Toothache of the Apocalypse
Lindsay was at the shopping mall.
She wasn’t buying weapons. She wasn’t stocking up on emergency supplies or gathering rations. She was buying clothes. Makeup. A few boxes of strawberry-scented sheet masks.
It was her day off.
Even a raging warrior needed her self-care time.
She wore a men’s Zhongshan suit—like always. Not a single button fastened. Underneath? A snug pink bra barely containing what needed to be contained.
Tall. Athletic. Well over six feet. She walked like a T-Rex on patrol.
But her face?
All smiles.
“Thank you! See you next time~”
She waved cheerfully at the cashier. The cashier, frozen for a second, gave her a bow back.
“Uh—y-yes. Please come again…”
Lindsay stepped onto the sidewalk, bags in both hands. The sun was shining. Her hair shimmered.
It was a perfect day.
Then— it hit.
A sharp pain. Like a hot nail driving into her gums. Then twisting into her skull.
She froze. She bent down. Her face contorted.
The pain was fast, sharp, primal.
It had been years since she’d had a toothache. She had forgotten how fast the body betrayed itself.
She fell to her knees. Clutched her face.
Tried to focus her inner energy—her qi—into her jaw. Tried to control it like she was taught.
Didn’t work. Not even a little.
She rolled onto the concrete, groaning, muttering nonsense into her palm like a cursed child.
“Aaaghhh—make it stop, please, anyone—KILL ME—”
People passed by.
Some slowed. Some stared. Most ignored her.
Until one man—a jogger with bubble tea in one hand—finally said something.
“The hell are you doing? Rolling around like a moron? Are you stupid or something?”
SHING. SHING. SHING.
Three silver flashes streaked through the air—so fast they barely existed.
Next moment: That man fell apart.
Four clean chunks of torso hit the ground like meat from a butcher’s rack. His head bounced twice. The bubble tea stood upright for a second longer before tipping over.
Lindsay didn’t even glance his way. She was still rolling. Still crying.
“Why… why this tooth… why today…”
Then she slowly pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly, shopping bags still clutched in one hand.
She looked around.
North. South. East. West.
The mall loomed in every direction.
“I got to find a dentist soon…”
The Waiting Room Massacre
Lindsay found a dental clinic on the third floor of the mall.
“Emergency Walk-Ins Welcome,” the sign said. It was painted in Comic Sans. There were balloons taped to the door.
She kicked it open.
The waiting room was full—mostly seniors, a few screaming toddlers, and one dude in sunglasses watching a mukbang at full volume.
Lindsay stood in the doorway. Eyes red. Hair wild. Mouth trembling. She looked like she’d crawled straight out of a 1998 horror film.
Nobody looked up.
The receptionist, a plump young woman chewing gum with war-grade confidence, finally raised her head.
“Hi! Name and insurance?”
Lindsay didn’t answer.
She walked up to the counter. Put both shopping bags down. Grabbed the edge of the desk and leaned in.
Her voice was a whisper, but it landed like a blade.
“It’s urgent.”
The receptionist blinked.
“Sweetie, everyone here’s urgent. That guy’s molar exploded.”
She pointed to a trembling man in the corner with his entire face wrapped in a towel like a mummy.
Lindsay’s eye twitched.
“What do you mean by waiting?”
“I never wait. The pain is killing me.”
The receptionist hesitated.
“Well… you see, there’s a lot of people in front of you—”
“Ah. Right.”
SHFFFF.
Lindsay tossed off her coat like she was in a stage play. Her qi surged out like pressure from a ruptured boiler.
Three silver arcs whipped through the air.
SHING. SHING. SHING.
Every patient in front of her was reduced to chunks. Arms. Legs. Jaws. Guts. All of it—neatly bisected.
The mukbang guy’s tablet landed in the slime bucket.
One of the grandmas exploded into dental coupons.
She dusted her hands.
“Now. Is it my turn yet?”
The receptionist stood frozen for a beat. Then nodded rapidly—like a bobblehead in a hurricane.
“Y-y-y-yes, madam! R-right this way!”
Lindsay stepped over a severed foot and smiled faintly.
“Thank you.”
Behind her, the wall clock cracked. The lights flickered. One of the decapitated heads blinked twice before going still.
A Dose of Diarrhea
The dentist was young. Maybe too young. Barely older than Lindsay.
He wore a Pokémon-patterned surgical mask and a nervous smile, like he’d rather be gaming than doing this job.
He took one look at her swollen face and muttered,
“Yikes…”
Then he snapped on gloves, poked around a bit, and said:
“Yeah, it’s just an infection. Happens. I’ll write you a prescription for antibiotics.”
Lindsay didn’t move.
She just sat there, arms crossed, face twitching like a broken light fixture.
“I need them now.”
The dentist hesitated.
Then he laughed awkwardly and reached into his coat pocket.
“Well… I do have a few on me. Samples. Was gonna take ’em myself, but hey…”
He pulled out a little Ziploc bag—twenty pills, unlabeled.
“One a day. One week. You’ll be fine. The extra ones—just keep ’em somewhere safe. These things are strong. Like, really strong. Don’t let kids near them. We have to handle these responsibly.”
Lindsay took the bag.
Stared at it.
Then—snatched it, tore it open, and swallowed all twenty pills at once.
No water. No hesitation. Just—gulp.
The dentist’s soul left his body.
“WHAT THE HELL—”
Lindsay wiped her mouth.
“I’m tougher than that.”
She stood up. Walked out the door. Didn’t even close it behind her.
Ten steps later—her stomach growled.
Hard.
