Outside, the birds are chirping, but inside Alan’s head, the opera is already starting to play. It begins softly—a distant soprano—as he looks at his first patient of the morning. To the townspeople, he is a miracle worker. To himself, he is an artist tasked with cleaning up the "rot" of the world.
The sign out front says , but the man behind the mask is still Dr. Alan Feinstone. He stands in his new office in the sleepy town of Paradise, adjusting his white coat until there isn’t a single wrinkle. The Dentist 2
"I’m just going to clear away the darkness," he whispers to the terrified patient. Outside, the birds are chirping, but inside Alan’s
He leans in closer. The smell of antiseptic isn't enough to mask the scent of his own rising mania. In Paradise, everything looks perfect on the surface—white picket fences and manicured lawns. But Alan knows better. He knows that underneath every perfect surface, there is a nerve waiting to be exposed. He taps the explorer against a molar. Clink. Clink. "You've been neglecting your hygiene, haven't you?" To himself, he is an artist tasked with
He picks up the high-speed drill. The whine of the motor usually brings him peace, but today, his hand trembles. He sees a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—a shadow of his ex-wife, Brooke, or perhaps just the ghost of his own past. He tries to focus on the tooth, but all he sees is decay . Not just in the enamel, but in the town, in his new lover Jamie, and in the mirror.