I am Jesse Pinkman

Chapter 3: Building a New Game

For the next week, he did three things:

Stopped partying and cut off bad influences. No more Skinny Pete, no Badger, no random druggies crashing at his place. He started ghosting people. Studied and experimented. He spent hours at night researching, reverse-engineering formulas, refining the process. Jesse's old meth was around 60% pure garbage—he was about to change that. Started getting in shape. The first run around the block nearly killed him. His lungs burned, legs ached, and his heart pounded like a drum solo. But he forced himself to keep going.

By the second week, people noticed.

"Yo, where you been, man?" Skinny Pete asked when he finally picked up the phone. "Ain't seen you in days."

"Busy," he said shortly.

"You good? You don't sound high."

"I'm not."

Silence. Then laughter. "Damn, man. You goin' straight-edge now?"

"Something like that." He hung up.

By the third week, his meth was different.

Not just different—perfect. A formula more stable than Walt's, chemically purer, and with a synthesis method that didn't even require P2P or pseudoephedrine. No stolen cold medicine, no red phosphorus.

He cooked a small batch, just enough to test.

When he sampled the final product under a microscope, his heart raced—not from fear, but from excitement.

This isn't Jesse's meth.

This is something better than Walter White ever made.