Chapter 285: Not Something to Be Taken Lightly
If you want airtight secrecy, you have to be rigorous and careful—without exception.
Frank bringing Peggy here, and even revealing the truth about Heisenberg to her, was an extremely dangerous move.
Even though Peggy was family, someone who knew him inside and out—and even though she didn't have much time left—from an organizational standpoint, this kind of behavior was still unacceptable.
At first, Frank hadn't thought much of it.
But Walter's intense reaction forced him to confront the reality of the situation.
They'd never seriously considered this angle before. Now that he thought about it carefully, it really was dangerous.
The biggest risk, in fact, was Pinkman.
Frank and Walter were older. Age brought caution. They understood the stakes and knew exactly how dangerous what they were doing was.
But Pinkman was still too young—barely in his twenties. In many ways, he was still just a kid. He trusted people too easily, and that made him vulnerable to manipulation and deception.
On top of that, Pinkman lacked the necessary reverence for this line of work. He still carried the mindset of someone who used to run the streets—his mentality hadn't fully shifted yet.
But now, they weren't street hustlers anymore.
They were major players in the drug trade.
And those were two very different worlds.
If someone deliberately set a trap, it would be all too easy to earn Pinkman's trust, slowly butter him up—and through him, expose the truth about Heisenberg.
That said, this was something they could discuss thoroughly later.
Right now, the priority was fulfilling Peggy's final wish.
Walter didn't stay long. He'd only slipped away briefly, and being gone too long would arouse suspicion back home.
Frank ordered some takeout and made do with a simple dinner.
This wasn't a game anymore.
After dinner, Pinkman left with the landlady's daughter. The two of them went back to her place—what they were going to do needed no explanation.
"That girl… she's not someone you should fool around with," Peggy said the moment they were gone.
"Hm?" Frank froze for a second. It took him a few beats to realize Peggy was talking about the landlady's daughter.
"I thought she seemed fine," Frank said. "Looks pretty sweet, well-behaved."
"She's a slut," Peggy said bluntly. "I've seen plenty like her in prison. That kid is too simple-minded. You'd better warn him not to get in too deep—otherwise it'll turn into real trouble."
Pinkman wasn't her biological grandson, so Peggy had always been rather lukewarm toward him, never especially attentive.
For example, she had bought gifts for every child—Chucky included—but not for Pinkman. She hadn't truly considered him one of her own.
But when Peggy had tried to end her life—running into the street, intending to let a bus hit her—Pinkman hadn't hesitated for even a second. He'd rushed forward and thrown himself in front of her, shielding her with his own body.
That instinctive act completely changed how Peggy saw him.
In that situation, even a biological son or grandson might not have reacted the same way.
From that moment on, Peggy began treating Pinkman as her own grandson.
That was why, seeing Pinkman with the landlady's daughter—and sensing something off—she chose to warn Frank.
If it had been anyone else's business, she wouldn't have bothered saying a word.
But given her condition—knowing she didn't have long left—she didn't speak directly to Pinkman. Instead, she reminded Frank, hoping he could look out for him.
"Alright, I get it," Frank nodded.
Truthfully, he didn't take it all that seriously.
Young people dating was normal. Even if the landlady's daughter really was bad news—so what? Who hadn't run into a few jerks or toxic partners when they were young?
Getting hurt once or twice could make you grow up faster.
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The next day, Walter made an excuse at home early in the morning and came over to Frank's place.
Frank and the others drove the RV out into the wilderness and began production.
"I still have to wear this thing?" Peggy frowned deeply, holding up the gas mask.
She was already suffering from her illness and struggled to breathe at times. Wearing a gas mask felt like it might suffocate her.
"Toxic gases can be produced during the process," Walter said as he took off his outer clothes and changed into specialized workwear, tying on an apron. Pinkman followed suit, copying his movements.
"I'm practically dying already," Peggy scoffed. "A little poison gas won't make much difference. But why are you changing clothes? And what's with the apron?"
After so many years in the field, she'd never seen anyone make such a fuss.
"Odors cling to clothing very easily—and they're obvious," Walter explained.
"The apron is a precaution. It provides protection."
They weren't ordinary kitchen aprons. They were thick, tough ones—like the kind worn by fishmongers in seafood markets, almost leather-like, with a solid, resilient texture.
Walter had chosen them carefully and bought them specifically for this purpose.
According to him, the single most important hard rule in chemical work was safety awareness.
No matter how well-equipped a lab was, no matter how cautious and rigorous the procedures, chemical experiments were never without risk. The world never ran out of accidents.
And in chemistry, one accident could lead to terrifying consequences—like a biotoxin outbreak straight out of a disaster movie.
Walter had known many colleagues who'd been ruined by lab accidents. One of them had even ended up as a grotesque, green-skinned monstrosity.
Even though what they were doing now counted as a "small experiment" in Walter's eyes, it still wasn't something to take lightly. If something went wrong, toxic gases or corrosive liquids could easily be produced.
That was why he insisted on gas masks—and why the apron mattered. Ordinary clothes simply couldn't protect against corrosive substances.
"I'm not wearing this," Peggy said flatly.
After Walter and the others finished changing, she tossed the gas mask onto the ground. No matter what, she refused.
"If you won't wear it, then don't," Frank said, trying to smooth things over.
Given Peggy's condition, even the meticulous Walter had no choice but to compromise.
They climbed into the RV and began production. The moment Peggy stepped inside, she was stunned by the equipment and materials filling the space.
Walter had completely remodeled the RV to lab standards. Everything was neat, orderly, and spotless.
Anyone who didn't know the truth would never guess what this place was really for—they'd assume it was a legitimate mobile laboratory.
Peggy, by contrast, had always worked the "wild" way. No proper production environment, no real lab equipment—just a table and a few bottles and jars. Even all her tools put together didn't amount to one-tenth of what Walter had here.
"Pinkman, let's begin," Walter said, his tone turning sharp and professional.
"I'll take the lead this time. You assist me. I'll point out the mistakes you keep making during experiments."
Peggy watched the entire process in silence, never saying a word. She was completely absorbed—so focused that it felt as though even the pain in her body had faded away.
The astonishment on her face, however, never once disappeared.
"All that's left now is to let it cool," Walter said after hours of work.
He stepped out of the RV, removed his mask, and pulled a bottle of beer from the portable fridge.