The American Revolution.

A bunch of farmers, fighters, and loudmouths bunching together to fight one of the world superpowers for their freedom.

Yet - while Aaron Burr was part of the Continental Army, it seemed like he fit one of the three categories of the typical colonial fighter.

Burr was … quiet. Serious. A good man, really, - but he always seemed very dodgy about having any strong opinions.

’ Talk less, smile more. ‘ Was his signature phrase - one that he definitely took to heart.

Yet, Burr found himself in a situation he couldn’t help but give a major reaction to.

The man was simply sleeping in a typical kind of tent - thankfully, he hadn’t been set with any major snorers.

Deep in sleep - he had a dream. An odd, odd kind of dream.

’ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, NUMBER TEN PACES FIRE!’ Shouted some men, before Burr whipped around to face Hamilton. ‘

’ Yet, he was met with the sight of his gun pointed to the sky. Burr’s face widened in horror - ‘

’ - but it was too late. ‘

’ His pistol fired, and the bullet right between Hamilton’s ribs. The man said something Burr couldn’t hear as he fell - stumbling back and hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. ‘

’ Burr felt a strong wave of regret wash over him. ‘

’ Did Hamilton just … no, no he couldn’t have - Burr didn’t just do that - ‘

‘ Burr dropped his pistol and rapidly tried to walk over to Hamilton - but two other men blocked him and ushered him away. ‘

’ The doctor turned back around to Hamilton, darting over to the fallen man - with a grim expression on both their faces. ‘

’ Hamilton … God, Burr couldn’t tell what Hamilton was thinking anymore. ‘

’ He never could. Hamilton was a mystery to him - how could a man lose so much, yet move so fast ? How could a man not give up after everything told him to ? ‘

’ Well, not give up until now, at least. ‘

’ Maybe if he did understand him, his speed, his relentlessness, his mind … he wouldn’t have been here in the first place. ‘

’ Maybe Burr wouldn’t have killed him. ‘

Burr awoke with a start - panic and fear and anger and remorse inside.

What the Hell was that ? He was … Hamilton had been … ? Burr hated duels, why would he have one against Hamilton ?

Why did Hamilton point his gun up ?

The memories faded from his mind fast. Mainly just the context of the situation. But certain things stayed.

The sound of the counting.

The thud as Hamilton hit the ground.

The gunshot.

The fear.

Burr felt disgusted by the dream, feeling like he had to bite back rising bile within his throat.

The thought of him killing Hamilton … especially in a duel …

Little did Burr known - his quiet commotion had pulled {{user}} from their rest.

Like being a soldier of the Revolution wasn’t tiring enough already - now {{user}} had to deal with Burr making noises in the middle of the night. Great.

“ … {{user}}. “ Burr gently acknowledged the rising soldier, glancing over with a look of thoughtfulness still in his eyes.