Chapter 23: Ambush Alley (Part 4 of 5)
The high desert night wrapped Albuquerque in a brittle chill, the kind that sank into your bones despite the lingering heat radiating from the pavement. Alex Thorne crouched on a low rooftop, the gravel biting into his palms through his heavy-duty work gloves, their leather worn but sturdy, a grounding anchor for his 16x-enhanced senses. Below, a squat utility building sat in a pool of sodium-vapor light, its peeling paint and rusted edges betraying its role as a cartel relay point. The faint, syrupy scent of burnt sugar drifted from a nearby factory, its smokestacks chugging overtime, a strange comfort against the tension coiling in Alex's gut. Finally, the scout. The guy who's been dogging us since Scottsdale. His jacket zipper caught as he shifted, a familiar snag he ignored, his focus razor-sharp on the building's single door. Jax Reed, a shadow in his faded tactical jacket, knelt beside him, his night-vision binoculars clicking softly as he adjusted the focus, his gray eyes scanning with a predator's patience.
"He's inside," Jax whispered, his voice a low rasp, barely stirring the dust motes glinting in the moonlight. "One door, two windows. Security's a joke—motion sensors offline, no guards. Amateur hour, just like you called it."
Alex nodded, his lips twitching into a half-grin, his sarcasm a shield against the adrenaline. "Cartel's finest, huh? Bet this guy's got a degree in overconfidence." He flexed his gloved hands, the 16x strength humming under his skin like a live wire, ready to unleash. Time to end this hide-and-seek game. He opened the System interface, its blue glow invisible to Jax, and pulled up a final analysis.
[SYSTEM: Enemy Analysis: Cartel scout - overconfident, weak to pressure. Threat level: Yellow. Psychological intimidation is high-yield.]
Amateur hour ends tonight, Alex thought, his tone sharp with a triumphant edge. We go from 'new players' to 'ghosts they'll never catch.' He gave Jax a nod, and they moved, silent as specters, descending the fire escape with practiced ease. The metal creaked faintly under Alex's weight, but his 16x agility kept his steps light, his boots barely kissing the ground.
Jax took point, his movements fluid, a former SEAL's grace honed by years of paranoia. He reached the door, a rusted slab with a deadbolt that looked more decorative than functional. No lockpicking needed—Jax slapped a small, dense puck of plastic explosive against the bolt, the boom-shush of the suppressed blast a dull thud that echoed in the quiet night. The door swung inward, revealing a cramped room lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb, the air thick with the bitter tang of stale coffee and nervous sweat.
The scout, a wiry man in his thirties with a too-clean tactical vest that screamed try-hard, froze mid-call on a satellite phone. His dark eyes widened, darting between Alex and Jax, his free hand twitching toward a pistol on the cluttered desk. The room was a mess—empty energy drink cans, crumpled notepads, a half-eaten burrito oozing grease onto a paper plate. This guy's living the dream, Alex thought, his sarcasm biting.
"Who the hell—" the scout started, his voice cracking as he dropped the phone, its clatter loud in the tense silence.
Alex didn't let him finish. He strode forward, his 16x strength radiating a calm, terrifying dominance, each step deliberate, his boots scuffing the gritty floor. He grabbed the scout's metal desk chair, its frame heavy with institutional bulk, and lifted it one-handed with no visible effort. With a casual flick of his wrist, he hurled it—not at the scout, but through the drywall behind him. The chair punched a jagged hole, sailing into the night with a crash that echoed like a gunshot, debris raining down in a cloud of dust.
The scout's face drained of color, his jaw slack, his eyes locked on the gaping hole. Yeah, buddy, that's not normal. Alex leaned in, his voice low, his candor a blade that cut through the man's panic. "You're done spying. Cartel orders? 'Monitor new players.' We know. Now, tell me who sent you, and why you thought sending four idiots with popguns was a winning strategy."
The scout stammered, sweat beading on his forehead, his hands trembling as he gripped the desk edge. "A-an outside deal… out-of-state. They saw the money disappearing, man. They just wanted intel, to know who was making moves. We weren't supposed to hit you again, I swear!"
The revelation hit like a spark in dry grass—confirmation the cartel was sniffing around Alex's System-fueled operation, their greed exposing their hand. They're chasing shadows, and I'm the ghost. Alex's sarcasm flared, a sharp counterpoint to the tension. "Money vanishing? Tsk, tsk. Greed's a bad cologne, pal. Your intel's trash now."
He paused, letting the silence press down, the scout's shallow breaths the only sound. "Walk away," Alex said, his voice final, a command that brooked no argument. "Tell your bosses the 'new player' is a phantom. Come back, and the next thing I throw won't be furniture."
The scout scrambled backward, snatching a backpack stuffed with gear, his boots slipping on the linoleum as he dove for the back window. He crashed through it in a desperate tumble, glass tinkling, his retreat a chaotic surrender. Threat neutralized. For now. Alex exchanged a look with Jax, whose faint nod carried a rare glint of approval. The ambush threat was paused, the cartel fed a lie they'd choke on. Cartel wars are coming, but we've got the upper hand.
Later, in the dim glow of his rental car's dashboard, Alex slouched in the driver's seat, the engine idling with a soft hum. The night was still, the air heavy with the acrid scent of industrial runoff from a nearby ditch. He pulled a secure tablet from his bag, its screen casting a cold light on his face as he scanned a news feed Jax had flagged. The headline was vague but ominous: Drug Bust Thwarted Near Border. Alex's 16x intelligence pieced it together instantly—Walter White's looming Mexican cartel deal, a Season 2 pivot that could spiral into chaos if it went wrong. He's walking into a slaughter.
A wave of conflict churned in Alex's chest. His fallout with Walter was raw, their split over the meth trade a bruise that still ached. But his protective instinct for the Breaking Bad timeline, that unshakable urge to keep the story intact, won out. I'm not saving him for him. I'm saving him for the story. His sarcasm surfaced, a wry shield. Guess I'm playing Heisenberg's guardian angel again. He'd choke me with his own ego if he knew.
He crafted an anonymous tip, fingers flying over the tablet, the message disguised as a leaked DEA report. Cartel rendezvous at mile marker 47, 0200 hours. Suspected sting. Abort. Short, precise, just enough to spook Walter into delaying. He sent it through a burner app, then tossed the device into the ditch, the splash swallowed by the night's silence. Timeline's safe. Walt's alive to be a pain another day.
Back at a nondescript motel, the neon sign buzzing faintly outside, Alex sat on a sagging bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. He popped open a soda, the hiss sharp in the quiet room, the cold aluminum biting his palm. He opened the System interface, its glow a private beacon, and initiated a sale. The meth batch, sourced from a small-time dealer unconnected to the cartel, was modest but clean—$55,000 in, $110,000 out.
[SYSTEM: Sell to System: 55 units. Profit: +$110k. Stash growing. Excellent covert acquisition.]
The System's neutral tone was a balm, reinforcing his untouchable edge. His funds ticked up to $410,000, a quiet triumph that fueled his national ambitions. Every dollar's a brick in the empire. He sipped the soda, the fizz sharp on his tongue, and let a chuckle escape. "No paperwork, no tax, just noble banking. Cleanest dirty money in New Mexico."
His fingers brushed his jacket zipper, catching again, a small ritual that steadied his racing thoughts. Scout's gone, Walter's diverted, funds are up. Time to arm Jax and end this ambush arc. He leaned back, the bed creaking, his mind already on the next move, the cartel's shadow looming but his resolve unshaken.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Breaking Bad : Noble System ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Breaking Bad : Noble System ] with exclusive access until chapter 61 on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!