The airport, I should add, is called Doomsport.
I didn’t make that up.
The name greets you immediately on a large steel sign as the plane taxis toward the terminal, which is decorated almost entirely with statues of Doctor Victor Von Doom. Giant banners hang from the walls. Doom’s metal mask appears on government crests, airport kiosks, and - increasingly - lunchboxes, pens, thermal cups and children’s pyjamas.
Over the loudspeaker a calm recorded message welcomes arriving passengers:
“Welcome to Latveria. Doctor Doom protects you.”
The title, you’ll notice, is doing a lot of work there.
Doctor.
Because with anticipation building of Doom's appearance in Avengers: Doomsday, one question has quietly begun bothering me.
Not whether he’s dangerous.
Not whether he’s powerful.
But whether the man behind the mask is actually… a doctor.
A Résumé That Raises Questions
To be clear, Doom’s CV is impressive.
In Marvel lore he is one of the most dangerous intellects on Earth - a technological genius capable of building machines that rival the inventions of Tony Stark.
In my opinion, he has the largest ego and arrogance in the whole of the MCU.
He commands an army of robotic duplicates known as Doombots, which are essentially walking metal versions of himself designed to confuse enemies, protect his identity, and, I don't know, probably to attend town hall meetings that he finds boring.
He has mastered dark sorcery powerful enough to make Doctor Strange panic (fyi, Doctor Strange showed proof of doctorate on request).
He has spent decades battling the Fantastic Four, conquering nations, inventing impossible technology. This is a man who genuinely believes the world will be easier to manage if he just personally ran it.
Which, briefly, he did.
“You know he once temporarily ruled the entire planet,” a Latverian tourism official tells me proudly over coffee in a café decorated with portraits of Doom looking thoughtful beside various laser cannons.
“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” I say.
“But is he a doctor like a scientist… or doctor like a chiropractor?”
The official pauses the way people pause when they are trying to calculate how politically safe the next sentence will be.
“Well,” he says eventually, “Doctor Doom is a doctor of many things.”
A Nation Built Around One Man
Latveria itself is fascinating.
It’s clean, orderly, vaguely medieval, and absolutely covered in statues of Doom. Not modest statues either - towering monuments of a caped metal monarch staring nobly toward the horizon like a man contemplating philosophy (or orbital weapon platforms).
The national architecture appears to follow a single design principle:
What if castles had Wi-Fi and missile silos?
Every street eventually leads to the same destination — Castle Doom, a brooding structure perched on a cliff above the capital that looks exactly like the sort of place a comic-book supervillain would live if he also happened to run a small European nation.
And by most accounts, Latverians are surprisingly fond of him.
Crime is low.
Infrastructure works.
The trains run on time.
At one point I started casually looking at real estate listings.
Latveria’s housing market, I discovered, is surprisingly strong, with most Fantastic Four attacks focused mainly on central areas, away from the suburbs.
Charming stone cottages. Alpine views. Affordable prices.
The recurring notes in the property descriptions are something along the lines of:
“Excellent mountain views. Good schools. Quiet neighbourhood. Occasional Doombot patrol.”
Which, frankly, feels like a step up.
Latverian Higher Education
To try to seek more answers to my questions, naturally I visited the country’s main university.
The Latverian National University sits above the city on a hill, its stone entrance marked by a bronze plaque that reads:
FOUNDED BY DOCTOR DOOM
ACCREDITED BY DOCTOR DOOM
CURRICULUM APPROVED BY DOCTOR DOOM
Inside the admissions office, an administrator confirmed that Doom did indeed attend the institution.
“He was our most distinguished student,” she tells me proudly.
“What did he study?” I ask.
“Everything.”
“And the doctorate?”
“Oh yes.”
“In what field?”
She considers this question carefully.
“Victory.”
The Doom Paradox
The strange thing about the title is that the question almost doesn’t matter.
Doom clearly possesses the sort of intellect that makes traditional academic credentials feel slightly redundant. He builds machines capable of threatening the Avengers. He merges science and sorcery like a man conducting experiments in both physics and dark magic simultaneously.
If a masked genius with a castle, a robot army, and an ability to conquer the world insists on being called “Doctor,” most people just go along with it.
Still, as I prepared to leave Latveria, I was unsatisfied with the lack of answers.
After a three-hour Uber ride to Castle Doom, I approached the lone guard on the gate who refused to engage with me.
“What are you hiding!?” I shouted through the gate.
“Has Doom ever completed a doctoral thesis!? The people want to know!”
Latveria — and Doctor Doom — may be fascinating, theatrical, and quite possibly about to promise Marvel fans very big things in Avengers: Doomsday this Christmas.
After several days of investigation, one thing seems increasingly clear.
The Avengers may soon learn what Latveria already knows...
...it's probably best not to challenge Doctor Doom.
Next week, look out for my damning expose on Dr. Mario.