The moon over the Bone Hills was extra dramatic that night, mostly because Walter had accidentally cast "Celestial Vibe Enhancement" while stirring the Potion of Petty Truths. The stars sparkled. The hills glowed. Somewhere in the distance, a magical owl screamed in autotune.
Inside the cave-lab shaped like a screaming frog, Walter The White and Heisenbones stood over a bubbling cauldron that glowed the color of emotional damage.
"Alright," Walter said, tossing in a final pinch of powdered regret. "The Petty Truth Serum is done."
The vial sizzled and let out a whisper:
> "Actually, Brenda, I do hate your embroidery club."
Heisenbones tapped the side of his skull. "Spicy. This'll go great in divorce court."
Linda clapped from the shadows. "Beautiful work, boys. The buyer's expecting delivery by dawn. Payment's in untraceable soul coins—freshly laundered."
Walter gasped. "Wait, real soul coins? Not the chocolate kind with a cursed wrapper?"
Linda winked. "Only the best for my favorite unlicensed alchemist and his rattling sidekick."
Heisenbones held up a skeletal finger. "You know I prefer the term Bone Executive."
---
Meanwhile, in Bureaucratic Hell
A goblin notary named Gregth sat at his desk deep inside the Chamber of Tedious Magical Paperwork, nervously sweating through his tunic. Not because of the bureaucratic workload—but because Heisenbones was looming over him, holding a cursed stapler named Clackimus.
"I just need you to notarize this form," Heisenbones said, slapping down a scroll titled:
SHADOW WIZARD MONEY GANG, LLC
Official Trademark Application.
Gregth blinked. "You want to incorporate that name?"
"Legally and intimidatingly."
"Okay, but did you fill out Form 666-B for unauthorized enchantment enterprises?"
"Of course," Heisenbones said smugly, then pulled out a scroll covered in what might've been crayon, blood, or both.
Gregth sighed. "And your gang's business description?"
"Casting spell. Making bank. Evading law."
Clackimus the stapler growled. Gregth immediately stamped the form. "Trademark approved. Please don't hex my kids."
---
The Potion Drop-Off
Walter, wearing a cloak made from moths (not enchanted—just full of holes), arrived at the drop-off site: a magical rest stop known only as "Ye Olde Gas Station + Curse Exchange."
He handed a crate full of:
3 vials of Mild Time Travel,
5 Petty Truth Serums,
1 bottle labeled "Definitely Not Summon Debt Collector (It Is)," to a shady figure known only as Customer #666.
The customer opened the crate, took a sniff, and immediately said,
> "Someone here definitely regrets naming their kid Daggerius."
Walter grinned. "Enjoy the awkward family reunions."
Coins were exchanged. Hugs were not.
---
Captain Sevrin of the Magical Law Enforcement Division stood on a ridge, gazing down at the gas station through his enchanted spy monocle. Behind him, a squad of enchanted broomriders hovered, ready to swoop.
"Target acquired," Sevrin growled. "Time to make this potion peddler regret violating Section 9-C of the Magic Ethics Code."
His second-in-command, Lieutenant Pibb, raised a hand. "Sir, Section 9-C is about unauthorized use of enchanted goat milk."
Sevrin blinked. "Wait, really? Then what's potion smuggling?"
"That's… Section 13-F."
"Whatever," Sevrin snapped. "He's still going to wizard jail!"
---
Just as Walter collected his coin pouch and patted himself on the back, a flare exploded in the sky—a giant glowing sigil of the Council, shaped like a really angry thumbs-down.
"Oh no," Walter whispered. "It's the cops."
Heisenbones skidded to a stop next to him. "The name's officially trademarked and we might die now!"
Linda appeared out of nowhere. "I suggest running or turning into mist. Or both."
Broomriders descended, blasting warning spells that screamed "COMPLY OR BE TURNED INTO A TOAD."
Walter threw a potion on the ground, yelling, "Plan B!"
Heisenbones shouted, "What's Plan B?!"
"PANIC!" Walter yelled, chugged a Potion of Questionable Speed™, and bolted—literally bouncing off a wall.
Linda tossed a smoke bomb, Heisenbones jumped on a stolen mop, and the trio vanished into the night, leaving behind only scorch marks, petty insults, and a magically talking bench that now wouldn't shut up about its feelings.
---
Back at MLE HQ, a fresh wanted poster was tacked onto the bulletin board:
> WANTED: WALTER THE WHITE
Crimes: Illegal Potions, Emotional Damage, Speeding on a Mop
Bounty: 5,000 Soul Coins
Note: Do Not Engage Without Earplugs — Subject "Too Charismatic"
Sevrin glared at it. "This ends now."