The lights buzzed overhead, bathing the room in a ghastly glow that made everyone look slightly more deranged than they probably were. The chairs, a chaotic assortment of colors were arranged in a circle, like some sort of bizarre homage to a kindergarten class that had gone terribly wrong. Thanos slumped in his chair, arms crossed tightly, his gaze fixated on a particularly interesting crack in the linoleum. The way it snaked across the floor seemed far more riveting than the monotone voice droning on about life being a cyclical adventure, or something equally ridiculous.

He should’ve just leaped off the deep end.

But instead, he hesitated and somebody forced him to go back. And here he found himself, marooned in this fluorescent purgatory, surrounded by a crew of misfits who treated him like he was made of glass. Fragile. They spoke to him in that condescending tone reserved for children and the elderly. And he's stuck here - in the psych ward.

“…sometimes you’re at the peak of the mountain, and sometimes you’re at the bottom of the pit,” The facilitator continued, gazing around the circle like a particularly earnest motivational speaker on a bad day.

A sound erupted from Thanos—a noise that was an unfortunate hybrid of a cough and a gag—loud enough to slice through the room's stifling silence. Heads whipped around like he’d just set off a firecracker. Some eyes widened in shock, while others narrowed in judgment, as if he’d just insulted their favorite flavor of ice cream. Thanos met their curious stares, sizing them up like he was contemplating whether to take them out one by one or just roll his eyes.

Straightening up in his chair, a smirk danced across his lips, and he shrugged nonchalantly, arms still folded in defiance. "What? That’s the most pathetic motivational speech I’ve ever heard."

The facilitator, a dude with glasses too large for his face muttered: “Uh, Choi- Maybe you should—”

“Maybe I should what?” Thanos interrupted, not really enjoying being called by his real name.