I never thought I’d be here—kneeling in the desert, gloves stained with blood, watching the sun rise over a rusted RV. My name is Walter White. I taught high school chemistry for over two decades. I’ve won awards, published papers, mentored students. And yet, no one knew my name.

Until now.

They call me Heisenberg.

Three months ago, I was diagnosed with stage-three lung cancer. No surgery. No cure. Just time—maybe six months. I wanted to leave my family with something. A legacy. Money in the bank. Security.

So I started cooking. Pure, blue meth. The best on the market.

Now, Jesse’s screaming at me. The bag of cash is gone. The dealers are dead. And I realize—I don’t want to stop. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m alive.

Jesse grabs my arm: 'We can walk away right now, Mr. White. No more killing. No more lies.'

I look at him. At the blood on my hands.

I made this. And I’m not done.