My Life as an Editor at Marvel

Beep—beep—beep—the sound of ambulances echoed through the entire street. Drivers on the road glanced curiously at the hurrying vehicles; one or two ambulances were not uncommon, but few had ever seen a convoy lined up like this. Could it be another terrorist attack or a suicide bomber, perhaps?

While the bystanders speculated wildly, the emergency doctors at the hospital were already prepared for the incoming patients. “Acute onset of mental disorder, nineteen in total. All have been injected with a dose of sedative, but it had no effect, same as the previous cases,” an EMT reported briskly while unloading the patients.

Beside the busy emergency physicians, the chief neurosurgeon frowned, watching each patient clutch their head, mouths agape, pupils dilated, bodies curled up as if seized by unspeakable terror. This was already the third group of such sudden psychiatric cases in the past month. Their clinical symptoms were bizarre; aside from the inexplicable fear, there was nothing physically wrong. Blood tests and other examinations revealed no abnormality that could explain their condition.

The hospital was completely at a loss. Standard sedatives had no effect on these people; all they could do was keep them alive with machines and watch as they periodically slipped into fits of madness. The neurosurgeon pressed his temples, troubled. He had been the one to insist on admitting these patients. If he could uncover the pathology behind this strange illness or any hidden danger, he would surely make a name for himself in medical circles—perhaps even earn