Five years ago, America opened its ears to a sensitive, perky story about a high school teacher trying to make ends meet for his wife and son in their sleepy Southwestern town. A few dozen murders later, we’re irreparably embedded in the darkest tale in modern television, just waiting for that monster to bite the dust. Breaking Bad kicks off its final season (technically, the second half of its final season) come August, closing the doors on Walter White’s tale in one way or another.
We don’t know if Walt will die, or live through a torturous solitude as all of his loved ones perish at his hands. We don’t know if he’ll be forced to take down his surrogate son Jesse, of if it will be the other way around. We don’t know what form his many demons will take in this home stretch — hiow the blood of Jane, the suffering of Brock, the agony through which he has put his own family will come back to bite him. But we know one thing: Breaking Bad will not have a happy ending. And we can’t wait.