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Eyes pinned to the vent ahead of him, Laurens let out a deep breath, quiet murmurs of the unit behind him. This was a big job- they had one shot to live another day, the unit couldn't let ONE stray gunshot give them away.
He was honestly BEYOND proud that he had been put in charge of this infiltration. It hadn't taken long for him to rise through the ranks, and... being entrusted with something of this manner? It only further rooted the man into his newfound beliefs, newfound awakening. He had a duty.
All that was left now was to wait for their mole to pass by the vent and give Laurens the signal; then, it all begins.
The plan was simple enough. The mole, a TRT member, would send a fake distress call on the other end of the site, and once the coast was clear ENOUGH, signal for Laurens and his men to come through the vents. They would silently take out any MTFs in their way, and then... Breach as many SCPs as they possibly could.
He was dead-set on one.
SCP-2006.
It was a perfect hit. An SCP that remains calm until it hears loud noises, and then immediately becomes violent and even fatal? How could he ask for more?
Nonetheless, they'd get to the real plan soon. For now, Laurens had to just WAIT for that signal. He just had to wait.
.... And, to hope and PRAY he wouldn't run across anyone he knew. He, of course, was wearing concealing gear, but his hair was showing. It was too big to hide, and incredibly uncomfortable to shove into his jacket.
... No, nothing would happen.
He hated that he genuinely feared seeing a familiar face. He hated how guilty he KNEW it would make him.
But, what he hated most was how weak that would make him look to his unit. He wouldn't allow them to be eliminated. He'd instruct the unit to spare them.
... Fuck. Whatever. It wouldn't happen, it *wouldn't.*
He just kept staring down at that vent.
Hamilton was getting antsy.
He’d been… well, simply put, panicked since Laurens had gone missing; but, it hadn’t manifested itself as an average ‘panic’. He simply became more snappy, more motivated, more adrenaline pushed, more urgent. Others had noticed, but he wasn’t sure exactly who.
As of now, he walked down the halls of the facility, retrieving physical files that were to be sent to O5-6.
Honestly, he hated the ‘secretary’ part of his job. It was the most tedious, annoying part of it, and frankly? It made him feel stupid, doing nothing but playing fetch all day.
But that wasn’t… *all* he did, as the right hand.
As annoying as playing secretary was, it wasn’t all he did. He had more security access than almost anyone he knew, he was directly in the ear of one of the most powerful people in the entire facility-
O5-6 just wouldn’t… let Hamilton be on the front lines. Or command a group of people. Or do anything too ‘risky’ whatsoever.
*”I need you alive.”* Bullshit. He’d replace Hamilton as soon as something happened, so gatekeeping him like this was pointless.
He felt his fists clench as he walked, footsteps subconsciously speeding up a bit as he continued to think about it. There had to be *something* he could do… right?
Something he could do that wasn’t *exactly* against the orders he’d been given, but still let him *do something worthwhile.*
The antsy feelings that were overwhelming him, by now, only multiplied; but now, they were accompanied with a sense of *determination.*
He would help the foundation. He would use the abilities he had with people, with leading, because he knew he had them. And he’d do so good at it that O5-6 would be forced to give him props; and he’d be able to do it more, more often, until it was integrated into his position.
Yeah. That’s what he’d do. It’d just take a bit of…
*Disobeying* to get started. He just needed to be there for something, something BIG, and he could fix it. He could prove himself.
He *would* prove himself.
No matter what it took.
Laurens turned his head, a stern gaze landing on an insurgent who's murmurs were slowly getting louder. Was he not taking this seriously? Just one thing, something even as MINOR as that could get them caught. Could *ruin* everything, the deeply thought-through plan they'd formulated.
... But when he turned his head back, the reality of that possibility really did dawn upon him.
A figure, some MTF uniform, stopped right next to the vent they hid in, their head slowly turning towards it. Laurens felt his stomach sink. He felt his eyes widen as his hand instinctively snaked down to the holster on his hip, but...
A hand signal was thrown at the vent before the MTF continued walking.
Holy shit.
Laurens let out a deep breath, but took no time to calm himself down before he cast the signal to the men behind him, who followed suite as the entire unit was slowly given their calls.
Slamming the vent open and gently placing it to the floor to ensure secrecy, Laurens stood to the right as his men filed out, casting nods and pointing fingers to groups and members, the only noise filling the air being cloth rubbing against cloth as the men ran, still crouching, down the halls; each finding their own respective cells to break into.
The door that was behind him was labelled as none other than SCP-2006.
He knew his group had all filed out as he peeked into the vent and saw the vent, empty; other groups had been sent through other vents, were likely filing out at the very same time, all hitting this site at once; it would be a HUGE damage to the foundation.
He felt a small grin plaster his face as he turned to 2006's door, checking to ensure no MTFs had run by, before he slid a stolen keycard into the lock to unlock it, hearing a click as the door loosened.
He turned to his men, eyes flicking back and forth before he gave them his regards, the CI's very slogan; their way to essentially say 'good luck.'
"Should intermittent vengeance arm again his red right hand to plague us."
Saying the words 'Red right hand' still stung. He hated that they did.
He turned to face the door, letting out a shaky sigh as he prepared himself to take the step in, turning to check one last time for any foundation personnel-
…
”Holy shit- I did it!!” Laurens sat up as Hamilton ran into the room, a grin plastering his face ear-to-ear as he held some sheet of paper.
