A Genius Morty

Another week passed, but time had lost much of its meaning for Morty. Days and nights bled together in the timeless dimension he had claimed as his own. The sky, with its swirling hues of violet and gold, never changed. The crystalline structures that jutted out from the ground hummed with multiversal energy, pulsing in time with Morty's every thought, every action. He had learned to bend this world to his will, and it had become an extension of himself.

Morty's lab was cluttered with the remnants of his latest experiments. Failed devices, destroyed pocket dimensions, and scraps of technology littered the space around him, but his focus never wavered. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn and pale from lack of sleep, but none of it mattered. Not when there was so much to do. So much to discover.

He had built machines that allowed him to manipulate the flow of time within the dimension. With a flick of his hand, he could slow time to a crawl or speed it up, watching as days passed in minutes, entire experiments playing out in what felt like seconds. He had created miniature realities—pocket dimensions that flickered in and out of existence at his command. He tested them, watching how the energy reacted, how far he could push the limits of creation before it all collapsed.

Morty's latest creation was a device that allowed him to manipulate the minds of beings across dimensions. He had constructed it in secret, even from himself, not fully realizing what it was at first. It started as an experiment in understanding the connection between consciousness and the multiverse, but it had quickly morphed into something darker. With a thought, he could reach into the minds of others—Mortys, Ricks, and anyone else unfortunate enough to come across his experiments—and bend their thoughts to his will. He wasn't interested in controlling them—at least, that's what he told himself—but rather in understanding how their minds processed the multiversal energy. It was all in the name of science.

But the truth was, Morty was starting to enjoy the power that came with it.

Sitting at his makeshift console, Morty leaned back in his chair, a cold, satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched one of his test subjects—a version of Rick—move through a simulated reality he had created. The Rick was unaware of what was happening, believing he was on another one of his usual adventures. But in reality, every thought, every decision he made, was being subtly influenced by Morty.

Morty wasn't controlling him directly, not yet, but he was guiding him, shaping his actions without Rick even knowing it. The realization that he could do this, that he could manipulate someone as brilliant and dangerous as Rick without them being any the wiser, sent a thrill through Morty's chest. The power wasn't just intoxicating—it was becoming a need.

He had become more than just a Morty. He was a god in his own right, shaping the multiverse as he saw fit.

But the more power Morty accumulated, the further he slipped from who he once was.

The nightmares had returned, stronger than ever. They were no longer vague, distorted images—they were vivid, horrifying glimpses of the future. In his dreams, Morty saw himself standing over the ruins of entire dimensions, his eyes glowing with the corrupted energy that now pulsed through his veins. He had become something monstrous, a being of pure power, consumed by the very force he had once sought to control.

But when Morty awoke from these dreams, the images faded from his mind, and he dismissed them as nothing more than the product of his overworked brain. He told himself that they didn't mean anything, that they were just a reflection of his fear of failure. He couldn't afford to be afraid—not when he was on the verge of something so monumental.

Still, there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite shake. It whispered to him in the quiet moments, reminding him that he was losing himself, that the power was changing him. But Morty pushed it aside. He had come too far to turn back now. He was in control. He was always in control.

As Morty prepared to run another test, the portal gun on his workbench beeped, startling him. He frowned, glancing over at the device. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. He had designed his lab to be untraceable, hidden from the prying eyes of the Conclave, the Infinite Coil, and—most importantly—Rick.

He hesitated for a moment, his heart racing. Could Rick have found him? Could Evil Morty have sent someone to collect on the debt Morty still owed? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he quickly pushed it away. No one could find him here. No one was smart enough, powerful enough to track him across the multiverse. He had made sure of that.

Still, the portal gun beeped again, and Morty knew he couldn't ignore it.

He walked over to the device, his fingers trembling slightly as he activated the display. His eyes narrowed as he saw the coordinates of the incoming portal. It wasn't from Rick. It wasn't from Evil Morty.

It was from himself.

Morty's stomach twisted as the portal flickered to life in front of him. A shimmering green vortex swirled in the air, and out of it stepped a version of Morty—one he had never seen before. This Morty was different, older, more weathered. His eyes glowed faintly with the same multiversal energy that pulsed within Morty, but there was something darker in his gaze. Something… wrong.

The two Mortys stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them thick with tension. The new Morty smirked, his expression cold and calculating.

"Guess you didn't think you were the only one, did you?" the older Morty said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Morty took a step back, his heart racing. "Who the hell are you?"

The older Morty chuckled softly, stepping further into the lab. "I'm you, genius. Or at least, I'm what you're going to be. You think you're the first version of us to tap into this power? You think you're the first to figure out how to bend the multiverse to your will?" He shook his head, his eyes glowing brighter. "You're just the next in a long line of Mortys who've gone down this path. And guess what? It doesn't end well."

