Chapter 26: Crossing State Lines
The Nevada desert baked under a late afternoon sun, its heat a relentless weight that pressed against Alex Thorne's skin as he leaned against the hood of a black SUV, the rental's leather interior radiating warmth through his tailored suit. The truck stop parking lot was a sprawl of cracked asphalt and diesel fumes, the air thick with the sharp tang of exhaust and the distant hum of eighteen-wheelers idling. The Spring Mountains loomed on the horizon, their jagged peaks casting long, skeletal shadows that stretched across the lot like fingers reaching for something just out of grasp. First national deal. No room for screw-ups. Alex adjusted his silver watch, its metal cool against his wrist despite the desert's blaze, a small ritual that steadied his nerves. His 16x-enhanced senses caught every detail—the faint creak of his jacket's zipper snagging, the low rumble of a red pickup truck across the lot, its exhaust belching a plume of acrid blue smoke. The mood was ambitious but laced with caution, the weight of crossing state lines settling like dust in his lungs.
He opened the System interface, its blue glow invisible to anyone but him, and checked the objective.
[SYSTEM: Objective Tracker: Secure $100k meth batch in Nevada. Success chance: 90% (due to 16x stats).]
Ninety percent's generous, Alex thought, his sarcasm a familiar shield. Let's not tempt fate with a cartel wildcard. He scanned the lot, his 16x vision picking out a man sliding out of the red pickup—Out-of-State Dealer #2, a gruff figure in a cheap leather jacket, his squinting eyes radiating suspicion like heat waves. The dealer's hands were buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his boots scuffing the gravel as he stared at the horizon, avoiding Alex's SUV. Jumpy. He's got cartel strings attached. Alex pushed off the hood, his movements deliberate, exuding a calm that belied the $200,000 gamble he was about to make.
"You're Thorne," the dealer said, his voice a gravelly rasp, thick with the dust of too many cigarettes. He didn't offer a hand, his eyes narrowing as he sized Alex up, the tension between them crackling like static.
"The one and only," Alex replied, flashing a disarming grin, his tone light but his 16x senses on high alert. "Alex. You got the goods? This place smells like a gas station had a midlife crisis, so let's make this quick."
The dealer's lip curled, ignoring the humor. "No jokes, kid. Product's in the box." He jerked his chin toward a taped-up cardboard box in the truck bed, its edges worn but sturdy, the faint chemical whiff of meth seeping through.
Alex glanced at the box, then back at the dealer, his candor cutting through the tension like a blade. "I need a clean supply for high-end clients who don't like mess. No street deals, no local drama—just a vault transaction, pure and simple." His voice was steady, the inconvenient honesty landing like a punch. Let's see how you handle candor, pal.
The dealer blinked, his suspicion spiking, his hand twitching toward a phone in his pocket. "A vault? You're moving this kinda weight and talking about… vaults? What are you, some kinda banker?"
Alex chuckled, the sound low and deliberate, his eyes scanning the lot for threats. "Market stabilizer, let's say. Your stuff vanishes into a black hole, not a street corner. Show me the weight, I show you the cash."
The dealer hesitated, thrown by the blunt honesty, his fingers gripping the phone but not dialing. Alex caught a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision—a black sedan, five rows away, its occupant a rigid silhouette in a tailored suit. Victor. Gus's enforcer. The dealer's phone wasn't for calls; it was a signal, a leash to the cartel watching from the shadows. They're already sniffing my trail.
[SYSTEM: Environmental Threat: Cartel asset (Victor) confirmed. Deal risk: High-Medium. Proceed with caution.]
Alex kept his face neutral, adjusting his cuff with a casual flick, a mundane gesture to mask his racing thoughts. Victor's here, so this deal's a test. They're watching the money, not the drugs. "My team's got eyes on this lot," he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "Let's skip the drama. Cash is ready. Confirm the weight."
The dealer, distracted by the mention of a team, missed the sedan's subtle shift as Victor leaned forward. He nodded curtly. "Hundred keys. Take it."
Alex lifted the box with his 16x strength, the weight negligible, like carrying a stack of books. He set it in the SUV's passenger seat, the thud soft but final. Turning back, he met the dealer's gaze. "Pleasure doing business. Tell your partners the supply chain just got a lot cleaner."
As he slid into the driver's seat, the System flashed.
