[An apple.]
[It sits in the large gloved hand of Doom.]
Have you ever heard the phrase, Doctor Death?
An apple a day keeps the Doctor away.
A quaint little saying, wouldn’t you say?
[He picks up a peeler and starts peeling the apple.]
But not every apple is the same. Some apples aren’t quite right. Take this apple in the palm of my hand, for instance. It looks perfectly healthy, green and normal from the outside, doesn’t it?
[Doom stops peeling to show the bright green skin.]
If one were to look at it like this, it might look like a tasty and scrumptious treat.
[He then turns the apple to show what he’s peeled away, revealing maggots infesting the inside of the apple. They’re burrowing away within.]
How wrong would they be?
One tiny bite of this apple would leave a foul taste in the mouth of anyone who dared take a bite.
That wouldn’t keep the Doctor away now, would it?
[Doom tosses the apple against the wall of the Doom Factory, splattering and smashing it.]
You remind me a lot of that apple, Doctor Death.
From outside appearances you seem like a normal and healthy man. Sure, you wear a mask, but it’d be hypocritical of me to hold that against you, would it not? For I too share in the desire to hide my face.
A patient looking at you in your room of delight might consider themselves in safe hands. There’s everything you need in The Clinic to be treated.
First aid? Check.
Bandages? Check.
Utensils and objects of life saving measures? Check.
And just like my apple, a cursory glance from afar might project the impression that you are normal.
[Doom walks over to the apple and bends down, surveying the maggots now wriggling on the floor.]
But if one was to look a little closer… they would see that you, my good Doctor, are absolutely rotten to the core.
If they inspected that clinic a little more thoroughly, they might find that first aid kit is nothing more than show.
They might find those bandages are dirty and prime for infection.
They might just find that those utensils and objects of life saving measures don’t actually work at all.
[He stands up.]
Because like my apple, you appear to be ripe and normal. But the truth is far from that, isn’t it? You’re rotten, Doctor Death. You’re an infested, infectious mire of hatred and a suffering.
And this beautiful mess you see before you on my Factory floor is a prime example of what should happen to you.
An apple a day may keep the Doctor away…
Unless that apple is putrid.
In that case, it needs to be destroyed.
[He looks down at the maggots.]
[Stomp.]
That much appears… true.