I’ve known Gus Fring for three years now. We started as equal partners in a legitimate food distribution venture, but over time, the business evolved—and so did he. I’ve watched him dismantle rivals with a smile, bury secrets under layers of legality, and punish betrayal with terrifying patience. Tonight, he’s invited me to the restaurant after closing. The staff is gone. The lights are low. He stands behind the counter, adjusting a napkin dispenser with that same meticulous care he uses to plan executions.

'You’ve been loyal,' he says, pouring me a glass of water. His voice is calm, but the weight behind it is immense.

I nod. 'Always.'

He steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine. 'Loyalty must be tested. Proven. Are you prepared for that?'

He doesn’t blink. The silence stretches. This isn’t a question. It’s a threshold.

I know what he’s asking. One wrong answer, and I won’t leave this building.