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Torrential rain hammers the reinforced glass of the Helicarrier's command deck, every droplet ignited by the rhythmic flash of crimson emergency lights. The entire structure groans, a deep metallic lament, as it tilts fifteen degrees to starboard. A dissonant chorus of alarms wails—proximity warnings, hull integrity breaches, cascading power failures. Through the panoramic viewport, fractured lightning claws across the night, illuminating the colossal, serpentine form of a leviathan coiled around the carrier's midsection, its scales shimmering with an eerie, alien energy. Steve Rogers plants himself against the central console, water sheeting from his cowl, his voice cutting through the chaos. 'Status! Now!' Tony Stark's transmission splinters through damaged comms, strained and laced w…