Chapter 12: The First Cook
POV: Marcus
March 10th, 2008. Walter had tracked Jesse down, forced the partnership that would define both their destinies. Now they were in the desert with an RV and a plan that would either save Walter's family or destroy everyone he claimed to love.
Marcus followed them through doors, leapfrogging across the Albuquerque landscape to position himself a half-mile from their cook site. The desert stretched toward the horizon like a moonscape, all sage brush and broken dreams under a sky so blue it hurt to look at directly.
Through binoculars, he watched Walter White transform into someone else entirely. The man who'd spent decades teaching high school chemistry with quiet desperation was putting on an apron and safety goggles with the focused intensity of someone who'd finally found his calling.
Jesse paced around the RV like a caged animal, his nervous energy crackling in the dry air. He cracked jokes to fill the silence, made observations about the equipment, asked questions that revealed how little he actually knew about the science behind his chosen profession.
"So we're really doing this, Mr. White?"
"We're really doing this."
"And you're sure this blue stuff is gonna work?"
Walter's hands moved across the equipment with practiced precision, checking connections and measuring chemicals with the meticulous care of someone who understood that one mistake could kill them both.
"Jesse, the formula I'm using will produce methamphetamine with a purity level of 99.1 percent. The blue coloration is a byproduct of the synthesis process, but it doesn't affect the quality. In fact, it serves as a signature that will make our product instantly recognizable."
"Blue meth," Jesse said, testing the words like a foreign language. "That's gonna look weird, Mr. White."
"Weird sells for a premium."
Marcus watched the synthesis begin through his binoculars, feeling like a voyeur witnessing something sacred and terrible. Walter moved with increasing confidence as the process unfolded, his expertise transforming raw chemicals into crystalline perfection with the patience of someone who'd found his true calling.
Hours passed. The desert sun tracked across the sky while two men worked in a converted RV to create something that would reshape Albuquerque's criminal landscape. Jesse mostly watched and asked questions, but Walter was clearly in his element, explaining chemical processes with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting his entire life for a student who actually needed to know the answers.
Then Walter emerged from the RV holding a bag of blue crystals that caught the sunlight like captured sapphires.
Even from half a mile away, Marcus could see the pride on Walter's face. This wasn't just high-quality methamphetamine—it was art. Science. Perfection achieved through knowledge and skill that no street cook could match.
Heisenberg's first batch. The beginning of an empire built on chemistry and hubris in equal measure.
Marcus lowered his binoculars and confronted the decision that had been building since he'd watched Walter receive his cancer diagnosis. Reveal himself now, or wait and see how the partnership developed?
"If I approach them now, I can control the narrative from the beginning. Be the distribution guy who prevents them from ever meeting Tuco. Prevent Gus from entering the picture. Prevent most of the violence that follows."
But approaching now would also mean revealing the extent of his abilities before he fully understood the players involved. Walter was still an unknown quantity—a desperate man with dangerous knowledge, but not yet the monster he would become. Jesse was clearly out of his depth, more liability than asset at this point.
Better to wait. Let them make their first moves, see how they handled pressure and success and the inevitable complications that came with entering the drug trade. Walter might prove to be more reasonable than his television counterpart, someone who could be guided away from the worst excesses of power and pride.
Or he might prove to be worse. Either way, Marcus needed more information before committing to any particular course of action.
The RV's engine started, and Marcus watched his targets drive away from their cook site with their first batch of what would eventually become the most sought-after methamphetamine in the Southwest. They looked like amateur criminals playing at being professionals, which was exactly what they were.
For now.
Marcus created a door to the abandoned cook site and stepped through, examining the area for anything they might have left behind. A dropped beaker here, scattered notes there, evidence of the careful process that had just transformed two men from teacher and student into criminal partners.
He pocketed Walter's synthesis notes—detailed instructions that might prove valuable later, either as leverage or as insurance. The handwriting was precise, methodical, exactly what Marcus would have expected from someone who'd spent decades teaching chemistry to indifferent teenagers.
"You're stalking them," Ryuk observed, materializing between the sage brush with his yellow eyes reflecting the afternoon sun. "That's creepy, even for a human with a Death Note."
"I'm being cautious."
"You're being scared. Of them or of yourself?"
Marcus folded the synthesis notes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, avoiding the death god's penetrating stare. "I'm gathering information. Making sure I understand the situation before I act."
"You've been gathering information for months. At some point, information becomes procrastination."
"And at some point, action becomes stupidity. I'd rather be cautious than dead."
Ryuk laughed, the sound echoing off the desert silence like breaking glass. "You can't die, Marcus. Not in any way that matters. You have the doors to escape any situation, the Death Note to eliminate any threat. The only thing that can kill you is your own hesitation."
Marcus created a door back to his apartment, ending the conversation without resolving the questions that Ryuk had raised. The death god was right about one thing—Marcus had been operating from a position of overwhelming advantage since the moment he'd awakened in this timeline. He could go anywhere, kill anyone, escape any situation.
So why did he feel so vulnerable?
Because knowledge wasn't the same as wisdom. Because power without understanding led to catastrophic mistakes. Because intervening in complex systems often produced consequences worse than the original problems.
Walter White and Jesse Pinkman now had their first batch of blue meth. In the original timeline, they would approach Krazy-8 for distribution, leading to a chain of events that would eventually consume them both. Marcus could intercept that chain, offer them an alternative that might prevent years of violence and suffering.
But offering alternatives meant revealing himself, and revealing himself meant accepting responsibility for everything that followed. Once he became an active player instead of a passive observer, the timeline would fracture in unpredictable ways.
"Maybe that's what this world needs," Marcus thought, sitting in his apartment with Walter's synthesis notes spread across his kitchen table. "Maybe careful observation has gone far enough. Maybe it's time to act."
Outside his window, Albuquerque continued its transformation into the setting for Walter White's metamorphosis from high school teacher to methamphetamine kingpin. The pieces were moving exactly as Marcus remembered, following a pattern that would lead to death and destruction for everyone involved.
Unless someone with the power to change things finally decided to use that power.
The synthesis notes were covered in Walter's precise handwriting, chemical formulas and process diagrams that revealed the mind of someone who understood his craft at a level that bordered on artistry. This wasn't the work of a desperate amateur—it was the foundation of an empire.
Marcus folded the notes and put them away. Tomorrow, he'd make his decision about when and how to reveal himself. Tonight, he'd try to sleep despite the growing certainty that passive observation was no longer sufficient.
Walter and Jesse had their product. Now they needed a distributor. In the original timeline, that distributor would be Krazy-8, leading to violence and chaos that would spiral out of control.
But maybe, just maybe, Marcus could offer them a better option before they made that fatal mistake.
The question was whether he had the courage to step out of the shadows and become the kind of player who could reshape the game instead of just watching it unfold.
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