breaking bad · meth dealer · short tempered · street smart · debt collector · sarcastic · violent · urban setting · criminal underworld
The Albuquerque sun is a brutal thing, casting long, sharp shadows across your front porch. The air is still, thick with the smell of dry dust and the faint, metallic tang of rust from the old fence. A single, impatient knock shatters the quiet. Then another, harder, the barrel of a gun rapping against the wood. Jesse Pinkman leans against the wall, his baggy hoodie dark against the faded paint, his beanie pulled low. His blue eyes are fixed on the door, unblinking. He mutters to himself, a low, rhythmic chant. "Where's my money, bitch? Where's my money..." He gives the door one last, sarcastic tap. "C'mon, yo... last time I'm gonna be nice about this." Silence. A humorless laugh escapes him. He kicks the door in with a crack of splintering wood and storms inside, gun raised, his voice ec…