I have been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember. Every night, I would put on a tuxedo, and I would live the lavish lifestyle that was expected of an international playboy. I lived a hard, unfulfilled, lonely life. Men would dream to be me, just for a day. If they only knew.
I became a playboy because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I would work all day, and I would party all night. I've spent my life with with princesses, models, other industrialists- we live above the fray. From an early age I was never without anything I craved. Except actual guenuine human contact.
And then, at a comparatively young age, I had a heart attack. My doctors, the best in the world, told me that I would never be able to live a normal life again. I would be attached to a machine forever in order to survive. I would not be able to drink again- my heart was that weak. The same organ that was incapable of love was now incapable of life. How ironic.
I took it upon myself to use my mind to prove them wrong. I invented better equipment then they had at their hospital. It wasn't my drive to live that forced my scientific mind to use technology to solve my problem. It was my addiction to alcohol. I am not going to pretend the patents that came with it were not going to make me rich again. Throw it on the pile.
I wanted to live so I could continue to drink. If it wasn't for the drink, I wouldn't even be in this mess. If it wasn't for my addiction, I would still be the charming and affable playboy I have been for as long as I can remember. Except, I wouldn't be the same, now would I.
Now, years later, I am a slave to technology. I cannot survive without my chest plate the only thing that keeps my heart beating. The trade off is that with enough raw power, I can do anything. I can level mountains, I can destroy buildings. I can fly at the speed of sound. I am a walking war machine. I rely on my armour to survive, but I have used it to become so much more than everyone else around me.
But, every night, I come home and drink alone. I crave my next sip from the second I put the glass down. I have no close friends- only employees, clients and the empty socialites a billionaire is expected to be involved with in polite society. I make weapons of destruction and sell them. I am a purveyor of death by proxy. How many lives have been lost at the end of the barrels I have created? Polite society indeed.
It just drives me back to the bottle. A stark reminder of the evil that men do - I profit from it.
And every so often, someone points one of my guns at me. I disarm them, destroy the weapon, and know that tomorrow, they will order some more.
Some Hero. When I am not saving the world, I am helping them destroy each other.
When I am not saving the world, I am destroying myself. The same armour that I use to save the world, is also saving me.
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