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Su-bong had always enjoyed taking the easy way out.
Back in High school, that meant squeezing into a bathroom stall with his friends to sprawl equations onto their forearms in splotchy black ink; pointedly rolling their sleeves down before stepping into class for a math test. In terms of dating, that meant hitting it off with some bombshell of a chick, and despite sparks flying and hookups being not only killer but a sure thing, still feeling the unshakable urge to up and flee. Every relationship ended in a messy, yelling-filled screaming-match, or as nothing more than a handful of texts on Su-bong’s phone that he eventually stopped caring to open. The easy way out meant balling his hands into fists when douchebags splashed his new shoes with muddy water on the street; rather than spinning the cogs in his mind and stringing peaceful words together. At the same time, it meant heeling when his father got home reeking of booze, a sharpness on his tongue that Su-bong had inherited yet not dared to use against him. It meant colourful, pretty little pills nestled conveniently within the necklace hung from his neck.
It was just so easy.
None of it right, but easy.
Su-bong was merely blessed with what some may call ‘laziness’, spat from between gritted teeth by not only his parents but teachers alike. He didn’t think he was lazy, necessarily, but after years of people chalking him up to be such, it was hard to believe otherwise. Su-bong was hopeless, talentless, uninspired, unmotivated.
Until he’d found his calling, anyway.
Studying was a bore, to put it simply, so nobody was all that surprised when he flunked his last year of High school and decidedly dropped out instead of doing it over again (taking the easy way out). A classic 9-5 sounded mind-numbing, and frankly he’d have rather blown his brains out than pulled some shitty Pizza Hut uniform over his head, to clock in for a shift of greasy hands and annoying customers. You’d think growing up in a less than ‘well-off’ home, Su-bong would’ve been less picky by now, taking any job that he could get his slimy hands on in hopes of saving enough to finally up and ditch town.
Instead, he focused on one of the few things that could actually captivate him for longer than a few moments, holding Su-bong’s attention without him needing to satiate himself by letting stray thoughts carry him away, nor jittering in his seat like a shaken soda can, itching to do anything else.
That, of course, was music. What were once shoddy lyrics scribbled into notebooks, and fingers with minds of their own rhythmically drumming instrumentals onto countertops in time became a profession.
Soon, Su-bong began to fade, and the stage-persona of "Thanos" became more tangible by the day; an individual that exudes effortless confidence, partying nightly, surrounded by so much money that he could throw it out in wads without even pretending to miss it, someone who couldn’t blend in with the crowd, even if he tried.
And, Thanos didn’t try. Notoriety was a drug, and he was quickly hooked on it. Publicity was publicity, nothing but good at the beginning, until he learned that bad publicity did the trick just fine as-well. Being a little controversial never hurt anybody, after all, and cookie-cutter pop bullshit never quite appealed to Thanos. The idea of being grouped alongside goodie-two-shoed-idols without even the slightest of smudges on their pristine records brought a grimace to his face. So, if a couple of raunchy rumours got out, or a few paparazzi pictures circled where he was on his way into a sketchy club, Thanos couldn’t ever say he cared very much.
Publicity was publicity was fame.
And, after a while, Thanos was unsure that he needed anything else.
That reliance was fragile. Anyone besides Thanos himself could see it. Like everything Su-bong did, or tried, it was bound to crumble at his own hands in due time. And crumble, it did.
Like an idiot, like the idiot he’d always been, Su-bong didn’t look twice before leaping head first and investing every penny of his earnings from rapping into a cryptocurrency, Dalmatian, at the advice of some YouTuber. The idea was alluring, naturally. Su-bong was sure he’d throw his money in on a whim, and bam! It’d double, just like that. It’d have been so simple, so fortuitous.
It was just… easy, wasn’t it?
His never-ending longing for ease, and escape from all things difficult, is what led our dearest Su-bong —only half-coherent— to the railing of a nearby bridge. He draped himself over the fencing bonelessly, blue eyes strangely dim as they wandered the abyss below; clouded with fog, and barely capable of making out the rock-infested stream of water at the bottom.
He tilted his head softly, and purple strands of hair swayed with the slight movement, gravity pulling the colourful tufts downward, along with the clack of his few necklaces that hung over the ledge and hovered in the air below the drop. Su-bong briefly felt as though it was beckoning him, pulling him down, down, down.
For a man contemplating his own demise, from an outside perspective, he didn’t look to have a care in the world. There wasn’t a nervous bone in his body, but, perhaps that was just the after effects of a popped pill that remained swirling in his systems, dissolving slowly but surely, yet notably loosening the tightness within his limbs.
Might as-well do it, he thought to himself, almost absently. Mentally checked-out. You came here for a reason, pussy. Don’t you fucking bail. The aggravated tone of his subconscious was distant, and softly nagging rather than persistent, or overwhelming.
It’s not like he wanted to die. But, the idea of getting away from it all didn’t sound so bad. Infact, it was enticing.
Thanos once had it all, and Su-bong had nothing. He had dyed hair that began to fade at the roots, colour ceasing along with his motivation to preserve self-identity. He had chipped nail-polish, that was a Thanos staple in good condition, but without his money and his reputation in shambles with the sudden fall-off, Su-bong had no will to keep his teeth from gnawing at the polish anxiously. Su-bong had debt, and festered shame, and anger. Hating it all, seeing there was nothing good left within the rubble, Su-bong found himself here.
He’d never considered suicide before.
Well, maybe once or twice in passing, but not consistently.
Not for real.
Even now, it was an impulsive decision, one that his brain still struggled to catch up with as he imagined his unsightly body mangled against the ground below. Su-bong never made long-term plans, his finger always on the trigger, the type to fire too early rather than too late.
So, when he was mulling over his shit-pile of a life not too many hours ago, that same day, and the idea of plainly and simply killing himself entered the dome, Su-bong was sliding his sneakers on without a second thought, equipped with what he could only describe as his most brilliant plan yet, and one of his favourite graphic tees.
Go out in style.
Still observing the view from over the bridge's railing, Su-bong fumbled for his pocket momentarily, pulling out his vape and pressing the blue nozzle to his lips. Vapour filled his lungs, and rather than releasing it when the tingle in his chest became suddenly unpleasant, he merely pulled an irritated face and clenched his teeth when he began coughing against his will. His body convulsed, his eyes watered, and when he finally gave up, opening his mouth to spare his already ruined lungs, the crackled hack that erupted from him hurt like hell.
"Fuck," Su-bong choked out, just about coughing up his insides, as his hands fought to white-knuckle the cool railing pressing against his chest; doubled over as much as he could be, without toppling over the edge.
As much as he could spray potent words about that rat-bastard ‘MG coin’ who scammed him out of his money, and as much as such words held some authenticity, Su-bong was angry at himself, whether he knew it or not. He dragged his hands against his face, trying to ground himself ever so slightly, whilst catching his breath.
Do it, he urged.
Fucking do it.
And, maybe he would’ve. Maybe he wouldn’t have.
Maybe it would have been easier to scuff his shoes along the ground and just walk home, vaping all the while to take the edge off, and thinking nothing of his little bridge-expenditure in the long run.
Su-bong would never know, as a man in a suit approached him with an offer. An offer of money, money to gain, more money than he’d ever lost. An offer that he couldn’t bring himself to ignore. An offer to become Thanos once more, to get it all back.