You have had enough of this! You are an accomplished doctor in several fields! You saved the city from destruction. You don't need to prove a damn thing to anyone and you refuse to wallow in obscurity one second longer. Fuck paying your dues again. You storm down to the Medical Licensure Office to apply for a new Medical License.
A bored clerk stamps your application and nods towards the testing room. Bring it on, you've aced these tests a dozen times. You tear through half a day of short essays and filling in bubbles, making sure to put your errors in different patterns than you have in previous tests.
After a brief wait during which you call the office and chat pleasantly with Agnes (no messages) it's time for dissections and transplant testing. The proctor is amazed by your grace and precision. It feels good to have blood on your hands again. You are ushered into an interview room.
"We're very impressed with these test results, Doctor... Gool is it?"
"Yes, that's right, Dr. Gil Gool," you say.
"Well Doctor everything here is in order. Our Agents are just checking out your offices, routine inspection, but I'm sure everything will be fine. If your excellent test results and meticulous surgical skills are any indication I'm sure your workplace is impeccable as well."
You flinch. An office inspection was not part of the review back in Minnesota. Your office and lab are not exactly impeccable right now. "Ah," you say, standing up quickly, "if I'd known your representatives were coming I'd have instructed my secretary to make coffee and, ah, order lunch, let me call her, excuse me." You step out quickly and call your office again. There's no answer. You rush to your car and speed to your office. The lawn out front is swarming with enraged Medical Licensure Agents, one of whom sees you and moves a hand to the butt of her orgone pistol. You park your car just in time to see the State Police kick the door of your office in.
You really should have cleaned your place up before you went to apply for that license, Doc.
They find a lot of peoples' blood in your office, along with all the unregistered weapons, illegal drugs, and prescriptions you wrote yourself. Downstairs in the lab they find, among other things, a bunch of dead frog kids, human remains, and yes, the aborted twin brother of the goat-monster that murdered the President last week.
Time to roll on out of here, Doctor. Maybe roll all the way on out of here, this time.