Morty's throat tightened. "What are you talking about? I'm in control. I know what I'm doing."

The older Morty's smirk widened. "That's what we all thought. Every version of us. But the more you use the power, the more it uses you. You think you're bending the energy to your will, but it's already started bending you. You're just too arrogant to see it."

Morty's hands clenched into fists, his anger flaring. "I'm not like you. I'm different. I know how to control it. I'm not going to end up like—"

"Like me?" the older Morty finished, his voice low and dangerous. "You think I didn't say the same thing? You think I didn't make the same promises to myself?" He stepped closer, his eyes locked on Morty's. "But here I am. Standing in front of you. A reminder of where this all leads."

Morty's mind raced, but he refused to let the fear take hold. He had come too far, learned too much. He wasn't going to let some twisted version of himself shake his confidence. He was in control. He was.

"You need to leave," Morty said, his voice cold. "I'm not like you. I'll never be like you."

The older Morty's smile faded, and for a moment, something like pity flashed in his eyes. "That's what I said too. But the multiverse doesn't care about what you want, Morty. It only cares about power. And whether you realize it or not, the power's already changing you. You're just too blinded by it to see what you're becoming."

Morty's pulse quickened, and for the first time in days, a sliver of doubt crept into his mind. Could this version of himself be telling the truth? Was the power already corrupting him, twisting him into something he didn't recognize?

Before Morty could respond, the older version of him stepped back toward the portal, his expression unreadable. "You'll see soon enough. You can't run from what you are. You can't run from the power. It's already too late."

And with that, the older Morty stepped through the portal, disappearing into the swirling vortex and leaving Morty alone in the lab once more.

Morty stood there for a long time, his heart racing, his mind spinning with the implications of what had just happened. The words of his future self echoed in his mind, louder and more insistent with each passing second.

It's already too late.

Morty took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wasn't going to let fear control him. He wasn't going to let the power control him. He was in charge. He was always in charge.

But as Morty turned back to his workbench, the doubt lingered in the back of his mind, whispering to him like a quiet, insidious voice.

And for the first time, Morty wasn't sure if he was still in control at all.

Morty stood frozen for what felt like hours, the echo of the older Morty's words bouncing around in his head. His mind raced, trying to grasp the enormity of what had just happened. The lab was eerily quiet now, the hum of his machines a distant sound in the background. The reality of what he had seen—what he had become—pressed down on him like an unbearable weight. The version of himself that had stepped through that portal wasn't some random alternate dimension Morty. He had felt the connection between them, the same multiversal energy thrumming in both of their veins.

I'm not like him, Morty thought, his fists clenched at his sides. I'm different.

But that voice in the back of his head—the one he had been ignoring for weeks—was louder now, cutting through his attempts at self-reassurance. Was he really different? He had told himself from the beginning that he wouldn't let the power corrupt him, that he would control it. Yet, with each day, the line between control and obsession had blurred, and Morty couldn't even see how far he had crossed it.

He sat back down at his console, staring blankly at the screen in front of him. The older Morty's visit had left him shaken, but the logical part of his mind screamed at him to dismiss it, to keep going. That's just one version of me, he reasoned. I'm smarter than him. I'm more careful. I won't let the power take me over.

But the truth was, Morty couldn't ignore the signs. The sleepless nights, the relentless pursuit of knowledge, the detachment from everything he had once cared about—it had all been slowly building up, consuming him. And the worst part? Morty hadn't even noticed the change until it was too late.

He glanced at the remnants of his latest experiment. The device that allowed him to manipulate the minds of others sat on the table, glowing faintly in the dim light. It was a masterpiece, something Rick would have been impressed by—if Rick were still part of his life. The thought of Rick—his old life—made Morty pause. How long had it been since he'd thought about them? His family? Rick?

It had been easy to push them out of his mind, to pretend they didn't matter anymore. After all, Morty had told himself he was better off alone. But now, as he sat in the cold isolation of his lab, the emptiness gnawed at him. He had power beyond anything Rick had ever dreamed of, but what had he really gained? What was he using it for?

Morty shook his head violently, trying to dispel the creeping doubt. He had made his choice. There was no turning back now. This was the path he had chosen—power, control, freedom from the constraints of his old life. He had sacrificed everything to become more than just a Morty.

But was he becoming too much?

The nightmares had returned with a vengeance over the last few nights. They were vivid, terrifying images of the future—the same future his older self had warned him about. In the dreams, Morty saw himself standing over the ruins of entire dimensions, his eyes glowing with the corrupted energy that now flowed through him. The multiverse bent to his will, but it came at a price—everything around him was twisted, broken, lifeless.

