Chapter 16: Strength Surge (Part 1 of 2)
The basement of Alex Thorne's primary warehouse was a concrete vault, sealed against the Albuquerque sun, its air thick with the faint, sweet chemical tang of a massive meth batch stacked in blue plastic barrels. The industrial LED strips overhead cast a sterile glow, their hum a low pulse that matched the coiled energy in Alex's chest. His sneakers scuffed the gritty floor, kicking up faint clouds of dust that caught the light like tiny sparks. His dark hoodie clung to his shoulders, its hem catching on his thumb as he tugged it—a nervous tic to ground his racing mind. His 8x stamina kept fatigue at bay, but his high intelligence churned, calculating the $400,000 profit this $200,000 buy would yield. This is the leap. Superhuman or bust. The barrels gleamed, their glossy surfaces a promise of power, and he ran a hand over one, its cool plastic anchoring his anticipation. One-man gang's about to become a one-man army. The silence was heavy, broken only by the LEDs' faint buzz, a sound that felt like the heartbeat of his ambition.
He initiated the Sell to System function, his breath hitching as the barrels vanished in a shimmering blink, the system's cash register chime ringing in his mind like a triumphant bell.
[SYSTEM: Sell to System: +$400,000. Funds available for Pay to Will: $1,050,000.]
Alex checked his funds, the numbers glowing in his mental interface. Just over a million. Enough to rewrite my body. His pulse quickened, a sharp thrill cutting through his stamina, and he leaned against the wall, its cold concrete biting through his hoodie. He whispered, his voice laced with cautious excitement, "Alright, System. Let's forge a new me."
He triggered the $1,000,000 Pay to Will command, his fingers clenching reflexively. The surge hit like a lightning storm, a violent jolt that seared every nerve, rebuilding his muscles and bones with raw, electric force. Unlike the warm rush of past upgrades, this was a tempest, his heart pounding with a superhuman rhythm that echoed in his ears like a war drum. His vision blurred, and he gasped, a sharp cry escaping as he staggered, clutching his head. Too much. Even for me. A wave of blinding dizziness slammed into him, the basement spinning for five agonizing seconds. His knees buckled, but his 8x agility caught him, his palm slapping the wall with a crack that reverberated in the silence. The pain was a stark warning—his enhanced body had limits.
As the dizziness faded, a clean, glorious wave of power settled over him, like stepping into a new skin. His muscles felt denser, his bones near steel, his senses sharpened to a razor's edge. The system's voice cut through, its wit a spark to his ego.
[SYSTEM: Pay to Will: 16x now. Punch like a truck, hero.]
Alex pushed off the wall, a giddy laugh bubbling up, his breath steadying as he flexed his hand, the movement impossibly fluid. Punch like a truck? Try freight train with attitude. He shook his head, his sarcasm a shield for the awe flooding him. "You're underselling it, System. Call it 'wrecking ball with a side of swagger.'"
He paced the basement, his sneakers squeaking, the dust gritty underfoot. The upgrade wasn't just strength—it was a redefinition of his potential, a shield against the cartel's growing threats. This is my edge. He adjusted his hoodie, the fabric catching on his thumb, and headed for the exit, a silent vow to test his new limits. Time to see what this body can do, but first, Jesse.
The gas station was a rundown relic, its flickering sign casting a sickly glow over cracked pavement, the air thick with the acrid stench of stale gasoline and cigarette butts. Jesse Pinkman leaned against a graffiti-covered brick wall, its faded tags barely legible in the dusk, his cap pulled low as he checked his phone with a nervous twitch. The ground trembled faintly from a distant semi-truck, the vibration a subtle warning in Alex's 16x senses. He's walking into a trap. His Breaking Bad knowledge pinpointed this moment—a low-level dealer ambush meant to rob Jesse blind. A text wouldn't suffice; this needed a face-to-face. Time to play hero, covert style. Alex approached, his 16x agility making his steps silent, his hoodie blending into the shadows.
Jesse jumped, his phone nearly slipping as he spotted Alex. "Yo! The Broker! What the hell, man, you're freaking me out with all the cryptic shit," he said, his voice a mix of nerves and annoyance, his slang sharp in the quiet lot.
Alex leaned in, his candor a calculated risk, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I'm not the Broker, Jesse. I'm Alex. And yeah, I'm the one sending you tips. The deal is, the guy you're waiting for? He's not here to sell. He's here to take your cash and leave you in the dirt."
Jesse's eyes darted to the street, his hand shoving his phone into his pocket, his posture tensing. He's rattled, but he's listening. "Dude, what? How do you know that? Who are you?" Jesse's voice cracked, his trust battling bafflement, his fingers twitching like he wanted to bolt.
Alex gave a subtle push on Jesse's shoulder, his 16x strength making Jesse stumble slightly, the gesture urgent but controlled. "I told you, Jesse. I just know things. And right now, what I know is if you wait here, you're getting rolled. Go home. Cook. Sell to the other guy, the one who doesn't use cash on delivery."
A rusted-out Camaro sped past, slowing as it eyed the empty lot, its headlights cutting through the dusk. Jesse's eyes widened, realization dawning like a cold sweat. "Holy... you're not messing with me," he breathed, his voice thin with shock. "You're serious. You're like my... my invisible bro, but visible now."
Alex winked, a surge of heroic care flooding him, his grin breaking through. "Just look out for yourself, man. I'm just passing through. Now go. And don't tell Walter, okay? He gets jealous."
Jesse scrambled into his Tercel, tires squealing as he sped off, the sound fading into the night. Alex watched the Camaro roll on, its driver oblivious to the dodged trap. Another save. Timeline's safe, Jesse's safe. He adjusted his hoodie, the fabric catching on his thumb, and walked back to his SUV, his 16x strength humming under his skin. Time to see what this body can really do.
Back in the warehouse basement, the LED strips hummed, casting stark shadows over a cleared space where a massive V8 car engine sat, its oily bulk a seven-hundred-pound challenge. The air was cool, thick with disturbed dust that tickled Alex's nose, his 16x senses catching every grain. His heart thumped with a superhuman rhythm, a steady drumbeat of power. This isn't a workout. It's a recalibration. He circled the engine, his sneakers scuffing the concrete, his hoodie's sleeve brushing his wrist as he flexed his hands. Let's see if I'm Superman yet.
He squatted, wrapping his arms—now impossibly dense—around the engine's greasy frame. The effort was a focused burn, his tendons cording as he lifted. The weight rose, clean and steady, chest-high, like lifting a bag of groceries. Holy hell. Awe flooded him, a pure rush of exhilaration as he held the massive block, his body absorbing the strain like it was nothing. He set it down, the thump echoing, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. A muscle in his leg twitched, a brief flicker of fatigue hinting at his limits. Even Superman gets winded.
[SYSTEM: Stat Update: 16x confirmed. Bones near steel.]
Alex grinned, tapping his fist lightly on the wall, the concrete vibrating faintly. "Near steel, huh? Well, System, guess I'm Superman now. Just need the cape and the crippling emotional baggage."
His sarcasm masked a cautious undertone. This power was his insurance against cartel ambushes, but it demanded strategy, not recklessness. He grabbed a water bottle, the plastic crinkling as he drank, the cool liquid grounding him. Combat-ready, but I need a team. His mind flicked to Jax Reed, an ex-SEAL whose profile he'd been studying. Time to build the dream team. He adjusted his hoodie, the fabric catching on his thumb, and headed out, the transition a quiet resolve to escalate his empire.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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