"Do you have herpes? Have you ever slept at a motel? Do you have herpes? Get legal advice! Better Call Saul!" Saul Goodman's face with it's smug shit-eating grin infested every possible square inch of screen space on Walter White's television in Walter White's home. Walter White gripped his weapon so hard that he pulled the trigger by accident, causing it to fire a bullet into the nearby chandeliers, and they became the fallen into Junior's legs, now entirely crippled.

"No my legs!" Junior yelled in a whiny and slurred prepubescent voice, flailing about on the couch like a tortured spider.

"It's alright son. You don't have to be in pain." Walter White pointed his gun at his son. "I'll always remember you as a man." He fired.

Junior's head exploded into meaty chunks and bits that traveled through the air so fast that they caught fire and penetrated holes into the surrounding house environment. Within seconds, the living room was ablaze. Walter White stood and stared at the front door, clutching his gun for when Nazi Jack arrived.

"Yo bitch, maybe you should get your hand on that detonator yo." Jesse looked at Walter White with quite an expression. Walter reached inside his jacket and pulled out the detonator, and began to twirl it around in his fingers. The bomb had been planted inside a plant right outside his front door, a place his enemies would never expect to find a bomb. As soon as they knocked, they would be blown to bits, because the bomb would explosion.

"All we have to do is wait."


"It's almost 4 PM. The whole house has burned down yo." Jesse knew that he knew it. "Bitch."

"He never showed up." Walter White kicked a nearby puppy to relieve all of the tension, something his yoga teacher (invisible friend) taught him. "Goddammit."

It had been two hours and there was no sign of Nazi Jack. Like an ineffectual spider, Walter White had failed to catch anything inside his web. The only solace he found was in snacking on the ashes of the cedar shelves in the kitchen. Dry and mighty, like his own fucking cooking.

"Well I don't have a house now, Jesse. I blame you." Walter White pointed at Jesse, with both fingers, on both hands.

"Bitch!" Jesse turned and escaped into the night, never to be seen again.

-To Be Continued-