Inside an empty Clinic an airborne precaution alarm is blaring. Dr. Death swings the door open, walks inside and slams it shut behind him. He briskly moves to the gas shut-off valves and pulls them down with a sigh before pressing a few more buttons that seemingly vents the air out of the room at an accelerated pace. Dr. Death walks over to his seat at his desk and flips into it as if the weight of the world has been lifted off of his shoulders.
Luchadoc puts his feet up on his desk and reclines back as he whips open the latest edition of The People’s Voice and takes a swig from his lowball glass of whiskey, which may or may not be the same drink that’s been sitting there for a few weeks.
He takes a sip—
And spews it all over the newspaper!
“What!?” he screams as he slams his drink down on the desk.
Over his shoulder we see an advertisement for the main even of Thunder being promoted.
“First I’m forced to team with mi hermano muerte, and now I have to work alongside my opponents at Hail to the King?”
Dr. Death tears the newspaper to shreds and flings the remnants up in the air before jolting upright from his chair. He begins to pace around the clinic, clearly flustered, before abruptly stopping and moving directly towards his wall of medicine cabinets which he rummages through, finding a syringe, needle, alcohol swab, tourniquet, and a vial of something that he places on the counter in front of him.
Breathing heavily, he reaches up for his spotlight, turns it on himself and aims at his left arm. Then Luchadeath deftly straps a tourniquet around the arm, picks a juicy vein and swabs it, then draws up from the vial with his syringe.
Doc de la Muerte is visibly shaking as he sticks the needle into his blood vessel, eyes wide and bloodshot as he carefully injects that mystery medicine into his bloodstream.
The shaking stops.
The heavy breathing subsides.
And Dr. Death stands still with his head rolled back and his eyes closed for a few moments before he slides the needle out from his skin and drops it on the counter. He then releases the tourniquet and holds pressure on his arm to stop the bleeding before grabbing a black leather bag and tossing multiples of the aforementioned supplies and vials into it. He zippers it shut, walks to the door, pauses a moment, and turns to a control panel which he intricately enters commands into.
As the doc beeps and boops his touch screen we zoom in on the separately torn faces of Dr. Death, Tombstone, and Jackson Cade next to an un-torn and uniform picture of Harold Attano, Narcissa Balenciaga, and Colt Ramsey side by side.
The lights dim and he opens the Clinic door, and we are left a digital sign switching from “THE DOCTOR WILL SEE YOU NOW…” to “On vacation- adios!” as he calmly shuts the door behind him and an alarm sets itself.