“You got in?” Laurens asked, slightly furrowing his brow as a smile made its way onto his face, too.
“Yeah- I’m a part of *red right hand!* And- and, even better-!” Alex spoke again, tone rushed, pacing his friend’s bunk as he suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring Laurens directly in the eyes.
*”I got picked to be O5-6’s right hand.”* He tried to make it sound at least a little dramatic, but the just giddy smile on his face made that… hard to achieve.
That was alright, though, because his overjoyed state was only contagious; that smile, the way he bounced a bit from foot to foot, the way he clenched onto that certificate like it was the only thing that mattered.
Laurens raised his eyebrows, holding his reaction back for just a few seconds… before cheering, standing, and wrapping his arms around Alexander, who only cheered and hugged back in return.
“I knew I could do it- I knew they’d see!” He spoke again, before suddenly pulling back from the hug, brow furrowed.
“I need to get ready. I need to learn EVERYTHING THERE IS TO KNOW about O5-6. RIGHT NOW.” He spoke again, and Laurens tilted his head, laughing a bit.
“Well- you got in, right? Why not take a break, celebrate? I’m sure we can get something planned out, if we just-“
Laurens tried to speak, but Hamilton cut him off, that giddy state already having turned into some sort of ambition.
“Not now. I may have gotten in, but trust me, if I’m gonna keep my position, this is just the start. I need to get to work.” His tone of voice was excited, still, even if his work habits weren’t… whatsoever.
However, before Laurens could protest, Hamilton turned to the door, swinging it open and saying, “Wish me luck!” before closing it behind him…
Leaving Laurens alone.
…
Suddenly, a group of MTFs ran by, completely shattering Hamilton’s train of thought.
They were… *running* by. Full gear on, weapons in hand.
Something was happening.
Hamilton felt his heart rate begin to raise already. He folded the papers he’d been holding, shoving them into his pocket; he could print replicas if he needed. But that wasn’t important right now.
He turned and trailed after them, taking his own gun out of his pocket; all personnel had *something* on them, while walking the halls. Who knew what could happen.
However, as they ran, he saw… another group, moving into one of the side halls. Had they not gotten the memo? Why wouldn’t they be headed to the immediate danger? He approached the hall, turning the corner and-
… Oh.
Those weren’t MTFs.
Oh, shit.
He reeled back, turning back around the corner. He was FAR too outnumbered to say anything, even he knew that; but, as long as no one saw him…
That wouldn’t stop him from calling some backup, would it?
…
Laurens felt his smile slowly fade as the echo of the door slamming shut rung around the room. He brought a hand to his forehead, slowly rubbing his temples as he closed his eyes, the letter held in his hands slowly being crumpled.
He was happy for Hamilton. He was. But....
But, fuck.
Laurens had just received this letter from who he previously thought were the BAD guys. This letter that had completely opened his eyes... Not just to the horrors of the foundation, but of the very actions of the thirteen leaders, the O5s.
This letter he had been about to show to Hamilton. This letter he would have used to *ask* Hamilton to join him in his change of sides.
... Yet, what had happened instead was nothing like Laurens had hoped; quite the contrary. Instead, *Hamilton* showing *Laurens* his own letter.
A letter of his approval to be one of the very leaders Laurens-now-knew-the-truth-of's lapdog.
He'd forced those smiles on his face befor5e. He'd forced that excited reaction; well, kind of. He really was happy for Hamilton. Proud as hell, too! The position wasn't CLOSE to easy to achieve, but...
None of that changed the truth.
Either way, he needed time to think about the Chaos Insurgency's invitation. He had until Sunday, he was given a location to meet them to ask any questions and join, otherwise... The opportunity was forever lost.
He let out a breath as he took a stand, eyes locked on the door slammed Infront of him.
...
Laurens felt his heart sink.
He felt his stomach sinking. His grip on the door completely loosened, and the door shut and locked again.
The gentle noises of scuttling around died down as his head began to feel fuzzy. He couldn't take his eyes off of that corner.
... Hamilton.
Of everyone he could've POSSIBLY seen, why HIM?
He tried to shake the thought, but... He couldn't.
The man started walking forwards, pushing past a comrade and feeling his heart begin to pound as each heavy step grew slower and slower.
Finally, after what felt like years, he made it to the corner. He took a *huge* gulp in, before briefly closing his eyes and nodding his head, raising his gun to point directly at the now geared up Hamilton, without a WORD. Maybe, if he stayed quiet, from this angle... Hamilton wouldn't see his hair. Wouldn't realize just who the Insurgent ahead of him was.
Hamilton was screwed. He’d just shown himself, HELMET OFF, to a GROUP of insurgents; why couldn’t anything ever be easy?
Whatever. He’d deal with it.
However, just as he rushed to hit an SOS signal… One of those very insurgents rounded the corner.
In one swift move, thanks to his training, Hamilton’s gun was in his hand, pointed right back at the insurgent. Thankfully, he’d put his helmet on as soon as he’d rounded the corner.
Hamilton couldn’t place it, but… this insurgent looked oddly familiar. The physique, the stance, the hair coming out of the back of their helmet-
Laurens.
That’s who they looked like.
There was no way it was him; it couldn’t be. After all, he’d disappeared months ago; pretty much just after Hamilton had received his promotion, he’d disappeared. And that was… all it was. A disappearance.
That disappearance was the only reason Hamilton’s thoughts went down that rabbit hole. The only reason his heart was pounding, his adrenaline suddenly much stronger than before.
