Trevor POV:
Life was never the best for Trevor Slattery. He was born in 1943, Liverpool, England. During his early life, he always dreamed of being a world-renowned stage actor. His mother often took him to the theatre to help fuel his passion for the stage.
In 1964, he got his first role in William Shakespeare's The Tempest. And while he wasn't the lead, he told his mother he was the lead actor—just to impress her.
By 1986, he was already in America, chasing his dream of stardom. But… it failed. He was barely scraping by on small-time roles.
A few days ago, down on his luck, he found… a clover. A four-leaf clover. The symbol of luck. And Trevor has to say—it truly is the symbol of luck. Ever since he picked it up, everything has gone his way.
Ahh, Trevor sighs dramatically to himself—and sighs again.
"Black or red, darling, what should I choose?" he says, wrapping an arm around the woman next to him.
He's got slicked-back hair, Tony Stark-style glasses, a sharp, expensive suit. Right now, he's inside Caesars Palace, playing roulette.
"Hmm…" the woman murmurs, chewing on her finger. "Black. Definitely black," she says with a smile.
"Ha! You heard the woman! All on black!" Trevor declares, shoving all his chips forward.
"All right, no more bets," the dealer announces, waving his hand over the table. He spins the wheel one way, flicks the ball the other. It rattles, bouncing around the pockets.
Around them, a crowd forms. After all, Trevor just bet one million dollars.
"Holy shit, Bean, are you seeing this?" someone in the crowd says.
"Look at this guy!" another gasps.
"He bet everything on black!"
Trevor pays them no mind. Head tilted back, eyes closed, he raises his chin to the heavens.
"Come now, Fortune. Smile upon your faithful servant…" he murmurs with theatrical flair.
The ball bounces… once, twice… then lands in a black pocket.
"Black wins!" the dealer calls out.
The crowd explodes in chaos.
"Holy shit!"
"Black! Black! Black!"
"Unbelievable!"
"Brilliant!" Trevor screams. "Absolutely brilliant!"
He drops to his knees, one hand covering his head, the other raised high toward the ceiling.
"Fortune, thou art my mistress!" he proclaims before rising, embracing the air, and moaning dramatically at the climax of his own performance.
"Excuse me, excuse me!" a man in a sharp business suit pushes through the crowd. "Sir—sir! Sir!" he calls to Trevor.
"Huh?" Trevor blinks in surprise. Is this man trying to rob me? he thinks. Oh, I've been waiting for this. Took karate as a child for a reason.
"Bloody hell, mate," the man says, extending his hand. "Richie Guy. I just watched you work that crowd, and I've got to say—you've got talent. Ever thought about being a movie star?"
"Uh um—yes," Trevor stutters out. "That's my dream."
"Well, aren't you in luck?" Richie grins. "You're perfect for a role I'm casting. A little project named… Herlock Shomes. Interested, mate?"
"I'd be honored!" Trevor blurts out.
Bloody hell. Ever since he got this clover, life has been turning uppity-up.
Beware, people. Trevor Slattery is in the house.
Steve POV:
A minion screams as he's trying to lift weights made out of ice.
Steve decided, after seeing them fight against Loki and his army, that the minions couldn't actually fight. They relied too much on their natural invulnerability. Capture them, and that was it. They'd fold so easily it wasn't even funny.
"Come on, you can do this!" Steve shouts, encouragement in his voice.
The minion screams like he's going super saiyan, veins bursting that don't even exist, and slowly—painfully—lifts the block of ice above his head. He holds it there for a moment before collapsing backward, dropping it to the ground where it shatters.
Breathing heavily, the minion lies there as the others surround him, cheering. He did it.
This young minion—who Steve had decided to name Bucky—had become the strongest of his kind, lifting ten whole pounds above his head without any help.
"Nice work, little buddy," Steve says warmly, walking over and patting him on the head.
The minion, Bucky, looks up with a dazed smile. "Ah ha, bello!" he says, wobbling.
"All right," Steve says loudly, standing tall. "No more slacking around. I want you all to be like Bucky."
The rest of the minions groan in disappointment. They don't want to, but now they have no choice.
"No, no, I don't want any of that," Steve says firmly, clapping his hands together. "Come on. You can do this. I believe in you."
"Woo," one minion calls out in a mocking tone.
"Very funny," Steve mutters, shaking his head. "Come on, let's get you some weight."
The rest of the minions sigh in unison.
Steve sighs too, quietly this time. His thoughts drift. Howard. Peggy. He wonders how they're doing. If they're even still alive. He bows his head slightly, laughing to himself without humor. He doesn't even know how long he was in the ice. Could've been a year. Two. Ten. Maybe twenty. He'll never know.
Still… he hopes they're happy.
Steve snaps out of his daze to find all the minions staring at him.
"All right. Just because I zoned out doesn't mean you can stop," he says, stepping forward.
The minions groan again, long and heavy.
Mandarin POV:
"Have you confirmed it?" Wenwu's voice carried across the room as he stared at the object cupped in his palm.
The man was Xu Wenwu — a legendary figure who rose to power thousands of years ago after discovering a mythical set of 10 rings.
He founded an army known as the Ten Rings and, over the millennia, became a warlord who conquered countless kingdoms. The Rings' power granted him immortality.
Even in modern times, Wenwu continued to seek power, hunting for the ancient city of Ta Lo. When he finally found it, he fell in love with Ta Lo's gatekeeper, Ying Li, and fathered two children.
For a while they were happy. He swore off violence and swore to raise his family in peace — but he eventually reclaimed the Rings when Ying was murdered by the Iron Gang.
He killed them. All of them.
That was only a year ago.
"Recently, some legends have come to light," the lieutenant said, shifting uncomfortably at Wenwu's side.
"Our sources in Tibet, Nepal and the hidden monasteries all corroborate the same story. The artifact you acquired" — the man leaned forward, speaking slowly — "matches every description in the ancient texts."
"How many in total?" Wenwu asked.
"There are seven," the lieutenant replied. "Scattered across the globe. Our intelligence suggests locations in Egypt, the Amazon, and… somewhere in Antarctica."
He hesitated. "The Tibetan monks we questioned warned of a great danger. They said these objects were separated for a reason."
Wenwu hummed, a thin, satisfied smile crossing his lips. "Danger." He lifted his head. A soft, almost private laugh escaped him.
"After a thousand years," he said, voice low and even, "I have forgotten what that word means."
He closed his fingers around the object as if to feel its weight. "Assemble our best teams. Prepare them for immediate deployment. And remind them…"
He let the pause hang, the rings on his arms pulsing with a steady blue light. "Doom. Failure is not an option. My beloved is waiting for me."
"Yes, sir," the man said, then exited quickly.
Wenwu sighed. "Soon, my love," he murmured, lifting his palm and staring at the small golden sphere with a single red star at its center. "Soon."
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Author Note -
So, in this chapter, we see Trevor Slattery, whom I added because I saw a clip of him on YouTube and found it funny. I decided to give him a little bit of luck, lol.
Steve is trying to get the minions to train, since they were pathetic in the battle against Loki, Steve hard carried them.
We also see the real Mandarin. When writing Trevor, I just couldn't get the real Mandarin out of my head, so he's added now.
Make sure to give five stars!