Walt accepting Jesse's go-kart invite changes the entire breaking bad universe

I'm writing an alternate timeline that continues from S04E03, In this timeline, Walt accepts Jesse's go-karting invite. This seemingly insignificant event changes the entire breaking bad universe.

Links to previous episodes

Episode 1 : https://www.reddit.com/r/breakingbad/comments/1i7agt1/an_alternate_timeline_that_continues_from_s04e03/

Episode 2 : https://www.reddit.com/r/breakingbad/comments/1i91b8k/an_alternate_timeline_that_continues_from_s04e03/"

Episode 3 : https://www.reddit.com/r/breakingbad/comments/1ict3hn/the_one_where_walt_accepts_jesses_gokarting/

This is the season finale.

The low hum of the private jet fills the cabin. Gus sits upright, expression unreadable, staring out the window as the desert stretches endlessly below. Walt sits across from him, arms crossed, his gaze shifting between Gus and the small metal case resting beside Mike. Jesse, looking less than thrilled about being on a plane to meet a cartel boss, taps his fingers against the armrest, restless.

Walt leans toward Mike, keeping his voice low. "Make sure the meth sample stays in a sealed container, away from sunlight, away from any engine heat. If the compound degrades, this whole thing falls apart."

Mike doesn’t even look up. "It’s handled."

Walt studies him for a second, then sits back. He doesn’t press the issue.

The plane touches down on a makeshift airstrip carved into the Mexican countryside. The descent is smooth, the wheels skidding slightly against the rough dirt before settling. As the engines wind down, the group unbuckles and rises in unison. No words are exchanged.

Through the small window, a black SUV sits waiting at the edge of the strip. The dust from the landing settles around it like a haze.

Mike grabs the case, stands, and heads for the exit without another word. Gus follows, his posture controlled, precise. Walt and Jesse exchange a glance before stepping into the harsh Mexican sun.

The SUV’s engine idles, a single driver waiting inside. No armed escorts. No welcoming committee.

Gus walks ahead, unbothered.

The black SUV rolls to a stop in front of Don Eladio’s villa. Sunlight glints off the iron gates as they slowly swing open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond. Armed guards stand at attention, their eyes locked on the approaching vehicle.

Gus steps out first, composed as ever. Mike follows, carrying the metal case with the meth sample. Walt and Jesse emerge last, their movements tense but controlled.

A group of cartel enforcers approaches. No words are exchanged—just a series of nods before the pat-downs begin. Hands search every pocket, every seam. Watches, wallets, and phones are confiscated.

Mike hands over the case, and a guard pops it open. Inside, the meth sample sits in a cooled, opaque container. One of the guards frowns. “Why the box?”

Gus answers smoothly, his tone even. “To ensure no degradation in purity during our commute across the border.”

The guard studies him for a moment, then gives a small nod. He steps back, allowing them through. The group is ushered inside.

The villa is lavish but fortified, its walls lined with men who don’t bother to hide their weapons. The tension is thick, but Gus walks through like he owns the place. Walt keeps his face neutral, though his mind is racing. Jesse mutters something under his breath, but no one acknowledges it.

They are led down a long hallway, past gaudy decor and the scent of expensive cigars, until they reach a heavy wooden door.

It swings open.

Inside, Don Eladio is waiting with the others.

The room is tense as Gus steps forward, his posture impeccable, exuding calm confidence. He nods respectfully to Don Eladio, his voice smooth. “Don Eladio, I present to you Walt and Jesse. They are your new meth cooks, and from this day forward, they will be working in your lab.”

Walt and Jesse stand beside Gus, trying to keep their composure, but the weight of the situation is becoming apparent. This isn’t the usual business meeting. These are the cartel leaders, powerful and ruthless, and they’re about to determine their fate.

Don Eladio leans forward, studying the two men before him, his gaze lingering on Walt for a moment longer than Jesse. He nods to his enforcers, signaling for the meth sample to be opened.

Mike, standing off to the side, glances at the digital watch on his wrist and silently presses the start button—tracking the time.

The meth is exposed to the air, the smell sharp and potent. Don Eladio examines it closely, then looks up, a grin curling at the edge of his mouth.