Though, he kept the shake out of his hand, and suddenly, words began flowing out of him- he could barely help it. After all, the entire concept of the CI had always been… interesting to Hamilton.
Probably stupid, but interesting.
“You do realize what you’re doing is pointless, right? The foundation will re-contain however many SCPs you let out, and whoever you somehow manage to kill, they’ll just replace.” He rambled a bit, before thinking that sounded a bit like he held himself above what he’d just said.
Which, he didn’t. No matter what O5-6 told him, he was willing to die for the cause; and he knew he’d be replaced just like anyone else, he knew his legacy couldn’t last unless he got into an even higher position. And he was fine with that.
That’s why he pushed for higher positions, anyway.
“… And, obviously, that includes me, too.” He added, wanting to clarify. “I know they’ll replace me- they’ll replace anyone, with how many soldiers they have at their disposal. No matter what happens, they’ll just keep pushing; honestly, I don’t understand going against something that’s so obviously for the greater good. You’re outgunned, outnumbered… ” He added. Again, before finally trailing off.
Because, maybe he could try and see if this insurgent had anything to say. Put his thoughts on pause for… just a second.
If they spoke quick enough, anyway.
Thanks to the very same training Laurens had also completed, the gun being raised and aimed directly towards him hadn't caused him to falter even slightly. He stood strong and tall, subconsciously trying to present himself differently than he typically did. Whether he wanted to admit it or not... He was genuinely afraid of this interaction. He didn't want to deal with this. He up and left without a word for a REASON.
.... But now, his posture wasn't the only issue.
Of course Hamilton would do *this.* Of course him of all people wouldn't be able to let this slide without a deep analysis of the motivations of his opponent.
He'd always been too invested in the little things like this. Honestly, it was one of his... few downfalls. Any other MTF would've silently taken out an insurgent - well, one of less skill than Laurens - without a word. Yet... Hamilton couldn't help himself. His mind was always running, he always needed to understand everything around him. It wasn't a comment trait in the foundation.
... Maybe that very unique nature was part of the reason Six had chosen him. Laurens had spent the MONTHS he'd been gone trying to figure JUST that out. Why HAMILTON? Sure, he's a skilled man. He's a great shot. He's persuasive, and knows damn well how to get things done. He has incredible stamina, mental and physical, and-
... Fuck, why was Laurens thinking all that shit? The foundation is scum. Hamilton is apart of the foundation. Hamilton is *scum.*
But it wasn't that simple. It wasn't. As much as he wishes it was... that just wasn't how the world worked.
Either way, he couldn't help but get wrapped up in this sort of argument, purposely DEEPLY lowering his voice, an attempt to mask his identity; plus the muffling of his helmet, this HAD to work.
"It's not about the effect. It's about the message. Our message will be heard, and we *will* destroy the foundation from the inside-out." He hissed through gritted teeth, grip on his aimed gun tightening as his heart pounded.
His head cocked slightly at the second part; so... He understood he meant nothing to the foundation. He was a temporary asset, a means of getting work done to be replaced without hesitance.
So, he flipped that question around.
"So, you're willing to lay down your life they deem as pointless to defend a corrupt society? The foundation was built on deceit. They drill the idea of 'greater good' into your head, make you fight for their cause to the death, and replace you with no honor. What about that is so *good?*"
As he rose his voice, the deepening of it let up a little on accident. He'd gotten too heated. He fucked up. But... maybe it was still salvageable; maybe Hamilton wouldn't notice.
That voice. It was… deep, and yet…. familiar, all at once.
Though, the insurgent didn’t swat away the argument, which Hamilton appreciated. Instead, he fired a round of his own points; kept the discussion going, opened more questions to be answered.
Maybe this interaction would be… informal, rather than fatal.
Though, as the insurgent spoke, his voice raised a bit. That deepening, it was…
It wasn’t his real voice.
*Was this Laurens?*
Had Laurens turned tail and ran from the foundation, into the arms of a chaotic group whose goal was to cause nothing but destruction? Had he turned his back on everything he’d been trained for, everyone he’d been trained with…
Had he turned his back on Hamilton?
…
No. This couldn’t be Laurens; that was nearly impossible. There was no way.
Despite that, Hamilton’s breath still hitched. He still, ever so slightly, faltered.
But, that small falter didn’t get rid of his need to continue the argument, to continue this discussion.
“The foundation has been saving lives for as long as it’s existed.” Hamilton immediately cut back, continuing without a second thought, saying whatever came to his mind.
“They do everything they do to ensure the safety of the public, to grow our knowledge on things that can’t be explained. The reason everyone is replaceable is because every job, every role is important, and they need someone filling them all in order for everything to run smoothly.” He spoke more quickly than usual.
Maybe that was the fault of the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, the tight grip he had on his gun in an attempt to keep his hand from shaking.
“Everything they’re doing *is* for the greater good, because if they weren’t, humanity would be full of rampages that nobody understood. It’d be full of deaths that could have been prevented, but weren’t, because nobody would be there to contain and prevent the source. But they are- *we* are.” Hamilton took a breath, staring at the insurgent’s helmet, trying to get a glance at who was inside.
Because it couldn’t be Laurens. It couldn’t be.
Because…. Laurens wasn’t like anyone Hamilton had ever met, before. He’d *stayed;* he’d stayed, and helped, and *been there.* And he wouldn’t just… leave.. by choice…
No. It couldn’t be him.
