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    Summary

    Nacho definitely remembered dying.

    He remembered holding a gun to Bolsa’s head, knowing that even if he pulled the trigger, he would be gunned down in an instant.

    He hadn’t wanted to give those assholes the satisfaction of shooting him. He did it himself.

    He thought he might remember being dead. There was definitely a sense that time had passed. But… his death had been quick. There was no light at the end of a tunnel; his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes. He had pulled the trigger, and then he was gone. He hadn’t even had time to register the sound of the gunshot.

    But when he finally managed to claw his way out of the dirt that covered him, he was alone. No Salamancas, no Fring and his goons, no Bolsa.

    And there was a sense of… blackness, he supposed. Like when you wake up after sleeping; even when you can’t remember any dreams, your mind knows that time has passed.

    It felt a little like that.

    (Nacho wakes up in the desert more than four years after his death. With the Salamancas' iron grip on the drug trade gone, he meets Jesse Pinkman and Walter White.)

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    45,925
    Chapters:
    10/?
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
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