Gary took a deep breath.

Then another.

Then one more, because the first two hadn’t helped.

He positioned himself in front of the bathroom mirror, pliers in hand, looking like a man about to perform an operation he was wildly underqualified for. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and manoeuvred the pliers toward the offending tooth.

The metal clinked against enamel.

Gary whimpered.

He adjusted his grip, sweat breaking out across his forehead. The tooth stared back at him, smug and immovable. He clamped down harder, jaw screaming in protest.

“Right,” he muttered around the pliers. “Quick and decisive.”

He pulled.

Nothing happened.

He pulled again, harder this time. The pain exploded, white-hot and blinding, radiating through his skull like a firework display sponsored by regret. Tears streamed down his face.

This was either the bravest thing he’d ever done or the stupidest. Possibly both.

His grip tightened.

What does Gary do?

Yank harder and commit fully → Page 11

Abort the attempt and stop → Page 12