In those dreams, Morty was alone.

And then there were the creatures—horrific, twisted versions of himself, lurking in the shadows of the collapsing realities. They whispered to him, taunting him, reminding him that the power wasn't his to control. That it would eventually consume him, just like it had consumed them.

Morty woke from those dreams in a cold sweat, but he always dismissed them as just that—dreams. He couldn't afford to be afraid. Not now. He had come too far to let fear dictate his actions.

But the more Morty tried to ignore the warning signs, the more they clawed at him. The shaking in his hands had grown worse, the headaches more frequent. The energy was still there, humming beneath the surface, but now it felt different—unstable. It responded to his commands, but not as easily as it once had. It felt heavier, more difficult to control, as though the power itself was resisting him.

And the more Morty tried to push through, the more the energy pushed back.

He had learned so much in the past few weeks, discovering new ways to manipulate the fabric of reality, to create and destroy at will. But with each new discovery, there had been a cost—a small piece of himself slipping away, unnoticed in the frenzy of his work. His moral compass, once shaky but still present, had all but disintegrated.

The thought made Morty pause, a cold chill running down his spine. When did I stop caring about the consequences?

He glanced at the mind-control device again, his fingers hovering over it. It had been a triumph when he first built it—a testament to his newfound power. He had convinced himself that it was for research, for understanding how the multiverse affected consciousness. But the truth was, Morty had enjoyed using it. He had enjoyed the feeling of control, of bending someone's thoughts, their very will, to his own. And it scared him.

I'm not like him, Morty repeated to himself, but the words felt hollow now. He could feel the power slipping through his fingers, like sand in an hourglass. The more he tried to hold onto it, the more it seemed to control him, warping his thoughts, his actions.

Morty stood up abruptly, pacing the lab, his heart racing. He needed to do something—needed to prove to himself that he was still in control. That he wasn't like the twisted version of himself that had stepped through that portal. He wasn't a monster. He could stop anytime he wanted. He wasn't corrupted.

But as Morty moved toward the console, his hands trembling, he couldn't shake the gnawing sense that it was already too late. The older Morty's words echoed in his mind, louder now, more insistent.

The power's already bending you.

"No," Morty whispered to himself, his voice shaking. "I'm not like you. I'm in control. I'm in—"

The portal gun on the workbench beeped again, cutting him off. Morty's heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting toward the device. Another portal? Who was it this time? Rick? Evil Morty?

His hands hovered over the portal gun's interface, but he hesitated. He had built his sanctuary to be untraceable, but the fact that two different versions of himself had already found him was unnerving. What if this portal wasn't someone looking for him? What if it was something worse?

Morty's fingers twitched, his mind racing with possibilities. The energy inside him pulsed, urging him to act, to take control. But for the first time, Morty hesitated. He was starting to realize that maybe—just maybe—he was no longer the one in control.

Before he could decide, the portal flickered to life, and a figure stepped through.

It was another version of him, but this one was even more distorted, more twisted than the last. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, and his body seemed to flicker, like he wasn't fully anchored to reality.

This Morty—the monster he had become in his nightmares—looked at him with a knowing, cruel smile.

"You're getting there," the twisted Morty said, his voice a guttural rasp. "You're almost like me. Almost ready to let the power take everything."

Morty's breath caught in his throat as he backed away, his heart pounding in his chest. "No… no, I'm not like you."

But even as he said it, Morty felt the cold weight of the truth settle over him.

I'm already halfway there.

The twisted Morty laughed, the sound grating and hollow. "You can't fight it. You're not in control, Morty. You never were. The power—our power—is in control now. And the more you resist, the stronger it gets."

Morty's back hit the wall, his eyes wide with terror as the twisted version of himself loomed over him.

"I won't… I won't let it," Morty whispered, but his voice shook with doubt.

The twisted Morty's smile widened. "You already have."

Morty's world tilted, and for the first time, he realized just how far he had fallen. The power wasn't just bending him—it had already consumed him. He had been blind to it, convinced that he could handle it, that he was in control. But now, staring into the twisted reflection of himself, Morty could see the truth.

And it terrified him.

The portal flickered behind the twisted Morty, but before Morty could react, the figure disappeared, leaving him alone once again. The lab was quiet, the hum of his machines a distant sound, but the silence felt oppressive, suffocating.

Morty sank to the floor, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The doubt that had been gnawing at him for weeks now consumed him whole.

He wasn't sure if he was still himself anymore.

And worse, he wasn't sure if he ever would be again.

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