Butcher: And make it quick, Hughie. Should be empty today.
Leaves crunched beneath his feet in the deep autumn night.
Hughie: So why the gun?
Butcher: What kind of bloody question is that?
Hughie: I'm not here to kill anyone.
Butcher: So you're ready to die then?
Hughie: … right. Right. Sorry.
Butcher: Quit gawking and get the V. Cunt.
The side door wasn't even locked.
Still, he had to unclench his jaw as he slipped into the building. There was a pungent stench that stung the back of his throat. He even began to fiddle with the Box Cutter in his pocket with one hand. Above all things, it was clear that someone cooked here.
Rows of shelves filled the warehouse, most of them sagging under boxes, plastic tubs, and even sealed bags stacked neatly. It was lit up by a single lamp, with a distinct singeing smell of smoke.
To his right side, the open storage space narrowed into a cramped work area hidden behind a hanging sheet of yellowed plastic. A single clamp light buzzed over a folding table, whose surface was scarred by stains and old burns. Glass containers sat in crooked rows. A few were empty. A few weren't. Metal tools lay beside them on a towel that had once been white.
Clearly, someone had busy hands. It was an old night. Yet, he was hard at work. But the second he heard a camera flash, they clattered out of his hands.
It startled the other man. So much so, He stepped over a torn sack on the floor, wincing as whatever was inside crunched beneath his shoe.
Hughie: Just, brilliant.
Then a voice came from behind the plastic sheet.
Jesse: I have a gun ok? So tell me what you're doing here, man.
There was a shake in his voice. Regardless, Hughie raised his head.
Jesse: Well?
He held his hands up as he shuffled slowly towards him.
Hughie: Excuse me sir-
Jesse: No excuses! None! Tell me what the hell you're doing here!
Hughie: A-alright, I'll just… I'll just-
Jesse didn't move from behind the plastic sheet. Hughie could see him now, mostly. A thin man in a dark jacket, one hand half-hidden beneath the folding table, eyes wide enough to catch the clamp light.
Jesse: No man, like, bro! Who even are you?
Hughie: Right. Yeah. Okay. I'm not the police.
Not the most impressive first impression.
Jesse: Wow. Great start.
Hughie: See, now, I know how that sounds.
Jesse: Do you?
Hughie: Probably not.
Jesse: Man, I want you out of here, now!
Hughie: Yeah. You know what? I can do that. I can do that.
Jesse: Then do it! Go!
He took a step back.
Before the clamp light flickered.
For half a second, the table behind Jesse caught the light just right. A small vial sat near the edge, tucked between a pair of tongs and a stained rag. The liquid inside was not the same shade Hughie remembered.
That said, it was close.
Too close.
Hughie: What is that?
Jesse did not look back.
Jesse: Nothing.
Hughie: No, the fuck it isn't. Tell me with your own mouth what that this.
Jesse: I said the door's behind you, bitch!
Hughie's hand hovered near his phone.
Hughie: People are dead.
Jesse's eyes narrowed.
Jesse: What?
Hughie: Three that I know of. Maybe more. They took something they thought would make them stronger, then their bodies just… gave up.
Jesse stared at him.
For one awful second, the anger left his face.
Then it came back worse.
Jesse: Man, I don't know, okay? That's not my thing. That's not on me.
Hughie: It's not on you?
Jesse: It's not my business, dude; I'm a-
Hughie: Tell me what that is.
Jesse: I said no!
He swallowed again, keeping eye contact as his fingers closed around his phone.
Jesse: Don't.
Hughie: I just need a picture.
Jesse: Drop the phone, man!
He stormed up to him. And in place of the phone issue, he struck him across the face, sending him stumbling back. It bounced once before shattering all over the ground.
Hughie (muttering): New fucking phone-
Jesse: Now get out of here, man!
Hughie heaves heavily, searching across the expanse with his neck. With haste, he rushes to his feet, promptly lunging for the table.
It certainly caught Jesse off guard, who was only barely able to snag him by the hoodie and yank him away from the table.
This time, Hughie lashed out on instinct, driving an elbow into the side of Jesse's head. The sudden lack of support sent him stumbling forward, straight into the table, where he hunched over himself.