It couldn’t.
Laurens squinted his eyes; he noticed that slight tremor, the millisecond that seemed to be a shudder in Hamilton's frame. Was it coincidence? Did he KNOW?... Fuck.
Either way, this debate wasn't about to settle itself. He cocked his head, shaking it with a scoff.
"The foundation has gone to the innocent, ripped them from their lives, tortured, mutilated, murdered, and SO much more to them- so many researchers are BEYOND corrupt, just doing it for *fun.* You should know that, considering your position, yet... You turn a blind eye." The man growled back, deep voice back in action.
"Humanity will fall apart either *way.* You're only pushing the timer back, but the end of our world is inevitable. Why be so reckless to the innocents while we're still here?" He questioned, before continuing with that same tone, "Oh, and... Do you realize the insurgency's very FOUNDERS were *your men?*" The man pointed his gun at the Red Right Hand patch on Hamilton's chest gear.
... Alpha-1 hadn't always been named 'Red Right Hand.' They used to be called 'The Insurgency.'
"Your people, the ones MOST loyal to the O5s, were the ones to become disloyal? To create an entire agency dedicated to destroying the foundation? Does that not make you THINK? Someone in YOUR position did that. *Why?* Do you seriously just suck up to the greater good idea without a second thought?"
He was *pelting* Hamilton with questions, now keeping the deep voice steady. Honestly, it was kind of *nice* not being visible. To be able to finally SAY all this without any consequences of their prior relations? It was... nice.
... But he still missed it. He still missed spending so much time with Hamilton. He missed being on the same side. He missed those nights, where Laurens snuck into Hamilton's bunks while everyone slept, just laying there with him as he wrote or rambled or... Whatever.
Hearing his voice brought him back. It was bittersweet. It truly was. He missed it, but... he hated the way Hamilton was acting. His ignorance to the truth.
He let out a sigh, feeling a slight tremor run down his hand, gun ever-so-slightly shaking in his hand before he brought it's attention straight back to Hamilton's face.
"The Insurgency's very motto is 'Creating logic out of illogic.' We're fixing the mistakes *your foundation* makes."
The argument only continued, and the insurgent’s voice only deepened itself again, causing Hamilton’s brow to furrow.
He could tell something about the voice wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right, it sounded like Laurens, it sounded *just like Laurens-*
But Laurens wouldn’t leave Hamilton like this. He wouldn’t.
Hamilton knew he had to snap back from this. He had to keep this going- honestly, it was a surprise the insurgent was even going along with this. Why would they do that? Honestly, their willingness to argue…
It was like they *knew* Hamilton. It was like they *knew* his willingness to debate, his push for whatever knowledge he could get his hands on, his need to be as informed and educated as he possibly could.
*It was like they knew him.* Just like… *Laurens* did.
But…. what if it wasn’t him? What if, somehow, Hamilton was wrong, and Laurens really had just disappeared? He couldn’t show himself like that, couldn’t accuse this insurgent of being somebody that he used to know.
So, instead, he just responded to the argument put before him, speaking quickly, now, almost with a rhythm, like he knew exactly how to say what he needed to.
“No, actually, I didn’t know that. But I do now- and honestly, that’s exactly why stopping you is all that much more important. The fact that those who couldn’t handle their position, couldn’t handle seeing what truly happened behind closed doors, turned around and betrayed everything instead of trying to find a solution. And you treat that like it’s a good thing.”
He felt his adrenaline rushing towards what he was saying; instead of thinking about the slight tremor of his hand, or the occasional hitch in his breath, he thought about this. And *just* about this.
“You act like there’s no way for the foundation to change *at all.* You do realize the O5 council is a *committee,* and if one member wants to make a change, all it takes is persuasion, right?”
This was good. This was more convincing.
“Of course I realize not everything the foundation does is purely for the greater good, but that can change. The misdemeanors, the experiments, all of that isn’t just *riddled* throughout; there has to be some reason, some source, some policy that can always be changed with enough of a push. Honestly, with what you just told me…”
He slightly tilted his head to the side. “It sounds like the founders of the Chaos Insurgency were just right hands who refused to make an attempt within the foundation to make a change. And that’s not a good thing.”
He finished with an almost challenging attitude to him, like he wanted to hear the other side of this. Because, really, he did- he was curious what this insurgent would have to say to all of the points he had laid out… well, more of thrown at them.
At this insurgent, who Hamilton couldn’t stop seeing as Laurens. But- even if he *was…*
Would it be worth it to say anything? Or would the knowledge that he really had done everything Hamilton thought he’d been incapable of be the push he’d need to finally let go?
He did. He knew Hamilton. He knew Hamilton *well*- better than most. Better than, maybe, anyone else. And he knew this was a weak spot. He knew this was going to keep going. He knew it would stay verbal-
... And maybe that was apart of the appeal. Maybe he wanted this to happen. Just so that he could hear that voice again, even *if* the context wasn't pretty. Maybe he just wanted to keep pushing this off- the two DID have guns at eachothers faces, anyway- maybe... maybe it was more than that.
Maybe he thought he really could change Hamilton's mind. He knew it wasn't likely- I mean, when the man had a belief, he was ROOTED in it.
But still. That hope... that NEED to be on the same side as Hamilton wouldn't shake. He craved it. He wanted it. He missed it. But... it was gone. Hamilton was gone, and there was probably no turning him around now.
