Zero Two Three One | John Laurens X Reader [Hamilton]

XXIV: Three Lovely Liars

❝There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.❞
—Friedrich Nietzsche

"Lamb to the slaughter. That's what you are. Do you think the government gives a shit about you? You're nothing but a pawn in their military complex. They will send you out to die for their psychotic cause, and you fucking sheep willingly step into the battlefield. You step right into the death."

The man continues to taunt me with his gun, waving it about and running the barrel along my cheek.

I stare at the two bodies lying in the red snow, blaming myself for their fate. If only I had kept my promise. If only I had been fast enough. If only I could have stopped this masked man from killing them... I'd still have a family.

"Don't start crying now," the masked man continues. "You caused this. This is your fault."

And so I cry. I can't take it anymore, so I break down and show how weak I am. How undeserving of life I am.

"If you're hoping to get pity, stop hoping, Russki. You only get pity for situations you had no control over, and this situation is all your fault. This is the price of your greed."

My breathing stops as the barrel of the rifle is pressed against my forehead. I look up at the man, staring into his eyes through my tears.

"You're worthless. You're nothing but lamb to the slaughter."

I suck up my pride and grasp onto the last strings of my desire to live. I can't die now. I have one person left that I can't leave behind. I can't leave him.

I swallow hard, then speak one phrase.

"Don't do it... Please."

I gasp as my eyes shoot open.

God, not again. When will those nightmares leave me alone?! When will the memories from the past go away?! When will I finally confront that masked man once again? Maybe never.

I'd like to dread my nightmare for a while longer, but I'm distracted by the fact that everything is dark. My eyes are wide open, but I can't seem to see anything. Instinctively, I try to reach my hands up to touch my senseless eyes only to find my wrists restrained to my sides. It feels like metal. I attempt to sit up from my laying position, but I feel a restraint on my legs and torso.

What the hell!?

I try to yell, but my mouth is covered. I smell the familiar scent of duct tape. Okay, don't panic. I can get out of this. I've been trained to get out of hostage situations! When I was younger...

I force myself to spit out a large amount of saliva, then lick the duct tape. As gross as it tastes, I have to do it if I want to loosen the tape. My eyes... they must be covered with a blindfold.

How did I get into this situation? The last thing I remember, Nikolai Ivanovich ordered his guards to knock me out. Where the hell did they take us? What do they want with us? Where is Alexander? I have more questions than I do answers.

My saliva doesn't seem to be working very well, but I persist nonetheless. Just then, I hear hushed speaking coming from my left. I freeze, terrified of what might happen next. The murmurs continue for a minute, and while I cannot hear them very well, I recognize the Russian dialect. Abruptly, the speaking stops. It's ominous and I think I preferred the speech. I can feel several eyes staring down at me. I hold my breath and stay completely still, hoping they'll think I'm still knocked out.

Suddenly, I feel something pierce the skin on my left-side neck. The sharp pain causes me to emit a high-pitched squeak, only muffled by the tape. It feels like a needle. It digs further into my skin, hot and stinging. Then, just as suddenly as it entered, the needle is pulled out. I don't feel any blood dripping out, but I still feel an intense burning sensation tingling just below my skin, seeming to taunt my nerves.