Then, he sets his eye on the prize, glancing up at it. He attempts to reach it, only for the same two hands to clamp onto his hoodie and wrench him backwards. Holding him by the collar, Jesse delivers two more blows straight to the head before tossing his opponent to the ground, continuing to lay into him, despite his well-positioned arms taking most of the brunt.
He grit his teeth. As Jesse drew back for another punch, he caught the man's wrist with both hands before he yanked downward. Jesse's fist struck the concrete instead. Before he could pull free, Hughie kicked him in the face, before scurrying out of that position.
Hughie: Ok. Ok.
His shaky fingers fumble with the back zip of his bag before he manages to grab it.
Across the room, Jesse staggered sideways and shoved a pile of books off a nearby shelf, which hit the floor in a messy heap. Behind them sat a baseball bat, which he quickly scooped.
Meanwhile, he rummaged through the front zip of the bag. Nothing.
Hughie: What? Where is it?
Kindly, Jesse answered with a prolonged grunt, almost emulating a battle cry as the bat came in swinging.
Hughie: Shit!
Hughie barely ducked in time. He threw his bag over his head on instinct as the bat smashed and splintered into the shelf behind him.
Another swing.
He stumbled backwards.
A third, this one clipping his shoulder and spinning him sideways.
Frantically reaching for anything, he grabs a random beaker and tosses it at his face. Instinctively, Jesse shielded himself, but the dihydrogen monoxide didn't seem to mess him up much.
Regardless, Hughie charged into him, only to inflict 3 sloppy, almost inaccurate blows of his own.
Thanks to the force behind those punches, Jesse manages to grab hold of his torso, twisting and turning in an attempt to drive him back to the ground. However, the effort only leaves him open to several more blows.
Jesse: Big for nothing, come on bitch!
He continues to rain down blows as Jesse stumbles into another shelf, rattling it before it topples over, sending glasses filled with liquid crashing to the floor.
Immediately after, Jesse digs his nails into Hughie's back of all things.
Hughie: Oww oww oww-
He was wincing before attempting to stretch his back to mitigate this, essentially leaving him wide open. Which was all Jesse needed, as he snatched a bottle from the highest shelf he could reach and smashed it across his face.
As the glass exploded, he was sent sprawling to the ground. While dazed, he refused to lie still as he attempted to crawl away. Only for two hands to clamp around his ankle and drag him back.
Jesse: Oh no!
Soon after, sharp punts crashed into his side. Hughie curled up instinctively as Jesse kicked him again, and then again, refusing to give him a second to breathe.
Jesse: You. Don't. Touch. Me. Ever!
Another kick folded Hughie further into himself. Before he could even think about getting up, Jesse stamped down on his back and leaned into it, forcing a pained groan out of him as concrete scraped against his cheek.
Jesse: You hear me?!
Beneath him, Hughie could only manage half-breaths against the cold of the concrete. He tried to push up once. Nothing. His arms trembled, then gave.
Jesse swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slightly lessened his stamp. He looked around.
Jesse: Anyone else with you?
Beneath him, Hughie's hand scraped over concrete, searching for anything that wasn't pain. His fingers brushed past broken glass, past dust, then slowly drifted toward his jacket pocket. As his opponent continued scanning the warehouse.
Jesse: Hey. I asked you a question.
A box cutter clicked open. Hughie drove it into the outside of Jesse's calf.
Jesse's voice cracked halfway through the scream. He jerked off Hughie at once, only to stumble backwards onto one leg before collapsing into an awkward crouch as both hands flew to his shin.
Jesse: AAH! What the…what the hell?!
Hughie rolled onto his side, gasping.
Hughie: Yeah, man… you…you stood on my back.
Jesse: So you stabbed me?!
Was that rhetorical?
Hughie: …I mean, yeah.
Jesse stared at him, mouth open, breathing hard.
Jesse: You piece of shit!
Hughie pushed himself up onto one elbow. His face was bloodied, his shoulder sagging, but his eyes shifted past Jesse.
Now, it was wide open.
Jesse saw the look.
Jesse: No.
Hughie started crawling.
Jesse: No, no, no, man, don't you touch that!
Hughie dragged himself forward, one hand gripping the edge of a fallen shelf.
Hughie: Oh, I'm touching it alright.
Jesse grit his teeth, grabbed the handle of the box cutter, and yanked it out with a choked grunt. Blood spotted his joggers almost immediately.
