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Someone Hand Me The Extractors...

He looked at the tooth in his hand and shuddered. He couldn’t believe it had come to this.
Such lengths he now went to, just to stay above the poverty line. There has to be more to it
than this, he thought, this can’t be what I have become.

***

Finishing ‘school’ had been a major achievement in his life. Various family members had
tried – and failed, all for various reasons; too difficult, too demanding, too disgusting. He,
too, had almost pulled out after the second-to-last course. There was something not quite
right about putting your hands in someone’s mouth. But he got through it alright, and
graduated with extremely good marks and his diploma to go on the wall at home.

Following grad school, he had been employed in multiple locations around the world; Texas,
Beijing, Melbourne and Paris, to name a few. But he found the work dull and mundane, even
though he made quite a decent living from it. Then came the big squeeze. All of the
employees were forced to make a quota every week, which at first hadn’t been too demanding
but with the amount of employees that were involved in the company, things slowly became
a bit tougher. Keeping ahead of the game was getting harder by the week.

Worse was unfortunately to follow. He got into a nasty fight with a fellow employee over the
last job in Venice, which lead to his arrest and imprisonment. He was promptly shown the
door by his boss, claiming that the company didn’t need that kind of publicity and that he
had signed a pre-employment document stating that he agreed that the company had the
right to dismissal on grounds of felony crimes. His days with the corporation were over.

Since his release from prison, he had not been able to find steady work as the only job he was
qualified for was run by only one company, and he had no chance of being accepted by them
again. So he did the only thing he knew how – he went independent; a mercenary, if you will.
But even that wasn’t entirely profitable. He found some extra work in the poorer parts of
European towns, where his previous workmates wouldn’t dare to tread, but these jobs soon
dried up. He was only left with one option: take what wasn’t his to take.

So, here he found himself, standing in the rain on a balmy evening in the middle of Madrid,
staring at the tooth in his palm. It was a good tooth; a strong tooth, as it had turned out. But
for renegade tooth fairies, every single molar and incisor is up for grabs.

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