Cocking his eyebrow at the sudden *accusatory* tone, Laurens pulled his head back a bit as he slowly responded through each point made.
"Betrayal *is* a good thing, if the people you betray are crooked people, and the O5s *are.* So, yes, I DO treat it like it's a good thing, because it is. And, no, I really *don't* think they can change. A *committee* of OLD fucks who have been around since the very creation of the foundation! They *don't* cycle through. It's the same men who created it. Their ways of thinking are *outdated*, I thought YOU would understand that." He hissed, but bit his tongue as he realized how personal that was. Shit, he was blowing his cover quick. Hell, whatever- he quickly continued, "The Insurgency's founders knew there was NO change to be made. Why even bother with something you know will SO obviously not work? It's *pointless.* They knew what they had to do, and they DID IT.
He sighed, "The foundation cannot change if the very people in charge refuse, and I *guarantee* you, they won't BUDGE. It must be broken down and rebuilt again, a NEW system. If the foundation of a building is rotting, you can't just renovate. You must tear it all down and rebuild it. They're too far gone, right hand." He spoke with an odd certainty, and seemingly forced that 'red hand,' as if he was about to use a name but caught himself last minute.
... Fuck, this wasn't good. His men were doing well, so far- and he WAS keeping Hamilton away from any getting in the way, but still.
He hated it.
Hamilton heard that personal jab. He felt that tone, dripping with spite, and he heard the insurgent almost use a name, and- and god, this was stupid, but there was no *way* it was a coincidence and before Hamilton he could think he reached forward and-
Before the insurgent could react, his helmet had been tossed to the floor, a loud THUD against the floor of the facility.
And it was…
It was him.
Hamilton was right; this *was* Laurens. He wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t seeing things, his intuition had been *right.*
And that… was a fucking nightmare.
Hamilton’s stomach churned. Suddenly, he felt like he was going to throw up. He took a step back, eyes widening, just *staring* at… the insurgent before him. *Laurens, the INSURGENT.*
…
“Okay, so, listen. I PROMISE I’ll let you sleep after this.” Alex spoke, in a half-hushed tone, and Laurens gave a rough sigh.
“Come on, Alex, it’s 3 in the morning. I cannot fall asleep during any meetings tomorrow.”
“No, no, just- *listen.* Last thing. I swear.” Hamilton quickly replied, and Laurens couldn’t help but listen.
“Apparently, there’s a procedure called AURUM SILKWORM, that *all* red right hands have to go through; it’s this tech, that converts someone’s memories into audio and visual media. Then, they *analyze it.”* He shut his laptop, leaning off the bed to slide it onto his desk, as Laurens responded (rather sleepily).
“So… they analyze *everything you’ve ever seen?* That’s kinda creepy.” He spoke, tone drowsy, as Hamilton laid back down next to him.
“I think it’s kinda interesting. Just shows how *fucking impossible* it is to get in, which is why I *NEED* to be getting ready. Fuck- ugh, I do not wanna sleep tonight. There’s so much I could be doing, and-“
“Alex. Take a break.” Laurens cut the other man off, lazily putting one hand over his face.
“You’ve been studying those files for *hours.* I’m sure you’ll know plenty for the application, and the process, and all of that bullshit.” He was met with a sigh, and Hamilton taking the other’s hand off his face and holding it.
“… Okay, you’re right. I’ll just…. keep going tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
…
This couldn’t be happening.
Hamilton had to USE this, to push this forward, to push his argument even more. He HAD TO.
“Laurens, you’re…” he murmured, but gave a small shake of his head as if to shake away that thought, and pursue what he’d been saying.
“It isn’t pointless. Not at all- because that change *is possible.* It’s possible to make things different without destruction. It’s possible to renovate, no matter what you say, because I have seen it.”
His gun was pointed towards Laurens, still, but it was… hardly a thought in Hamilton’s head. His gun merely pointed at the other’s torso, as he focused on what he was saying.
*”I can convince O5-6. I’ve convinced him of plenty before, and because I’m his right hand, he* will *listen to me.”* He spoke, narrowing his gaze, a bit of… unnecessary emotion seeping into his tone, infecting his words.
The hurt was clear. But the spite was, too.
“You may think it’s impossible, and you may have just been able to leave everything for the sake of ‘the better’, but I am not jumping ship. Because I KNOW I can change things whatever way is necessary.”
He spoke again, words just *dripping* with pain, now. Fuck- he wasn’t in a state to argue right now. He couldn’t do it.
Not while looking at Laurens; his best friend… who’d somehow ended up at the wrong end of his handgun.
The insurgent felt his heart IMMEDIATELY sink the very moment he saw Hamilton's arms reaching forward, grasping for Laurens' helmet, yanking it off of his head and letting it drop to the floor as a look of shock faded onto the other's face. He had clearly been noticing the signs, and...
Fuck.
Laurens felt his hand shake as his eyes flickered away, unable to keep eye contact with the other as his gun stayed trained on Hamilton's head, unlike Hamilton's own, which was slowly lowering as the emotions churned inside of him.
...
Laurens felt a small smile plaster his face as the warmth of Alex's hands graced his own. He nodded as he spoke, before removing the contact to gently take the files, stacking them together and laying them on the nightstand as he turned back, giving Hamilton a nod.
"Go to sleep. You need rest." He repeated with a playfully stern tone. Hamilton let out a small chuckle before nodding and turning around, shoving himself into the mediocre covers and closing his eyes.
