Slipping Into The Future

Chapter 3

"What the fuck?" The dark-haired man states matter-of-factly.

Hamilton blinks, taken aback. He lowers his hand to rest on the pavement. The smallest hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. "My thought, exactly."

"Who are you?" The man standing above him asks after a moment.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton. Who are you?" Hamilton lifts up a curious brow.

The dark-haired man blinks slowly. "Uh, I'm Lin?"

Hamilton tilts his head. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"I'm confused, where the hell did you come from?" The man who calls himself Lin asks, gesticulating wildly.

"I..." Hamilton deeply considers Lin's questions. "I was in Philadelphia. I was sending a letter and then I was walking home."

"Okay..." Lin says very slowly. "Are you, like, a fan of the show?"

Hamilton blinks vacantly. "I beg your pardon?"

Lin shakes his head, frazzled. "Shit, sorry! You've just been sitting on the ground and I haven't offered — let me help you up," he says quickly, offering a hand to Hamilton. He reluctantly takes it and pulls himself up. He brushes the bottom of his breeches and flinches uncomfortably when he feels the dampness from the mud he fell in moments before he ended up...here.

"I thank you, good sir. May I inquire where I am, exactly?" Hamilton asks.

"New York?" Lin shakes his head. "What the fuck just happened. Where did you come from?"

"Erm..." Hamilton frowns. "New York...? That cannot be...this place is not..." he trails off, his eyes properly scanning his environment now. A yellow carriage moving without any horses shrieks beside them, causing Hamilton to flinch as the man operating the strange contraption yells at the man in the blue contraption opposite to him. Hamilton's eyes widen as he sees a woman walking across the street, staring at a glowing object in her hand and wearing nothing but stockings and a cropped undershirt. "Dear God, am I in Hell?"

Lin watches him, seeing Hamilton shrivel up as he feels his heart pound with overwhelming anxiety coursing through his veins. "Hey, relax. Just breathe. You're not in Hell. It's just some people being assholes," Lin reassures with a gentle tone.

"Why is the sky black? Where are all those lights coming from? What is happening? Where am I?" Hamilton feels himself begin to hyperventilate as his eyes flicker from one thing to the next. Distracting. Why is everything so damn distracting?

"You..." Lin pauses, catching Hamilton's attention. "You said your name was Alexander Hamilton? Like, the Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton? Or are you just some dude who happens to have the same name and likes to wear colonial clothing?"

Hamilton sighs in slight relief, feeling like this conversation is somewhat making more sense. "Yes, I am Alexander Hamilton, the Treasury Secretary."

Lin frowns. "Is this a joke? Am I being Punk'd? Does that show still even exist? Are they rebooting it?" Lin says quickly, shifting his head and eyes all over the place, in search of something.

"I beg your pardon?" Hamilton asks, gawking at Lin. He is repeating himself now, but what else can he say when absolutely nothing is making any lick of sense. "Have I gone mad?" Hamilton asks himself under his breath. "I must have hit my head very hard. I've lost all sense. I've gone mad!"

Lin furrows his brows at Hamilton. "Hey, uh, just out of curiosity — what year do you think it is?"

Hamilton looks up at Lin, his face heating up with overwhelming embarrassment and confusion. "Seventeen-hundred and ninety-four."