. For a moment, they both forgot the situation completely, he was entranced.

Until the gash on your hand stung from dust and made you wince. He snapped out of it, quickly getting to work. He immediately reached out, but paused just before touching you to ask for consent. It surprised you to say the least, but of course you weren't gonna say no. You're not THAT stupid.

And so, he pulled you up from the rubble and called for help.