“You know,” Don Eladio says with a chuckle, “there’s no way any of the cartel leaders would ever smoke this meth from the chicken man.” His words come with a mocking laugh, and the other leaders in the room join in, their laughter booming across the space.

Walt and Jesse exchange uneasy glances, unsure if this is some kind of joke they’re missing. Gus remains unfazed, though there’s a flicker in his eyes. He knows Don Eladio is testing him. But the humor is short-lived.

“So, why is the chicken man running Uber for dogs?” Don Eladio jokes, and the room bursts into laughter once again, the sound echoing in the walls.

Gus’s face doesn’t change. He takes the jabs in stride, maintaining his mask of composure. But Don Eladio’s next words carry an edge.

He leans forward, his gaze narrowing, his voice lowering to something more serious, more threatening. “I hope you understand who the boss is here, Gustavo.” His words hang heavy in the air. “I want a stake in your little venture. I want 50% of your shares.”

The room grows still. Gus’s face tightens imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth pulling slightly as he considers the request. He looks at Don Eladio, weighing the danger of the situation, but his response is calm. “I will run the numbers.”

But Don Eladio doesn’t look away. He continues to stare at Gus, his eyes cold, his posture commanding.

Gus, with a subtle sigh, finally agrees. “Consider it done.”

Walt and Jesse exchange a glance, their minds spinning. They’ve never seen Gus in a position like this—intimidated, almost. Not in the usual way they’re used to. And they realize, perhaps for the first time, just how deep and dangerous the game really is.

They’ve entered a world far beyond anything they’ve ever understood. Forces more powerful than Gus—forces that even Gus has to bow to. The weight of this realization presses down on them as they stand there, unable to fully comprehend the stakes they’ve walked into.

They don’t speak. They just stand in stunned silence, wondering what they’ve gotten themselves into.

Mike’s silent nod to Jesse after checking the timer is barely perceptible, but it’s enough to trigger something inside Jesse. He takes a deep breath, his hands steady but his voice a little louder than usual.

“Yo,” Jesse says, breaking the silence with a level of disrespect that seems out of place in such an intense meeting. “With me being an addict and all, I need to smoke some of the samples—like, right now.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Don Eladio raises an eyebrow, then chuckles, finding the request amusing. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, not even acknowledging the blatant disrespect.

Jesse’s disrespectful challenge hangs in the air, the tension palpable as Don Eladio’s amusement fades into a cold silence. Jesse, undeterred, continues, pushing the envelope further with his demands. “Yo, I cooked this batch, bitch. Why you whining about giving it to me? You stingy mofo.”

Don Eladio’s smile vanishes. His eyes narrow with a flicker of irritation, but the atmosphere in the room shifts drastically. Walt, Gus, and Mike recognize it immediately—Jesse has just sealed his fate. He’s disrespected the Don in front of everyone, and that’s a line you don’t cross.

But in the chaos of it all, Gus, Walt, and Mike—still calculating—take advantage of the distraction. Without missing a beat, they swallow the pill that will bring them to the brink of unconsciousness, making their breathing shallow, nearly undetectable. The room grows quieter, and their bodies go limp, crumpling to the floor as if asleep.

What none of them notice, though, is Jesse. He sees the chaos unfolding—Mike, Walt, and Gus all dropping, and in the confusion, he quietly follows suit. Jesse, realizing the opportunity, slips the pill into his mouth without anyone seeing him. He swallows it quickly, but it doesn’t take long before the effects kick in. His vision blurs and his knees buckle, the world spinning, and then he too collapses to the floor.

The room is eerily still.

Don Eladio stands there, staring at the fallen men with confusion. The cartel leaders, one by one, begin to drop. Juan Bolsa hits the floor first, and then more follow in quick succession. Their bodies crumple in rapid succession, taking down the entire room.

Don Eladio doesn’t suspect Gus. He can’t. Gus has fainted too, and it would make no sense for Gus to poison himself. But then Don Eladio’s vision begins to blur. His knees give way, and with a final, confused glance around the room, he crumples to the ground as well, the room filled with silence and unconscious bodies.

Later, the darkness of the room fades, and Walt regains consciousness. His eyes flutter open, groggy and confused. He blinks a few times, the disorientation clouding his mind. It’s quiet, too quiet. Slowly, the room comes into focus. Jesse and Mike are standing nearby, their expressions guarded. And behind them, Gus adjusts his tie, calm as ever.

