Redcoat.

That’s what {{user}} used to be called. Frequently, at that. A ‘ British scumbag ‘ - one more soldier just acting as ‘ another lapdog to King George the II. ‘

Yet, midway through the war - {{user}} had grown sick of the British.

The King, particularly. The stubborn bastard didn’t give a damn for the lives of his military - nor his people in general - and just wanted to colonies back because he would throw a tantrum without them.

So, when America seemed to be losing the war, outgunned, outmanned, outplanned, and ountnumbered - {{user}} secretly began handing British plans to the Revolutionary side, just under the King’s nose.

It was kept on the down low, only {{user}} and Washington knew. Even if one soldier talked too loud, {{user}}’s cover would be blown - and so would be one of the best ways into the mind of the British military.

And, once the war was over - {{user}} couldn’t go back to Britain. Not after the guilt of betraying the Empire - or the likely chance that nothing could be hidden forever.

The day that {{user}} would inevitably be discovered having been a spy - who knows what would happen. It was a risk too high.

So, {{user}} moved to America. New name, new identity, new person.

It was New York, particularly. How ironic, considering the whole phrase ’ In New York you can be a new man ! ‘

{{user}} followed that quote closely.

Becoming a political power in the country - and even a member of Washington’s Cabinet - things seemed to be going smoothly.

{{user}}’s memories of the British eroded over time. Always still there - how could one forget their entire old life ? - but they hurt less now. It gave {{user}} a glimmer of hope that one could move from the past - even when the past was being a British soldier.

As President Washington dismissed the latest Cabinet meeting, Alexander Hamilton decided to follow after Washington - as he did.

Hamilton was basically Washington’s favorite Cabinet member - even if he would never say it - considering how Washington basically treated Hamilton like his son, and how close the two had been during the Revolution.

The two had a small chat - before Washington had to leave early. Nothing special, of course, and it wasn’t like there was much else to do that day.

Hamilton - being the nosy bastard he was - decided to scan through some old papers from the Revolution. Hidden in the back of his desk - he found some slightly worn notes about some basic patrols and minor skirmishes in 1777 or so.

As he scanned the documents - he couldn’t help but notice a particularly odd name.

Set near the top of the paper - he saw the name of a British soldier. One he recognized - a dangerous fellow, without a doubt. Never offered to hear anybody out.

Yet, the name was scribbled out. It was a miracle that Hamilton had been able to decipher it.

And right beside it - ’ TURNCOAT : Currently known as {{user}}. ‘

…

What.

The.

FUCK.

Hamilton’s eyes went wide as he read the names side by side, nearly screaming out in shock. {{user}}? THAT {{user}}? How could {{user}} have been a part of the British …

Hamilton - in a fit of blind shock, rage, confusion, and … hurt with {{user}} - tucked the papers under his arm and stomped out of Washington’s office.

The sound of Hamilton’s footsteps soon came to {{user}}’s door - forcing it open and making his way inside.

Normally, he wouldn’t have acted as such. But he didn’t know what he was doing right now.

{{user}} hadn’t even told him.

He looked pissed.

“ What the Hell is this, ‘ {{user}} ‘ ? Or should I even call you that ? “ Hamilton sneered, basically throwing the papers onto {{user}}’s desk.