Jesse: ARRRG!!
Meanwhile, Hughie forced himself to his feet, lurching for the table.
He limped toward the baseball bat on the floor and used it like a cane for one ugly second before limping after him.
Jesse: Hey! Hey!
Hughie's fingers stretched toward the vial.
SMASH!
The bat splintered the table's wood, sending the seemingly invincible vial rolling out of reach.
He had only barely avoided it. Luckily, the way the crash made his heart beat caused his speed in rising to increase tenfold.
Hughie: Dude!
Then, he ducked as the bat tore through the plastic wrap completely. No looking back. He kept retreating. Just fast enough that his hobbling couldn't keep up.
Jesse: Get out of here!
He heaved the bat with all his might. With haste, it whistled through the air, over the head of his target, and crashed into the nearby shelving unit.
It tilted, knocking the piercing white blue light of the lamp to the ground. Right into the path of spilt chemicals.
What followed soon after was a thin, blue-orange line that caught puddle after puddle. It spread into the shelves with blazing speed.
Blaze. Yes. He had started a fire.
You could see the light in both of their pupils.
Jesse: Shit!
He sped as fast as his leg could drag him, nearly falling on his other side as he grabbed a red bucket from beneath the table. He ripped the lid with his teeth, spat plastic, and plunged a hand inside.
Meanwhile, the shock wore off his opponent. He watched Jesse throw one handful after another. He watched how his gasp turned into wheezes, how competence turned into fear. It still spread.
Jesse: Ah-ah-damn it! Shit!
A few meters behind him lay the vial.
Hughie: Man, I'm really sorry about this.
He rushed forth and grabbed it.
Hughie: Got it!
Jesse heard that. And it only made him angrier.
He grabbed a cloudy squeeze bottle from the table. Half full. He quickly grabbed a second bottle beside it and dumped part of its contents into it. Soon after, he hurled himself forward/
Hughie tried to back away, but Jesse squeezed hard, spraying a sharp mist across Hughie's hand and the burning floor beneath them. Of course, it forced a scream out of his mouth as he dropped it instantly.
His fingers clenched and opened uselessly as white smoke curled around his knuckles. It felt like being stung by heat and ice at the same time.
The same smoking paste had splashed over his opponent's wrist. It clung there in ugly white clumps, eating at the skin beneath. Jesse shook his arm hard, smearing it across his sleeve.
Hughie clutched his hand to his chest, as his eyes watered.
Hughie: What the fuck was that?!
Jesse limped towards him, with the damned bat in his hands. This time, he doesn't miss, and he buries it in the side of Hughie's ribs, hard. Getting the vial afterwards was fairly easy.
Jesse: It's science, bitch.
A loud sizzle. It only occurred to him after he grabbed the vial that the fire was getting worse. So with his wrist shaking from the burn. He headed towards a bunch of stacked metal containers.
Jesse: No, no no no no! It was right here! It was literally right here!
A warning label peeled from one of them, black letters warped by the rising heat. Beyond them, a wire spluttered tiny white sparks.
Hughie's eyes dropped to the floor.
The baseball bat lay near his foot.
Jesse found what he was looking for: another small tub of white powder wedged behind the containers. He grabbed it and turned back toward the fire.
The wire sparked again. No more time to waste.
To him, it weak, sloppy pitch. But it rotated rapidly regardless, slowly spiralling through the thick air. It slid under the shelf and bashed against the metal frame.
The rack jumped.
One of the containers shifted.
Its dented side kissed the exposed wire.
A burst of sparks snapped upward.
Jesse's eyes widened.
Jesse: No.
POP!
White light swallowed the aisle.
A hot burst of pressure slapped Jesse across the face and filled the aisle with chemical smoke and burning dust. The sound hit like a gunshot in a closet. Jesse flew backwards into the ground behind him.
Hughie dropped too, but only out of instinct.
Jesse rolled around the floor, gripping his face.
Jesse: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
He tried to blink.
Nothing came right.
Just white shapes. Orange smears. Shadows where the warehouse used to be.
Hughie dragged himself backwards behind a neat pile of bags, as Jesse pushed himself up on one elbow, swinging his head from side to side.
Jesse: WHY DOES THIS SHIT ALWAYS HAPPEN TO MEE!