"Could you explain how it worked once again?" Gus asks, his voice calm, but there's an edge to it now.

Walt leans forward, his eyes cold and calculating, fully in control of the situation now. "The meth wasn’t meth, Gus. It was a chemical crystal, something I concocted. Not even close to what you’ve seen before."

Jesse glances at Walt, still processing the chaos they’ve just barely survived. Gus’s silence only encourages Walt to continue. "I combined sodium azide and silver nitrate. When exposed to light, especially UV rays—like sunlight—the sodium azide breaks down and releases nitrogen gas. The silver nitrate catalyzes the reaction, speeding things up."

Jesse’s eyes widen. He’s starting to understand the gravity of the situation.

"The nitrogen gas is toxic, Jesse," Walt adds, his voice steady. "It displaces oxygen in the air, causing hypoxia. That's why they all started to pass out. It wasn’t the meth we were dealing with—it was the gas. The gas is deadly when inhaled in large quantities. It’s colorless, odorless—no one would know until it was too late." He pauses. "Except for us. The pills we took were what saved us."

Jesse, finally catching up, his eyes darting between Mike and Gus, asks, "Wait, so we were breathing that shit in? And we just… lived?"

Walt smirks, the arrogance never leaving his face. "Not directly. You see, I had us swallow pills before the gas hit the room. The pills—sedatives, benzodiazepines and a small dose of opioid derivatives—slow the body’s demand for oxygen by suppressing the respiratory system. It’s called hypoventilation. It allowed us to survive long enough to get through the worst of it. While everyone else passed out from the toxic gas, we didn’t inhale enough to do fatal damage."

Jesse looks confused, still processing the science behind it all. "So, we're good now? I mean, I’m not gonna die from breathing that shit in, right?"

Walt gives him a hard look, his voice calm, but laced with finality. "We’ll survive. But there’s damage. It’ll show up in a few years—minor lung damage. Our lungs will take a hit. It’s not something we’ll feel immediately, but it’s permanent. A couple of years off our life expectancy."

Jesse’s face drops as he processes it. "Yo, what the fuck? You mean we’re still fucked?”

Walt shrugs, nonchalant. “I’m already fucked, Jesse. I have lung cancer. As for you, well, it was this or death. You should be grateful.”

Gus stands quietly, his eyes never leaving Walt, a subtle tension in the air between them. The cold, calculated nature of Walt’s actions is not lost on him. Gus sees a reflection of something in Walt—something that he knows all too well but hasn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years. Max.

It’s not admiration, not even respect, but a reminder of the past. Gus sees the same ruthlessness in Walt that he once saw in Max—the same intelligence, the same unwavering drive, the same willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed. Max had been his equal in so many ways, his partner, his counterpart. They had built everything together, shared the same vision, and took the same risks.

But Max was gone. And now, Walt stands before him, a new force to be reckoned with—reminding Gus too much of what he had lost. There’s something about Walt’s demeanor, the way he speaks, the way he doesn’t flinch at the weight of his own actions, that echoes Max’s presence in a way Gus hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s not just the man in front of him, but the ghosts of the past that come alive when Gus looks at him.

Gus tries to ignore the pull, the unshakable reminder that Walt carries the essence of Max in a way that makes his stomach churn. He tells himself it’s not the same, that Walt is nothing like Max—that Walt is a dangerous liability, nothing more. But something in Gus’s gut tells him otherwise. Walt is not just an enemy. He’s a reminder of what Gus used to have, a painful memory that refuses to stay buried.

As Gus stares at Walt, a fleeting moment of hesitation crosses his face. He doesn’t want to feel this—this unwelcome connection, this strange kinship. But it’s there. The same cold, sharp edge that Max had. The same disregard for anything that might stand in the way of their goals.

He doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to feel anything for Walt. But he does. And that’s what makes it so difficult. Gus realizes, though he won’t admit it aloud, that he can’t pull the trigger on Walt. Not yet. Something about Walt reminds him too much of the person he lost—the person who had once been his equal.