[SYSTEM: Sell to System: 100 kg Meth batch sold for $200,000. Profit: $200,000. Going national, hotshot?]
The System's witty jab sparked a grin. Hotshot, huh? I'll take it. His funds hit $610,000, a milestone in his national empire. He pulled out of the lot, the red pickup shrinking in his rearview mirror, but the black sedan stayed put, Victor's presence a silent promise of future trouble. Cartel's on notice. Let's see how they like chasing ghosts.
In a Henderson condo safehouse, the air was cool, the AC humming a steady drone that cut through the desert's lingering heat. The dining room table was littered with satellite maps and three mugs of coffee, their bitter steam a grounding scent. Jax Reed sat cleaning a silenced handgun, the metallic snick of the slide a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet. His tactical jacket hung on a chair, his gray eyes flicking to the maps with a soldier's focus. Lena Voss stood by the window, her reflection sharp in the tinted glass, her hazel eyes scanning a tablet, her hyper-observant quirk cataloging every detail from the maps' creases to Jax's steady hands. The mood was collaborative, strategic, the team's synergy a living thing.
Alex tossed his jacket onto a chair, the zipper catching as always, and slammed the maps down, the sound sharp. "We're national. Deal's done, $200k in the bank. But Victor's watching from Vegas. Gus's enforcer, five rows out, tailing our dealer. They're tracking supply, not distribution—that's our edge."
Lena's eyes flicked up, her voice cutting. "Victor means Gus is already moving. He's sniffing out anomalies. He'll squeeze every dealer we hit."
"Which is why we're the anomaly," Alex said, stirring his coffee, the spoon clinking softly, a mundane anchor in the tension. "Jax, I need eyes on every cartel warehouse, distribution point, and vehicle lot from here to Arizona. Guard rotations, security gaps—find the soft spots."
Jax snapped his gun together, the sound crisp. "Routes, timings, vulnerabilities. Three days, max." His stoic precision was a perfect fit, his trust in Alex unspoken but ironclad.
"Lena," Alex continued, "map the dealer networks. Who reports to who, who's tied to Gus. I need their hierarchy, every low-level player Victor's leaning on."
Lena's lips quirked, a rare smile. "Sloppy digital footprints are my specialty. Give me a burner and a secure line—I'll make their lives hell."
Alex's pride swelled, masked by sarcasm. "Look at us—a ghost, a SEAL, and a guy with a magic profit machine. Noble teamwork at its finest."
Jax's mouth twitched, a near-laugh, while Lena rolled her eyes, her dry wit matching Alex's. "Keep dreaming, Thorne. We're doing your dirty work."
[SYSTEM: Ability Unlock: Team Coordination boosted.]
The System's confirmation sealed their synergy, a step toward an elite unit. Alex sipped his coffee, the heat grounding him. "No direct fights yet. We're scouts, gathering intel for the big hit—something to make Gus flinch, not just Victor."
Jax packed a toolkit, his movements tireless despite the long drive. "Timetable for the op?"
"Not yet," Alex said. "We hit where it hurts, not where it's easy. Lena, start with Victor's money trails. Cash is their weakness."
Lena nodded, her fingers already dancing across her tablet. "On it. Their accounts won't know what hit them."
Alex pulled out his burner phone, the weight familiar in his hand. Team's set, funds are up. Time for the fanboy ritual. The safehouse's second bedroom was sparse, the air heavy with new carpet and stale air, the mood shifting to caring discretion. Sitting on the bed, the mattress sagging under his weight, Alex opened an encrypted app. Jesse's dancing too close to Gus's web. He typed a cryptic message, his fingers deliberate, his care for Jesse driving every word.
Mexican cartel's moving on Phoenix. Stick to local markets, less heat. Also, your chili powder's still a crime. The tip was vague, a nudge away from Gus's early Season 3 moves, keeping Jesse safe without breaking the timeline. Subtle, but he'll listen.
A reply pinged back: Wtf, yo? Chili's fire. Thanks, I guess.
Alex grinned, pocketing the phone. Jesse's safe, bond's tight. Arc 2's rolling. He stood, stretching, his 16x stamina shrugging off fatigue. The city glittered outside, a new frontier waiting. Victor's watching, Gus is coming. Let's see how they handle a ghost empire.
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 to 35+ chapters 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!