A box, illuminated by a spotlight.
“What do you think about when you see a box?”
“Do you examine the material that it’s made of?”
“Do you carefully inspect the latch that binds it shut?”
“Or do you imagine what wares are stowed inside that box?”
Medico Muerte taps the box’s lid with his cane.
“There are all kinds of boxes out there. Big boxes. Little boxes. Heart-shaped boxes. Little triangular boxes with those yummy, little Toblerones in them…”
Medico stares off into the distance for a moment, a tear in his eye.
“Mmm, sí. The box itself can promote something, or an idea. It can influence you to think or act a certain way. That’s marketing. In other words, they want you to buy what they’re selling.”
“And if that box is yours, you better market to sell, because if your customer realizes the contents inside that box aren’t up to the advertised standard…”
“Then you’re busted.”
Luchadoc points his cane at the hard cam.
“El Supervillaino—”
“The guy with the menacing skull and bones, and the piercing horns…”
“YOU are molded of the sturdiest calcium and keratin the human body could produce.”
“Your black attire that envelops your chiseled exterior is locked shut around the neck with your crimson cape.
“And your eyes, the window to your soul, is nothing but a deep, dark abyss, contained within your visage like the mysterious contents of…”
“A box.”
“We all see your outer shell, Rogue Incarnate. It’s an intimidating, impressive one and, I have to say, I dig the choice of colors. You market yourself like a pro. Like the best advertiser on the roster. Like…”
“Advertiser Number One?”
“Your box speaks to me, hermano. I can’t help but gravitate toward you, because between our choice of appearance and our goals, I’d say that you and I have a lot in common.”
“But I’m not buying what you’re selling.”
“You’re all talk, and no substance. All braun, no brains. Nothing you’ve done in MASQ has been diabolical.”
“You’re busted goods, esse.”
“Ooh, what are you, going to smash your little box over my head?”
“You like smashing box, cabron?”
“Good, because at Unmasked I’m going to give you a taste of your own medicine and smash your box open so that the whole world can see the true, raw El Supervillaino that’s sleeping behind those eye holes in the Dark Abyss of your mind.”
“Tengo tu remedio, and its death by 10,000 tacks.”
Medico taps the box with his cane again.
“And when I’m done with you, I will keep you in my box with me as my creature, and I’ll show what ingredients you need to concoct something truly diabolical.”
“El Maestro del Caos— you’re about to find out why I’m the only guy who peddles the mettle around Masqopolis.”
Medico takes a bite of his Toblerone and exhales exuberantly.
“And it’ll be death by 10,000 Toblerones™️ for me…”