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

LXXXI: Six in the Inner Circle

❝Discussion is an exchange of knowledge; an argument is an exchange of ignorance.❞
—Verni Robert Quillen

The gang's all here. Every single fucking one of us. A force of absolute chaos.

We arrived here in Anchorage yesterday morning. I was petrified by how many cameras there were. For the first time in months, the rate of AmeriComs coming to Alaska was beat by the rate of journalists and reporters coming.

Of course. President Eaton announced that Washington and his Inner Circle would arrive in Anchorage to sort shit out.

After we arrived, government vehicles drove us to City Hall where we met with the mayor of Anchorage — a Russian. We spoke privately for a while. Then we opened the doors for a brief press conference. The questions were sung with silvery strands of spite.

"Does your presence, Mister Washington, mean the military will get involved with the AmeriCom conflict?"

"Should the American people consider these AmeriComs a public threat?"

"Many mainland born-and-bred Americans believe the safety of Russian refugees that make such a high percentage of the Alaskan population is no responsibility of the country. Do you agree with this sentiment?"

I'm glad that only Washington and the mayor were permitted to answer questions. I wouldn't know what to say... Plus, I don't want to know whatever vulgar things Alexander had brooding in his mind.

After that, we spoke privately with the mayor once more. It was during this discussion that the mayor formally waived his authority of the city over to Washington. That is vital.

We spent several hours being driven around the city. To get a feel of it. To understand its terrain. To see what we're working with.

We were transported to our holding building — a structure made to blend in with the rest of the city usually used to hold visiting government officials. That includes us, I suppose. It contains both meeting rooms and bedrooms. I suppose we'll be spending most of our time here.

It was late by the time we arrived, so Washington dismissed us to our rooms.

Now, early the next morning, we grouped up once more. Time to discuss business at last.

November 6, 2060.

Grey light creeps in from the fogged windows around the world, illuminating the room naturally. I find myself goggling outside when I lose interest in what is being said.

I have to remind myself how many lives are on my shoulders and how crucial my focus is.

"According to our acquired records, there is an estimated five hundred AmeriComs in Alaska, most in this very city." Washington's blue-grey eyes dart from face to face as he says this as if looking for any sign of intimidation from this Circle. "Our direct goal is not to confront these AmeriComs (although it is likely to happen nonetheless), but to defend the Russians in the city. And to do that, we must know what the AmeriComs are planning."

He lets a silence linger. The conference table we are seated at has three swivel chairs at each long side and one seat on the short end — a spot of attention for the main man, Washington. Upon the table are mugs of various beverages: coffee, tea, water, gin. In the center of the conference table sits a magnificent basket of chocolate and candy — a welcoming gift from the Mayor, and an odd one at that; it's a gift more fit for an elementary classroom

I understand, though. Other than Washington, the Circle might as well consist of children. Age and temper wise.

"These AmeriComs want to subdue the country into submission as trained Marxists bred in Russian reeducation camps would. They see meeting their objective by terrorizing and causing harm upon the Russian population."