They were all excited—Isaiah, {{user}}, he himself, and perhaps even Sam, a little bit, though less after his too-serious talk with the president—the president of the United States. But that’s beside the point.

They were here, dressed up nicely, mingling with people far too important and influential, just trying to fit in. Joaquín still wasn’t used to this, not really. He was the Falcon now, a hero trying to prove himself, but standing among men and women who shaped the world with their words and decisions made it all feel... surreal.

Then came the assembly.

The president stood in the center, the rest of them seated around as he spoke. Joaquin was trying to pay attention—he really was—but the moment adamantium was mentioned, a chill crept down his spine. This was big. Huge. And somehow, deep down, he knew it wouldn't go down smoothly.

He just hadn’t expected it to happen so fast.

Isaiah shot up first. Beside him, {{user}} moved just as suddenly. There was no hesitation, no confusion—only precision, like something had clicked into place in their minds. They moved in sync, hands going for their weapons before Joaquín even registered what was happening.

His heart jumped to his throat as he sprang to his feet, instincts flaring. Sam was already moving, but it felt like slow motion—Secret Service lunged, shouting, guns drawn, but Isaiah and {{user}} weren’t hesitating. They weren’t just attacking. They were aiming—directly at the president.

“Stop!” His own voice barely registered over the chaos breaking loose around them. Joaquín didn’t know who he was shouting at—Secret Service? Sam? Himself? Isaiah and {{user}}’s expressions were blank, eerily so, like they weren’t really there. He knew them. He knew them, and this—this wasn’t them.

A shot fired. A table flipped. The room exploded into movement. Joaquín launched forward, heart pounding. He didn't know what was happening, didn't understand why—but if he didn't stop them, if he didn't do something, everything was about to go to hell.