His vision becomes dimmer and dimmer. He can hear the sirens echoing outside the meth lab. His breathing slows, becoming more laboured. His hand on the tank begins to slip, leaving a small trail of blood, and he starts to succumb to the gunshot wound on his abdomen. His legs buckle and give way to the impending death that will befall him. Slumping down on the ground, the last traces of life from the man's eyes disappear, and his wrinkled, grizzled face is etched with a barely visible smile of contentment. He had done what he set out to do. Tied up all loose ends. His family is safe. He made the smallest of amends with the people he hurt and manipulated. He knows he cannot be forgiven, that he may be beyond the prospect of redemption, but right now, it doesn't matter. The journey has ended.
His last thoughts are of his baby blue, the product that had been a source of immense pride for him. Now the memories are tinged with regret. But it is too late for that now. With weary acceptance, the man takes his last breath. Police surround the meth lab and find the body, but the time for imprisonment has passed. Albuquerque will always have the legacy of the dead man in the meth lab, looming over it like a silhouette of transformation. The name of the man? Walter Hartwell White.
Walter White opens his eyes for the first time in what feels like eternity. He slowly blinks, his vision gradually adjusting to the new surroundings. It seems to be a white void, with nothing in sight. Walter winces slightly at the brightness of the white coated void. He lets out a tired groan and stretches, easing the weariness in his muscles.
"Wh-what…what…is this?" Walter murmurs, the soundwaves of his gravelly voice carrying through the empty void.
He rubs his eyes once more to solidify his bearings. Standing up, his legs wobbling for a moment, Walter scans his surroundings. Nothing. Nothing as far as the eye can see. His arms raise upwards in frustration and slump back down.
Walter takes his first step, the sound of his worn work boot connecting with the ambiguous ground reverberating across the shining abyss. He is still wearing the outfit he wore in his final day, a khaki golf jacket and green shirt with stonewashed jeans. Walter tries to maintain his balance, as he hasn't walked in a long time, from his perspective. He runs his hand through his hair but doesn't feel any hair strands. He is bald. Walter's eyes widen with shock as he puts his other hand on his face. His skin doesn't feel sallow or pallid like before, and his scraggly beard had transformed into his thick goatee, dark brown with a few colourations of grey at the bottom. The 52-year-old former meth kingpin looks just like how he was at the height of power in his drug empire. Walter inhales a sharp intake of air, unsure of how to react to his restored appearance. His steps become brisk, the expression on his face, once laced with uncertainty, now has hardened to one of steely resolve. He will find a way out of this lifeless place. Walter's eyes dart around the desolation encroaching upon him, searching intently for anything out of place or anomalous in the dull monotony of the void.
As Walter's steps quicken to a light jog, the cogs in his brain turn, trying to find a fault in the endless and undefined place of white. He comes across a small black line in the distance.
"H-Hah!"
An exclamation of triumph as Walter speeds up his pace. The appearance of the black line becomes clearer, forming what seems to be a small crack. Protruding from the crevice seem to be imperceptible lines that give a hint. Walter narrows his eyes, stepping over the crack, and presses down on it with his boot.
CRACK!
The once imperceptible lines around the crack extend, the ground becoming unstable and tumultuous.
"Shit."
Before he could react, the stable surface Walter stood on caved in, causing him to fall into a ravine of incomprehensible colours and sensations. Flailing his arms helplessly, Walter screams in shock and terror. The rays of light from the colours overwhelm his eyesight, and the icy temperature makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. Breathing becomes an arduous task, as he feels the sensation of constriction around his throat, reddening his face. Walter grits his teeth, and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Is this what I deserve? Am I descending to eternal damnation…should've expected this."
For the first time in a long while, tears stream down Walter's face. The weight of his sins, all the people that he had killed or hurt, his destroyed family, all of it bores down on his shoulders. Whilst accepting whatever fate awaits him, Walter thinks on his first cook with his former student, Jesse Pinkman. The acrid smell of creating methamphetamine, the brewing camaraderie, and the adoration in Jesse's eyes once they realised the purity of the product. But through a long list of complications and events, that relationship diminished. Even Walter's last act of saving Jesse from the Neo-Nazi's shortly before his death, would never prompt Jesse to forgive him. And Walter accepts that. The panic in his mind settles into a partial calm as he acknowledges the consequences of his actions, his lips pursed in anticipation of what's next.
BAM!
The falling sensation abruptly ends, with Walter's head crashing down onto the cold, hard ground. His head is spinning with utter disorientation, and numbness courses through his veins to siphon out the pain of the collision. A chilling ring in his ears encompass his hearing, as Walter splutters and coughs, trying to extract the extreme senses he felt just moments before. As he groans in pain, Walter repeatedly smacks his head to stop it from making him nauseous, and he tries to stand up, albeit with considerable difficulty. As the blurring in his vision ceases, he is standing in a yellow room, with two rectangular holes on adjacent sides. It looks completely empty, apart from a pink painting that covered the wall and floor. Walter narrows his eyes at the "painting" seeing the slight resemblance of humanity within the silhouette. It had a long, slender, pink body and a pair of arms that covered the floor which then led up the wall to a pair of shoulders. Between the shoulders the silhouettes neck attached to a head which showed curly hair and a nose that pointed to the right. Its single yellow eye had a bright blue dot for a pupil. It seemed to be staring right at Walter.