By the time she reached the escalator, she was sweating. Pale. Bent forward like a Victorian ghost bride. Every breath came with a squelch.
And then—she ran.
Sprint. Limbs flailing.
She made it to the food court bathroom… but the line was twenty people deep.
Children. Seniors. Tourists.
No chance.
Lindsay’s eye twitched again.
She turned around, scanned the area.
And then she moved.
Kicked open the nearest boutique—some overpriced women’s clothing store with French music playing inside.
A shriek erupted.
One of the clerks was in the back—squatting on the store’s employee toilet, mid-poop.
Too late.
Lindsay grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out mid-dump. The poor woman flew into the hallway like a javelin, her pants still around her knees.
And behind her… trailed a single, horrifying brown tail—a poop comet, midair, spiraling into eternity.
Gasps. Screams.
Lindsay shut the door.
Silence.
Then…
BOOM.
A blast of weaponized flatulence tore through the boutique.
Mannequins collapsed. Dressing rooms shook. The store logo peeled off the wall and clattered to the floor.
Mall security took cover.
Teenagers cried.
A Shake Shack window shattered.
Inside, Lindsay sat quietly on the boutique toilet—arms resting on her knees, eyes half-lidded.
Serene. Powerful.
“I think I’m feeling better now.”
Lobster Shells and Loose Screws
Lindsay stepped out of the boutique.
Her hair was damp. Her cheeks glowed with relief. The entire corridor smelled like a chemical weapons test site. But she looked serene.
One foot in front of the other.
Then—
TCHHH.
A sharp spark fired up her jaw again.
She froze mid-step.
The toothache.
Still there.
Still burning. Still clawing into her brain like a raccoon trapped in a garbage disposal.
She clutched her cheek, growled through her teeth—
“Twenty wasn’t enough… I need more.”
She turned back toward the dentist’s office, limbs stiff, knees bowed like she was marching back to war.
On her way through the food court, she passed a group of mall bros. One of them, in a tight tank top and flip flops, was eating seafood out of a styrofoam tray like it was his last meal before prison.
“Bro,” he said with a smirk, “these lobster claws? I bite straight through the shell. No problem. My teeth are like nutcrackers. Ain’t that right, Mikey?”
The other bro chuckled, mouth full of clams.
“Straight up. Hard shell, soft meat, and a hit of yeast sauce? That’s gourmet, bro.”
Lindsay stopped walking.
She turned her head.
Her jaw twitched.
Her eyes narrowed on the speaker like a hawk spotting prey.
“You… brag about biting shells…”
The man looked up, confused.
“Uh—yeah? Wait, what—”
SHICK.
She was already behind him.
She reached into his mouth and—ripped out his molars. With her bare hands. Fingers straight down his throat like she was unclogging a sink.
Blood sprayed. He screamed like a balloon letting out air sideways. His tongue flapped like a fish out of water.
Then she spun him by the jaw and snapped his spine backward like a folding chair.
The other bros ran.
Too late.
Lindsay bent low and bit the tray in half. Styrofoam and all.
“Nutcrackers, huh? I’ll show you nutcrackers…”
She dropped the body and headed back to the clinic.
The Cure That Cuts
Lindsay was still on the ground, curled like a dying animal. Her hands gripped the cold mall floor, nails scraping the tile. Her face was pale, drenched in sweat, twitching with rage and pain.
Then—
Three shadows stood before her.
One was calm and tall, hands in his pockets, wearing golden-rimmed glasses that caught the neon light.
Michael.
Captain Lam of the Humble Organization.
Beside him, slightly slouched, expression unreadable—
Raymond.
And between them—
A strange, tiny man in a too-long lab coat. Slipper shoes. Hair like uncooked noodles. Face flat with confidence that hadn’t been earned.
Mildy.
Self-proclaimed doctor. Unlicensed. Undeterred.
Lindsay slowly raised her head, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.
“Michael… the great Captain Lam.
You here to laugh at me?”
Michael gave a thin smile.
“Didn’t think I’d see the day.
A woman like you… taken out by a molar.”
Raymond nodded seriously.
“Toothaches are hell.
Two weeks ago, I had one.
I rolled around like a dying cockroach. Screamed into a pillow for hours.
Don’t worry, it’s not just you.”
Then Mildy stepped forward like he was stepping onto a stage.
“Actually… I can fix this.
Tooth pain is simple.
A few nerve tricks. One minute.
Even I, a humble unlicensed doctor, can handle this.”
Michael squinted at him.
“You sure?
She’s not exactly stable.
You fail, she might tear your head off.”
Before Mildy could reply, Lindsay stood up on one knee and stared directly into his eyes.
“If you cure me…”
Her voice was low. Calm. Ominous.
“…I’ll owe you a favor.”
She stood up straight now. Still trembling, but not from weakness.
“But if you fail—
I’ll cut you into ten pieces.”
Raymond gave a tiny cough.
Michael didn’t say a word.
Mildy smiled and said:
“Understood.”
Then he kicked her.
A sharp, precise snap of the foot—right into the side of her face. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to hurt. A test. A theory.
Lindsay didn’t even blink.
She stayed completely still. Face turned slightly from the blow.
No relief.
The pain in her jaw pulsed louder. Her gums throbbed. Her blood began to boil.
Slowly, she turned her head back toward him.
Her eyes were now red.
Dead quiet.
Her fingers twitched.
Then clenched into claws.
She took one step forward.
Mildy froze. His grin faded.
Michael saw it.
Raymond saw it too.
Both of them instantly moved—
One to the left. One to the right.
Positioning themselves around Mildy.
Guarding him.
Because they knew what was coming.