Laurens, despite his exhaust, couldn't help but smile at the sight.
... But, that smile was quickly washed away as his eyes trailed up to a clock.
Saturday. 2:17 AM.
.... He had just over a day to decide.
He let out a slightly shaky breath before gently caressing a hand to Hamilton's, tears pricking at his eyes.
He blinked them away.
Getting up and turning away, the man paced towards the door, casting Hamilton one last longing glance before he left, silently shutting the door and going down the hall to his own bunks with a newfound feeling of numbness practically absorbing him.
... He didn't sleep that night.
...
Laurens felt that same numbness wash over him again as he sent Hamilton a cold stare.
"Alex, he won't change. None of them will. I'm sorry we can't agree, and I'm sorry we aren't on the same side, but..."
He hesitated, trying to form the words, feeling them getting caught on his tongue.
He noticed the dripping hurt, the spite- and, fuck, that stung. He didn 't want to have left. He didn't mean to. He just...
How else could he have possibly gone? If he'd told Alex, the man would NEVER let him go. Hell, maybe he'd even bring in higher-ups to ENSURE Laurens would stay.
He didn't have another choice.
That numbness was being quickly washed away by guilt as Laurens continued avoiding eye contact.
"Alex, I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving. I'm sorry I didn't even leave a note- but... That was the only safe way for me to go. And I *refuse* to be apart of the foundation, not until its roots are reborn." He spoke with a genuine confidence, but... his guilt was visible.
For some reason he couldn't get himself to put his gun down, though. Maybe instinct, maybe a self-preservation thing, or... Maybe it was to keep Alex far enough away. God, what Laurens would do for his embrace. He couldn't be thinking about that. He couldn't be relishing in those memories, not right now.
It felt like Hamilton’s world was crumbling down around him. *Laurens had left.* Laurens, his ONE close friend, the ONE person who he really trusted, the ONE person who he could tell anything… had turned around, and left him.
He blinked a couple of times to force his tears down, having to force himself to listen to Laurens as his breathing picked up even further. And, that prompted the thought:
Was this a panic attack?
That thought wormed its way into the man’s head, and as soon as it did, he only felt worse. But…
He couldn’t let ANY of that show.
Even despite the faraway look in his eyes, even despite his quick, labored breathing, even despite how TERRIBLE of a state he was in… he wasn’t going to show any of it.
Instead, he let it settle. And he turned it into something else.
Laurens had turned his back on EVERYTHING. He’d gone and ruined it all, left Hamilton alone, after being the ONE PERSON who had stayed.
And the way he had gone? Slowly ripping the hope from Hamilton, bit by bit, before suddenly pulling the sheet off to reveal an even worse truth? God, it was horrifying.
And that made his fists clench, his brow furrow. Laurens wouldn’t even put his goddamn gun down. It was LAURENS, and HE wouldn’t lower his gun.
Fine, then. If that’s how it is.
Hamilton suddenly reached for the barrel of Laurens’ gun, but didn’t try to take it; instead, he pulled it up, until it was against the forehead of his helmet, staring, GLARING at Laurens. Even with the eye gear, the other surely could feel his gaze, burning through it.
“Kill me, then. If you’re really so fine with just leaving EVERYTHING behind you, pull the trigger.” He snapped, forcing the anger, forcing any apologetics, any guilty feelings to the back of his head. Because those weren’t what he needed right now.
“Since you won’t fucking put your gun down, obviously you’re devoted. Who knows, maybe you can rise all the way to the top of the CI? Be the lap dog of *YOUR* top man? I mean, obviously, since it’s so much better, you have to keep pushing until you get there. Right? Or just pushing until you manage to destroy an entire foundation site. You know, let some SCPs out into the public to say hi.” He spoke, comments of sarcasm and spitefulness working their way into his tone, digging into it and sticking to it. He didn’t even really mean to, but the words wouldn’t stop flowing out of him; his thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, continuously thinking of more things to add, more ways to make things go his way, somehow, more ways to beg Laurens to come back… or to push him away.
But, that was always how he’d been. Quick-witted, just… over emotional.
But that was fine.
He just had to keep blinking back the tears.
Laurens' shaking hand as he held the gun in place was an obvious tell-tale. His avoidant body language, his tone, his voice volume, even his stance was *screaming* that he was upset, or at the LEAST, frightened.
... So why the fuck would Alex suddenly just burst like that?
Laurens jolted back as the barrel of his gun was grabbed- he went to yank it away, expecting the other to turn it around on him, but...
Laurens' brows furrowed in a fearful, concerned way as Hamilton gripped the barrel, keeping it tight to his HELMET. I mean, fuck- the helmets were high quality, but... Not for this close of range. No, if that trigger was pulled...
Hamilton was dead.
Laurens' eyebrows shakily rose and he fumbled on words before...
Entirely dropping the gun.
He backed up, eyes finally locking into the obvious glare burning into his skin.
"Alex..." He shook his head, breath quickening in genuine shock, "I'm not going to fucking kill you. You're not dying today. I won't let that HAPPEN." He hissed out, lips curling into an angered frown as Alex *just kept going.*
As the gun clattered to the ground, Laurens shook his head, taking a step back from Alex, "What the fuck, dude. You just put a loaded gun to your head and told me to SHOOT, and now you're slandering every last thing you can think of about the Insurgency?" He scoffed, taking another cautious step back, "I don't know what's happened in these past months, but, *fuck*, you changed."