"Yo! What's good my man!", the giant pink shadow inquired. Walter lurches in consternation and he backs away from the pink shadow, his eyes darting around the room for any escape.
"Hey, no need to get your jammies in a twist!" the shadow says in a placating tone. "You're probably wondering why you're here, huh?"
Walter stays silent, his jaw clenched and his fingers curling into fists. "What…the hell…is this?" he asks, trembling with unease and frustration.
The pink shadow chuckles jovially, its voice echoing within the room "You're in the time room! A single dimension that exists outside of time and which produces time waves that are experienced by other dimensions. In here, I manage timelines, ensuring they're on the correct path. I can also grant wishes, kinda like a side hustle."
Walter's jaw drops slightly, unable to fully understand the being before him. The scientific curiosity in his mind can't help but prompt him to ask "So…you're some kind of God? Do you even have a name? How do those wishes even work?"
"Woah there buckaroo, easy with the questioning.", laughs the Pink Shadow. "But I'll indulge in your curiosity. I'm technically a cosmic being, though a God may also fit my vibe. You can call me Prismo."
Prismo pauses for a moment to explain the wishes "You see, Walter, there's always a monkey's paw with my wishes. You have to be absolutely specific with your wishes. And you can't change your past actions, it complicates timelines too much."
Walter's face falls, now being denied the opportunity to go back and try set things right with his family and Jesse, but even then, he wonders if he could ever make amends for the destruction he caused.
"So…" Walter begins, his voice laced with self-condemnation and anger "…I can't fix anything I've done? No reversal of all the lives I've destroyed?" His nostrils flare as he takes several deep breaths. "What's the point then? Am I supposed to curl up in a ball in tears here and be condemned for eternity?"
Prismo's gaze softens into one resembling sympathy "Hey man, I get it. Everyone has regrets about what they've done. But you can't change anything now. However, the one thing you can do is move forward. Lemme show you something."
He conjures up several screens highlighting different dimensions and timelines that he monitors. Walter's once frustrated gaze turns curious as he watches the screens. They are not what he was expecting. It portrays a whimsical, yet dangerous world known as the Land of Ooo.
"Do you know why I'm showing you this, Walter?" Prismo questions.
Walter gives Prismo an unamused look, "No, I really don't know. Are you trying to say I should go to that place? What would that achieve?"
Prismo gives Walter a mischievous smile, gesturing to the screens "This particular place has so many different timelines and opportunities, more than any other universe. I'm sure you can find a timeline of Ooo that can help you move forward."
Sighing with resignation, Walter views the alternate timelines with detached curiosity, unsure of how he can move forward in a world so different from his.
Walter then turns his gaze to a much darker Ooo, one where redemption is through twisted means and debauchery taints the land. Walter grimaces with disgust at the excessively graphic and even morally corrupt scenes. Prismo winces slightly and admits "Yeah, unless you plan being a vigilante to change that timeline, I wouldn't go there if I were you."
"Actually…" Walter says contemplatively, "…this could be a good opportunity."
Prismo does a double take and looks at Walter with incredulity "Buddy, are you sure? You're gonna be making some tough decisions. But I supposed you're used to that, aren't ya?"
Walter nods solemnly "Indeed." He then thinks for a moment, wondering if he can control himself to not completely lose himself in that world. He turns to Prismo and says "I am no longer a man driven by pride or validation. What I want, is to stop people from descending down a path similar to me. I want to minimise collateral damage, and what I do know, is that some sins…consume people, and the only way to deal with them…is to put them down…like a problem dog."
"Okay, you definitely have conviction. I can respect that." Prismo concedes, yet he is still a bit concerned. "But Walter, there are powerful, influential people in that timeline. People that can make your life a living hell if you cross them."
"Matter, Prismo. It's all about matter. No matter how powerful a being is, they are still made of matter. And at the centre of matter, is chemistry. Chemistry is the only thing I need." replies Walter with unwavering steel in his tone.
"Well, it seems you're pretty set on this. Just remember, there's no going back if you go there. Do you understand that?" asks Prismo in a dead serious tone.
The former meth kingpin slowly turns to Primso, his features like stone and he voices his confirmation in a gravelly rumble "Send me there. Those…powerful people…they won't get away with what they've done. None of them."
Prismo gives a reluctant nod and forms a portal for Walter to enter through. "Good luck Walter. Ya gonna need it."
Before Walter steps into the twisted world of Ooo, he declares "Luck? No. Preparation. That makes the difference."
Walter marches into the portal, with the same ambition that he carried himself with in his past, but now he has a different reason, one with amends in mind.
But intentions are a fickle thing, and the world of Ooo waits in bated breath for the arrival of the unpredictable catalyst that is Walter Hartwell White.