Chapter 4: First Power Surge
The rail yard at night was a labyrinth of shadows, the air heavy with the acrid bite of diesel fuel and rust. Sodium-vapor lamps cast a jaundiced glow, painting Walter White's face in sickly hues as he stood opposite Alex Thorne, his windbreaker creased, his posture rigid with barely contained irritation. Alex leaned against the hood of his rental car, a beat-up sedan that smelled faintly of stale cigarettes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his new jacket—a sleek, black number that made him feel marginally less like a fish out of water. In front of him sat a briefcase, its leather scuffed but sturdy, containing $100,000 in crisp, used bills. His biggest buy yet, ten times his first deal, and the weight of it made his pulse thrum with anticipation. This is it, Thorne. The big leagues. Don't screw it up.
The silence between them was oppressive, a heavy blanket woven with distrust. Alex's fingers twitched in his pockets, a nervous tic he masked with a lazy grin. He knew Walter's patience was fraying—each deal pushed the chemist closer to his Heisenberg breaking point. Alex's Breaking Bad knowledge told him Walter was still early in his arc, paranoid but not yet ruthless, and this $100,000 buy was a gamble that could either cement their partnership or snap it like a brittle twig. He's itching to control everything. Gotta keep him sweet, but not too sweet.
Walter's eyes, sharp behind his glasses, fixed on the briefcase. "This is beyond a 'discerning ghost,' Alex," he said, his voice a tight, controlled hiss, each word dripping with venom. "This is professional volume. This is a logistical nightmare. I need to know the destination of this product, or I cut you off. Immediately. I will not operate in the dark for some anonymous vacuum."
Alex pushed the briefcase across the hood with a clean, firm shove, the scrape of leather against metal grounding the moment. He kept his voice low, layering sarcasm over truth to keep Walter off balance. "The destination is nowhere you'll ever have to worry about, Walt. Consider this my last major haul for a while; I'm shifting focus to the laundering side of the business. Think of it as seed money for your inevitable, world-class chemistry empire." There's the bait. Stroke his ego, keep him hooked. His quip hid the truth: this sale would push him over the $1 million threshold for his first Pay to Will upgrade, a step toward superhuman power that Walter could never comprehend.
Walter's face was a mask of suppressed rage, his jaw clenching so tightly Alex could see the muscle twitch. The mention of a "chemistry empire" landed, but not enough to soothe his pride. "You're too clever, Thorne," Walter said, his tone icy. "But cleverness without transparency is a liability. This is your last warning." He snatched the briefcase, his movements sharp, and turned away, leaving Alex standing in the flickering light.
Alex exhaled, his breath visible in the cold night air, and ran a hand through his hair, the strands damp with sweat. He's halfway to Heisenberg already. Gotta move fast before he starts playing chess with my head. He drove to his storage unit, a cramped, concrete box that smelled of stale air and motor oil, his private sanctuary where no one could see the system at work. He summoned the interface, the blue glow bathing the dim space, and watched the blue meth vanish, his biggest haul yet.
[SYSTEM: Sell to System: +$200k. Cha-ching, noble dealer.]
His funds flashed across the screen: $1,035,000. The threshold was crossed. His heart pounded, not with fear of Walter's threats, but with raw, primal anticipation. I'm about to become more than human. Let's see what this system can really do.
In the storage unit, well past midnight, Alex stood alone, the only sound the faint hum of a distant train. A heavy bag hung from a rusty chain, swaying slightly, and a lone kettlebell rested on the concrete floor, its surface cold and smooth under his touch. He took a deep breath, the air tasting faintly of dust, and initiated the Pay to Will upgrade. The moment was electric, a searing rush that felt like his body was being rewoven from the inside out. His bones grew denser, his muscles tightened, and his core hummed with newfound power, like liquid steel coursing through his veins. He gripped the kettlebell, its weight grounding him as the shockwave of change rippled through his body, leaving him dizzy but exhilarated.
[SYSTEM: Pay to Will: Strength/Stamina now 2x. Feel the power, champ.]
The surge settled, leaving him heavy, solid, and buzzing with energy. He flexed his fingers, marveling at how effortless it felt, like he could crush the kettlebell to dust. This is what superheroes feel like. Or supervillains. He dropped the kettlebell, now laughably light, and turned to the heavy bag. With a casual cross-jab, he struck, expecting a dull thud. Instead, the impact was a sharp, cracking smack, the chain shrieking as it tore from its mooring. The canvas bag flew, slamming into the concrete wall with a dust-raising thwack that echoed in the small space.
Alex stared at his hand, unharmed, his knuckles tingling with a pleasant fatigue. Holy crap. I'm a walking wrecking ball. A manic grin spread across his face, but a flicker of caution tempered his excitement. This is power, but it's not invincibility. Gotta adjust to this before I accidentally punch through a wall. He paced the unit, his sneakers scuffing the floor, grounding himself in the mundane act as he planned his next move.
Just after 1:00 AM, walking through a dark, litter-strewn alley behind a row of shuttered businesses, Alex got his real-world test. The air reeked of stale garbage and despair, the only light a flickering streetlamp casting jagged shadows. A figure detached from the gloom—a wiry thug, his face half-hidden by a hood, clutching a rusty length of pipe. His stance was aggressive, his eyes glinting with desperation.
"Wallet. Phone. Now. Don't make me use this, kid," the thug snarled, the pipe catching the sparse light.
Alex's 2x reflexes kicked in, his body moving before his brain fully registered the threat. First test, don't blow it. As the thug swung the pipe in a wide, clumsy arc, Alex stepped aside, catching the metal shaft in his bare hand. The impact was a solid thunk, barely felt against his palm. He held the pipe firm, his 2x strength making it feel like a toy.
The thug's eyes widened, confusion replacing bravado as he yanked at the pipe, unable to budge it. Alex leaned in, his voice low and deliberate. "You picked the wrong guy tonight. You're going to jail, and I'm going to forget your name by morning. Go home." The truth, laced with menace, hit like a verbal jab, disorienting the thug further.
With a twist, Alex wrenched the pipe free and tossed it into a pile of trash, the clatter echoing in the alley. A single shove sent the thug sprawling, sliding across the concrete with a breathless grunt. Alex didn't wait for recovery; he sprinted to his car, his enhanced speed making the run effortless, his heart pounding with adrenaline and triumph.
[SYSTEM: Challenge Evaluation: Thug takedown, B-Rank. Not bad for a newbie.]
The encounter was a rush, proof of his new power, but as he drove toward the city skyline, the adrenaline crashed, replaced by a sobering realization. Random muggers are one thing. Cartel hitmen are next. I'm not ready for that. His funds were down to $100,000 after the upgrade, but his resolve was steel. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, and muttered, "Time to build a fortress, not just a bank account." The game had escalated, and he was ready to play harder.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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