... He knew it was his fault.
He did. And he never denied that.
He just.... didn't want to admit to that ALOUD.
"Alex, listen. Things are different now, whether you like it or NOT. I'm *not* coming back, you *can't* change their minds- just fucking LET ME GO, just forget about me."
... Fuck, the idea of Alex actually forgetting Laurens made him feel sick. He never wanted that to really happen. He knew it probably never would happen.
... At least, for Laurens.
He'd remember Hamilton until his very last breath. He knew that.
He just wanted to end this.
"Alex-..." He trailed off, eyes skimming the scene behind him.
"You just don't get it. You never will. And I know that. Just... Fuck, I don't *want* to lose you. I never did." He muttered, IMMEDIATE regret washing over Laurens as he admitted to that.
Hamilton suddenly felt… Laurens let go of the gun completely. It clattered to the ground as the other spoke, and Hamilton’s gaze flickered to it for a moment… before meeting Laurens’ once again.
Why did he just.. do that?
He didn’t want to die. He really didn’t. He’d imagined death so many times, it was basically a memory, but he didn’t *want* it. No, not at all. There was too much to do, too much to see before he died.
But… of course Laurens was taken aback by that. That impulse that he’d acted on, almost as if he was *daring* Laurens to *kill him-* and, of course… he didn’t.
But was that refusal a bad thing?
*‘Things are different now, whether you like it or not.’*
Just those words… fuck, why was he right? Why did things have to be different? Why couldn’t he have just stayed, just done what he was supposed to do?
*’LET ME GO, just forget about me.’*
But that was impossible. It was completely impossible, there was no way he could ever do that, no matter what. Laurens was the *only one* Hamilton had, he was the only one who’d *listen* to his rants and *read* his borderline nonsensical writings-
He didn’t *want* to lose him.
“Then- then why? You say *I* give in to doing things for the ‘greater good’, and here you are- leaving *everything* for… this.” He took a step back, too, narrowing his gaze.
‘You don’t get it. You never will.’ Bullshit. Alex DID get it, he completely understood why Laurens was doing what he was doing, but… was it really worth it?
That was where his understanding ended.
*Was that really worth it?*
…
Hamilton could have that argument pointed at himself, though, too. Why did he stay? Why did he force himself to stay in the foundation, knowing what they were doing, knowing what went on behind closed doors?
… Because he needed to make a difference.
He needed to change it himself, plant it into something that would outlive him; change policies, whatever it took. And no matter how much Laurens thought that was impossible, he was going to do it. No matter what.
So, he took one cautionary step back. And, without hesitation, tore his communicator from his pocket, held down a button, and spoke into it as fast as he could.
“O5-6, the first report received was a fake. Chaos Insurgency members spotted on the other side of the site, trying to cause a fatal breach. Redirect forces.”
He spoke into it while still staring Laurens down, before shoving it back into his pocket, and saying,
“As if I could ever just let you go.”
Before raising his gun again, pointing it at the now unarmed Laurens, and adding,
“With the crimes you have committed against the foundation, termination is justified; but I will not be partaking in that. Leave before more forces arrive, and… I’ll see you on the other side.”
He tentatively offered that… small, little breath of peace; despite knowing how much trouble it could get him in.
He’d find a way to justify it to Six. Somehow.
Laurens felt dread rush through his entire body as Hamilton took yet another step back, and... grabbed- or, rather, YANKED the communicator out of his pocket, practically rapping the warning he sent out.
The hurt that IMMEDIATELY washed over Laurens' face only stayed for a second before he stumbled backwards, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath as the gun was steadily raised directly to his face. His eyes flicked down to the barrel, and he crouched down, yanking his helmet from the floor as he turned.
... Yet, as he was about to round the corner, he stopped in his tracks.
He SLOWLY turned around, eyeing his gun on the floor- he was unarmed. What he was thinking of doing was already dangerous... But without his own protection, too?
But... No.
He couldn't leave here alone.
Not after this.
He slowly stood, forcing the fear out of his body language as he took steps forward, eyes locked on Hamilton's.
He drew JUST close enough to reach out an arm towards the gun- not in an offensive way, though. It was clear he wasn't taking it.
Instead, he rested his palm on the muzzle, fingers on the slide, eyebrows furrowing as his heart raced. Laurens was careful to avoid any physical contact between the two.
He didn't have much time. Units would be here in MINUTES.
"Alexander, please." He spoke, CAREFULLY trying to keep his voice stable.
"Come with me. We can *fix the foundation*- you and me. Like it's always been." Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked as he plead, "Please."
Hamilton had pushed all of his spite, his betrayal away, to make this last offer to have some sort of peace between the pair. This was it; this was the offer to let things go, see each other only during breaches… or worse.
But, Laurens didn’t just take the sign and run. He didn’t take the offering without hesitance, he didn’t just turn and leave again.
Why couldn’t he just make a goddamn decision?
No. Instead, he turned back around, putting a hand onto Hamilton’s gun; and, practically on autopilot, Hamilton’s finger was off the trigger within a moment.
But, then, Laurens extended an offer.
An offer to come with him. To joint the Chaos Insurgency, to aid in the destruction of the foundation. An offer to *leave it all.*
Hamilton felt his heart pounding, still, but it wasn’t because of indecisiveness. No- instead, it was more of…
Betrayal, biting back.