His staggered, characteristic screaming slowly turned into loud, guttural crying, as he grabbed at anything possible to push him up.
The camera shifted back, to Hughie, now pressed behind the neat pile of bags. Every breath was wet and shallow, as his good hand pulled out the vial of temp v from his pocket.
He held it up to his face. It was electric. Luminous. Deep enough to pull you into its endless, velvety glow. Like an ancient sun-dipped forest, the magnetic warmth of green stared back at him.
Hughie: I can end this.
He put his finger on the cap.
Hughie: I. Can.
Beyond the bags, Jesse dragged himself upright against the wall. One hand braced against the concrete for support. The other clamped over his face as tears streamed between his fingers.
His sight was practically censored. Nothing flicked the switch of recognition in his mind.
Then something crunched.
His breathing came to a hitch. His freehand flew to his waistband, as the revolver he had came out trembling.
He aimed at nothing but smoke.
Jesse: C-come out!
From behind him, two arms clamped around his chest.
Hughie tried to pull him down, but there was nothing clean about it. No technique. No control. Just arms locked around Jesse's ribs and a desperate backward yank.
Drenched in slippery sweat, Jesse thrashed like an animal.
Jesse: Get off! Get off me!
His elbow caught Hughie somewhere in the jaw. His heel stamped down on Hughie's foot. Yet he didn't seem to react to the blows. Adrenaline, perhaps?
Despite that, Hughie lost his grip as the drenched man stumbled forward. When he swung the revolver behind him, he hit nothing again.
Jesse: Yo, are you teleporting?
No answer.
Jesse: You're a freaking junkie hypocrite, you hear me?
He blinked, but his vision was now only slightly clearer. He heard a crunch. But from where?
That was when Hughie rose from below the haze. With him came a blow mightier than the ones before them, upward into Jesse's chin.
His head snapped back, and he staggered away with a broken gasp, arms windmilling for balance.
Still nothing in front of him. Yet, he still heard a crunch. That was when Hughie entered from the dark behind him.
This time, it was less a tackle than a directed collapse.
Both men crashed to the ground, rolling through the hot concrete floor of glass and spilt powder as the fire howled behind them. They clawed at one another as their screams tore their throats raw with agonized, broken wails. Fingers slipped on blood and sweat, both desperately grappling for the cold steel of the gun caught between them.
The thrashing finally broke. He found himself straddling Jesse's chest, heaving as he brought his fist down onto his face. Once. Twice. Each sickening thud sent a shockwave of nausea down his own throat.
It was barely enough to break Jesse's iron, bloodied grip. But he successfully wrenched the weapon free and scrambled backwards like a frightened animal, shaking so violently that he could barely lift the heavy barrel to point it.
But as he dragged himself away, a second, identical revolver slipped out of his bag, sliding across the floor right into Jesse's path. He lunged for it. He snatched it up and held it. The camera focused on the fun, as his steaming face became the blurred background.
Their ears carved pale, stinging tracks through the thick soot and blood on both their faces. They were sobbing openly now, ugly, ragged, breathless gasps. They screamed at each other, desperately trying to summon the hatred required to do the unthinkable.
Their frantic cries reached a devastating, desperate peak. Eyes squeezed shut. Fingers squeezed tight and the gun-
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
No finality. No darkness. Neither of them had loaded their guns.
The fight had drained from them. Screams could no longer spill, so hollow sobbing started.
They both reached into their pockets. It was an agonizingly synchronized movement. From the depths of their clothes, each pulled out a single, lone bullet.
They forced the bullets into the empty chambers and pointed once again.
Only 3 more sniffles sounded before it all cut to black with a bang.
The warehouse continued to burn deep into the night. Somehow, the dark blue sky only made it burn brighter, as the smoke wafted high into the white glow of the moon.
Besides the crackles, there was silence.
Then, the lumbersome doors swung wide. Someone had pushed them open.
Out gimped a man, as the autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet. One step after the other.
He was covered in blood, yet, as painful as his stride looked, he made his way through the concrete path of cracks.
Despite death staring them in the face, one of the two had hesitated. Fatally.
Jesse Pinkman reached the end of the path, and he couldn't help but look back.
When he faced forward again, he reached into his pocket and brought out a green vial. The deep green stared back at him.
Jesse: Fuck.
K.O!