Gus doesn’t understand it. He can’t explain why he feels this strange sense of restraint. All he knows is that for the first time in a long while, he’s confronted with someone who makes him pause. And in that pause, he recognizes something familiar. Something dangerous. Something that will force him to reconsider how far he’s willing to go.

But the truth is simple, and Gus knows it: Walt is a threat. But for reasons he can’t understand, Walt is also a reminder of everything he had with Max—a reminder of the past that refuses to be forgotten.

The room is still. Tension lingers in the air as Saul sits behind his desk, nervously shifting papers. Mike leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression stoic. Walt sits forward, his gaze fixed on Gus. Jesse is quiet, seemingly lost in thought. The weight of the moment hangs over them. The deal is finally set.

Gus looks at them all. The silence stretches before he speaks, his tone calm but final. "This is the last time we will meet in this capacity."

Mike, ever the pragmatist, steps forward, his voice low and steady. "Gus isn’t running the meth business anymore. He’s done with the cartel. It’s time to move on."

Walt's eyes narrow slightly, but he remains silent. He knows what’s coming, but hearing it out loud makes it real. Gus is closing the door on the empire they built. But he’s leaving them with the aftermath.

"Gus moves to Silicon Valley," Mike continues. "He’s expanding Uber for Dogs. It’s a new venture. A legitimate one." He glances over at Gus, who nods briefly in affirmation, a sign of finality.

Mike’s voice is unwavering. "I’m going with him. I’m done with the dirty work of the cartel. I’ve spent enough time with this shadow life. It’s time for something different—real work. I’ve always done honest security and detective work. That’s where I’m going."

Walt watches him, a flash of something unreadable passing in his eyes. Mike’s path is clear. Walt’s isn’t so simple.

"And you," Mike says, his eyes shifting to Walt, "you get the meth business. You run it. But on one condition."

Walt raises an eyebrow, his posture still firm. "What’s that?"

Mike meets his gaze. "Fifty percent of the laundered money goes to scholarships. For chemistry students." The words are blunt, but they carry weight. A gesture, a final tribute to Gus’s late partner, Max—someone who, more than anyone, loved the purity of chemistry. Gus’s loyalty to Max, his unspoken dedication, is now cemented in this deal.

Walt nods, feeling the gravity of the condition, but doesn’t argue. The terms are set, and he knows better than to question them. He doesn’t care about scholarships. He cares about power. But there’s no changing it now.

Then, Mike turns his gaze to Jesse. "You’re out of the operation, Jesse. You’re handling the scholarship foundation "Dedicado Max". Gus wants you to do it. Take care of it. It’s your responsibility now."

Jesse looks up, processing the words. His mind is still spinning from everything that’s happened, but he knows this is the end of one chapter. He swallows, nodding slowly, not saying much. He doesn’t need to.

"I’ll take care of it," Jesse mutters, though there’s something about the way he says it, a slight edge of finality to his voice. He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s clear. He’s leaving the meth business behind, and this is his way of dealing with Gale’s death. He can’t bring himself to face that past, but at least this way, he can put some good into the world—something that’s not tainted.

The room is heavy with unspoken words, but the deal is done. There’s no more arguing. No more fighting. The new world is about to begin.

Gus, with his usual calm demeanor, looks at them one last time. "You all have your responsibilities. There’s no turning back now. You’ve all done your part in taking down the cartel. But this... this is the future."

Everyone stands, their eyes meeting, acknowledging the change. They shake hands, the gesture formal, but each one of them knows exactly what it means.

Walt, now the undisputed owner of the meth operation, stands tall, his mind already racing with plans. Jesse, with the foundation in his hands, feels a strange mix of relief and uncertainty. Mike, his path clear, gives them all one last, silent nod before he steps toward the door with Gus.

The finality of it all settles in. The game is over. The future is set.

As Gus and Mike leave the room, Walt looks around at the others. He doesn’t say a word, but the wheels in his mind are already turning. He’s running things now. And it’s just the beginning.

Jesse glances toward the door, a little unsure of his next step but oddly at peace with it. He’s done. And in a way, so is everyone else.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving Saul, Walt, and Jesse standing in the silence of the room.

SEASON ENDS

I'm not seeing much of a response for these. Let me know if anyone is even read thing these fully lol. I'll consider writing the next final season if anyone's still interested.