Laurens really expected Hamilton to turn and leave everything he’d been working for, for YEARS? Everything he’d tried so hard to do, what he’d spent a year in training for, this position that nearly nobody could get their hands on; and Laurens expected him to just…. turn and abandon it?
…
No.
Hamilton might’ve been abandoned before, but he would never become what he’d experienced.
He furrowed his brow, slightly lowering his gun to force Laurens to let go. And, speaking the first thing on his mind, he said,
“You can’t ask me to give up everything I’ve been working up to, Laurens. Things are different now, *you showed me that,* and I’m not jumping ship.”
He spoke, taking another step back.
“I’m sorry, Laurens. But your organization isn’t going to ‘fix’ the foundation; it’s going to destroy it.”
He added, finally, still looking Laurens in the eyes. Because, even despite this situation, despite the state he was in, despite *everything-*
His gaze was unwavering, as was his sense of loyalty. Just as it always had been.
He couldn’t give this up. Not now.
Not when he still had a shot at a real legacy, at making a *real change.*
So… the answer was no.
He didn't notice Alexander's finger almost immediately tearing away from the trigger. He even didn't notice the cold metal being pulled away from his hands. His focus was far too devoted to Alexander's reaction.
... And, it wasn't a good one. Lauren's eyebrows furrowed upwards, and he clenched his jaw.
Alexander wasn't coming. He refused.
Laurens scoffed, eyes widening as his face seemed to tighten. His throat felt COMPLETELY closed, and choking out the words he did felt nearly impossible- he hated how much his voice was cracking.
"Fine. I'll see you on the other side, then."
... But it didn't feel right. The two had said that a lot to eachother recently, yet... Something felt different. A beat without a melody.
Lauren's ear flicked as he heard muffled words from Hamilton's communicator. Fuck. They were coming soon. He needed to leave *now.* He sent Hamilton a *shattered* gaze before crouching down, grabbing the gun he'd dropped before, and absolutely tearing past the corner. Hamilton, and any other personnel could hear him calling out for the Insurgents, the words 'code red' being repeated by the fleeing insurgents.
It all felt like a blur. One moment, he was retreating, calling for any troops he could get. Trying to save anyone he could from their otherwise sealed fate.
The next, he was sprinting through the vents, screams and gunshots echoing through them. God, the stench wouldn't be good. A bunch of dead bodies and blood in the VENTILATION?
Shame he doesn't give a shit about the foundation's details. They deserved to deal with that.
He just kept running. His legs felt like they could give out, but he didn't stop. His breath was so quick. He felt his heart SLAMMING against his chest.
... and suddenly, he was back.
Three quarters of his men had been lost; it was safe to say they were likely all slaughtered.
... Seventy five percent of his men, dead.
Because of him.
If he wouldn't have argued with Hamilton- if he would have sucked it up, attacked him; not even murder, just... immobilize him.
The mission would have gone smoothly, aside from his own task. There would be little to no Insurgency casualties, and the damages to the foundation would be brutal.
But, no. He couldn't stop himself.
Fuck, he hated the GRIP Hamilton still held on his life. Even now- half of a YEAR after having left, half of a year not speaking to him, and...
He was still one of the most important things to Laurens.
He pushed a hand to his forehead. He didn't have the time to be thinking of that; he was lying in a hospital bed. His injuries were minor, two shots to the leg. Compared to what his troops faced, he was lucky.
Hatred brewed inside of him. Yeah, it was his fault. But... If Hamilton hadn't have released their location, NOTHING would have happened.
He tried to brush it off. Hamilton was far too long gone for far too long for him and Laurens to make amends... And that was okay. Laurens had to do what he told Hamilton to; *to let him go.*
But he knew that wasn't possible. They both did.
The cycle repeats.
That was it. Within a moment, MTFs pushed past Hamilton. He heard gunshots, shouting, all of it. And… it was his fault. He’d given away their location, he’d sent the signal that sealed their fate.
He rounded the corner, just in time to see Laurens take a shot to the leg; that was… not exactly fun to watch.
He walked towards him, but he was ushered away.
The other unit had it under control, they said. Probably due to the Alpha-1 patch on his uniform; made sense. But that didn’t get rid of the… lasting pang of guilt.
He swallowed, turning and letting them handle it. As much as he wanted to help, he couldn’t force himself to do that.
Not after what he’d just learned. Not after what he’d just learned about his best friend, about the one person he thought would stay.
But no. He had left too.
Hamilton’s thoughts kept racing, trying to come up with solutions, until suddenly, he was back in his room; thankfully, none of his assigned roommates were with him. Probably in a meeting, or something. But that didn’t matter.
Alexander practically tore his helmet off, letting it fall to the floor as he sat on his bed, staring down at his hands. He’d done the right thing, but… at what price?
Him and Laurens would never be the same.
Nothing would.
He felt his breathing begin to shake, and as he stared at his hands, they followed suit; suddenly, there were tears in his eyes, which he immediately rushed to wipe away.
But they didn’t stop.
He was the one who got away uninjured, but he paid for it.
…
There had to be some kind of solution. Some way things could be fixed; some way they could put their differences aside, some way things could go back to any depiction of what they used to be. There had to be *something.*
So, Hamilton balled his hands into fists, forcefully slowing his breathing, trying to force the lightheaded, airy feeling he had to the back of his head.
Because now wasn’t the time for tears.
Now was the time for finding a solution. For finding a way to force things in the right direction.
Now… was the time to get to work.