The Sanctum Sanctorum of Doctor Stephen Strange’s brain felt like it was full of broken glass tearing away at the insides of his cracking skull; he needed some help with the messy thoughts, which cluttered the labyrinthine rooms of his memories. But Strange’s psychic counsellor, named Wong, was no longer at the other end of the phone. Wong had discharged Strange as his client sometime prior, after a number of unpaid bills, who last mentioned that the tortuous folds of Strange’s brain really needed a woman’s touch.


Strange felt a panic attack coming on, before attempting to relax into his armchair, while listening to a cursed radio, which he knew was nigh fatal to the touch due to its bad wiring. His eyes drifted towards peering through the window, out of which it appeared to be constantly raining. Strange thought that his wardrobe was winking at him as if it…

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