Chapter 19: Prank Escalation
The training warehouse was a cavern of early morning light, its high windows filtering a cool glow over rubber mats and the faint smell of sweat and rubber. Alex sat on an upturned drum, sipping coffee, its bitter warmth grounding him as he timed Jax Reed on an obstacle course. Jax moved like a machine, his curt precision exhausting to watch, his boots barely touching the mats. Alex's 16x senses caught the faint creak of the warehouse's steel beams, the rhythm of Jax's steady breaths. Team's forming, but let's lighten the mood. His hoodie's drawstring dangled, and he tugged it, a ritual to spark his mischievous edge.
"Two seconds off your best time," Alex called as Jax slid to a halt, hands on knees, his breath sharp but controlled.
"I know," Jax said, wiping sweat with the back of his hand, his gray eyes scanning the shadows, his paranoia a constant hum.
Alex set the stopwatch down and grabbed an encrypted satellite phone, pre-recorded with a gruff, accented voice about 'the thief who stole from El Jefe.' He activated it, holding the phone like a live call, his voice staged with panic. "No, no, that's impossible. He's not here!"
He dropped the phone, its plastic clattering, and spun to Jax. "Shit, Jax! They know. Frantic call—team's inbound, heavy firepower, looking for 'the guy with the superhuman grip.' Coordinates to this warehouse, from the dealer we hit. Three minutes out!"
Jax's face hardened, his laugh lines gone, his paranoia kicking into overdrive. He yanked a training knife from its sheath, assessing firing positions. "Southwest corner, near the water heaters," he barked, his voice military-grade. "Covering fire, main door. I'll take the windows. You got a weapon?"
Alex grabbed a broom handle, his chest tight with mischief and a twinge of fear. Might've gone too far. Jax crouched, eyes narrowed to slits, tracking imaginary threats.
"Wait, Jax, hold on," Alex started, laughter bubbling.
Jax silenced him with a sharp hand signal. "Zero-one-two-zero. Vehicle outside. Get low!"
CLANG. A toy truck Alex had placed outside hit a trash can, its tiny headlight blinking. Jax lunged, knife ready, then froze, staring at the pathetic toy. The warehouse fell silent, the truck's motor whirring.
Alex burst out laughing, the sound echoing. "You should see your face! Team prank! Sorry, man. Testing your crisis reaction. You passed with flying colors."
Jax's eyes burned holes in Alex, his knife still drawn. Oops. Then, a low huff escaped Jax, evolving into a quiet laugh. "You staged a three-minute ambush with a toy truck and a bad accent."
"It's a dark humor twist," Alex defended, grinning. "My pranks are strategic tools now. You went from coffee to combat in a minute. Impressive."
Jax sheathed his knife with a snick, handing back the phone. "Next time, I'm hiding your car keys in acid. You'll pass my test." Trust growing. Training resumed, the prank stripping Jax's paranoia, solidifying their bond. Alex's mind shifted to the timeline. Time to check Walt and Jesse.
Alex's secured office was sparse, its three monitors casting a cold blue glow, the hum of a secure server a soft constant. The air smelled of ozone and clean plastic, a deliberate contrast to the city's grime. Alex watched a drone feed of a brown sedan near Walter White's house, its driver a Tuco Salamanca associate. Heisenberg's going Mexican, right on cue. His 16x intelligence parsed the data, confirming Walter's Season 2 pivot to the cartels. Risky move, Walt. He leaned forward, his chair creaking, his hoodie's sleeve brushing the desk.
"Look at that, Walt. New amigos already," he muttered, his wry humor masking concern for the timeline. His minimal buys hadn't disrupted the narrative, his foresight still intact. The system chimed, serious.
[SYSTEM: Quest Alert: Monitor Mexican shift. Stay clear.]
Timeline's wobbling, but not breaking. He checked his inventory, his small buys keeping his profile low. "First the DEA, now narcoculture," he said, running a hand through his hair, the strands damp. "Hope your new friends don't bring body bags, Heisenberg." He shut down the drone, the act a quiet resolve to stay parallel to the Breaking Bad plot. Invisible force, that's me.
The next day, Alex was in a safehouse, its reinforced doors and industrial ventilation a sterile cocoon. A small batch of meth—$35,000 worth—glittered under a bare utility light, its sterile scent mingling with ozone. Funds for upgrades, not street deals. His 16x stats were a lifeline, but the cartel's escalation demanded more. He activated the Sell to System function, the drugs vanishing.
[SYSTEM: Sell to System: +$70k. Stashing cash like a pro.]
"That's noble banking," Alex said to the empty room, his witty undertone hiding strategic confidence. "All the profit, none of the street mess." His funds hit $210,000, short of his $400,000 goal. He cleaned the surfaces, the cloth's faint squeak a calming ritual, his 16x senses catching every speck. Clean slate, clean empire. He grabbed his travel bag, his phone buzzing with an Arizona contact. "Time for a road trip," he said, his eyes on the horizon. Bigger deals, bigger risks.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Breaking Bad : Noble System ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Breaking Bad : Noble System ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!