A Genius Morty

Morty sat slumped in his lab, his mind racing and his body heavy with exhaustion. The twisted version of himself had disappeared through the portal, but the image of that hollow-eyed reflection lingered, taunting him. He had stood face-to-face with the nightmare he feared he would become, and now the reality of it weighed on him like a crushing force. Morty knew he was teetering on the edge—his obsession with the multiversal energy, his isolation, the corruption creeping into his thoughts. It was all spiraling out of control, and for the first time, Morty was desperate for help.

But who could help him? He couldn't go back to Rick. He couldn't trust Rick to understand this—his grandfather would either laugh at him or dismiss the danger entirely. Rick thrived on chaos, on bending reality without consequence. If anything, Rick would encourage him to keep pushing further, to keep testing the limits. And that was the last thing Morty needed right now.

No. Rick wasn't an option.

But maybe… maybe the other versions of me know the way out, Morty thought, his mind latching onto the possibility with a mixture of hope and fear.

He had encountered two other versions of himself—one an older, weathered version who had warned him about the path he was on, and the other a twisted, corrupted reflection of what he could become. If there were versions of Morty who had fallen to the power, then maybe there were others who had found a way to escape it. There had to be someone—some version of Morty who had avoided the corruption, who had found balance.

Morty stumbled to his feet, his body aching from days without proper sleep or rest. His hands trembled as he activated the portal gun, scrolling through the data it had collected from the previous encounters with his older selves. He programmed the coordinates, his fingers shaking slightly as he set the portal to search for other versions of himself—ones who had resisted the power, who could guide him back from the brink.

The portal flickered to life in front of him, the green vortex swirling ominously. Morty stared into it, a pit of dread settling in his stomach. He wasn't sure what he would find on the other side, but he didn't have a choice anymore. He had to try. He couldn't let himself become the monster he had seen. He couldn't let the power consume him.

Taking a deep breath, Morty stepped through the portal.

The world on the other side of the portal was familiar yet alien. Morty found himself in what looked like another version of his home, but there were subtle differences. The walls were painted a darker color, the furniture arranged slightly differently, and there was a strange tension in the air, as if something was just off.

Morty wandered through the house cautiously, his heart racing as he scanned for any sign of himself—or rather, the version of himself that lived here. There was no one in the living room or kitchen. The house was eerily silent, and the longer Morty walked through it, the more he felt a growing sense of unease.

Suddenly, he heard a voice—a voice he recognized immediately.

It was his voice.

Morty followed the sound to the garage, his pulse quickening. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if this version of him wasn't what he was hoping for? What if this Morty had already fallen to the power, just like the others?

But he couldn't turn back now.

With a deep breath, Morty opened the door and stepped into the garage.

Inside, he found another Morty sitting at a workbench, surrounded by various tools and gadgets. This version of himself looked older, more worn, with dark circles under his eyes and a look of intense focus on his face as he tinkered with a device. He didn't look up as Morty entered, seemingly too engrossed in whatever he was working on.

"Hey," Morty said, his voice shaky as he approached. "You… you're me, right?"

The older Morty finally glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the sight of his younger self. He put down the tool he was holding and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, I'm you," he said, his voice gruff and tired. "What's this about?"

Morty hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to explain what he was going through. But he knew he didn't have time to waste.

"I—I'm losing control," Morty said, his voice breaking slightly. "The power, the multiversal energy… it's corrupting me. I can feel it. I'm trying to find a version of myself who figured out how to stop it. Someone who knows how to… to stay human while using it."

The older Morty's expression darkened, and he let out a bitter laugh. "You're looking for help, huh? Well, you came to the wrong place, buddy."

Morty's heart sank. "What do you mean?"

The older Morty stood up from the workbench, walking over to one of the shelves and pulling down a strange device. He tossed it to Morty, who barely caught it, his hands shaking. The device was old, worn, and covered in scratches, as though it had been used—and failed—many times.

"You think you can control the power

, but the truth is, none of us can," the older Morty said, pacing the garage with a heavy sigh. "I tried—just like you're trying now. I thought I was smart enough to figure out a way to harness the multiversal energy without letting it consume me. But it doesn't work like that. It never works like that."

Morty stared down at the worn device in his hands, confusion mixing with fear. He had come here hoping for answers, for a way out, but the hopelessness in this version of himself made his stomach churn.

"But… there has to be a way," Morty stammered. "I don't want to end up like the others. I saw one of them—the twisted version of me. He said it was too late, but I can't let that happen. I can't—"

The older Morty cut him off with a sharp look. "You think I didn't have the same thoughts? You think I didn't want to stay in control, to stay me?" His voice grew bitter, his face hardening. "But that's the thing, kid—you can't. The power changes you. It warps you, little by little, until there's nothing left of who you used to be."

Morty swallowed hard, his chest tightening with dread. "But you're still here. You're still… you. So you must've found a way to stop it, right?"

The older Morty's face twisted into a grim smirk. "Oh, I'm still here, alright. But not because I stopped it. I'm here because I gave up. I stopped fighting it and just… accepted what I was becoming."

Morty's heart pounded in his chest. "Accepted it? But… you don't look like the twisted version of me. You don't look like you've completely given in."

The older Morty let out a humorless laugh. "That's because I haven't fully turned yet. I'm still holding on to the last pieces of myself, but it's not gonna last much longer. Every day, it gets harder. Every day, I feel the power pulling me further away from who I used to be." He shook his head, his voice filled with resignation. "I tried to fight it at first. I thought I could control it. But the more I fought, the more I realized that the power wasn't something I could beat. So I stopped fighting."

Morty felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. "So what… you're just waiting to turn into one of those monsters? You're just letting it happen?"

The older Morty shrugged, his expression weary. "It's not like I have much of a choice. I can slow it down, maybe hold on a little longer, but in the end, it's inevitable. The multiversal energy changes you. It corrupts you. You can either accept it or lose yourself fighting it."

Morty's hands shook as he tightened his grip on the device. He had come here looking for hope, but instead, he had found only despair. He wasn't ready to give up—not yet. There had to be a way out, a way to keep himself from falling into the same fate as the others.

"There has to be something I can do," Morty said, his voice barely a whisper. "Something to stop it before it's too late."

The older Morty's eyes softened for a moment, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sympathy in his gaze. "Kid, I know how hard it is to accept this, but you're already too far gone. The fact that you're here, looking for help, means you've already been changed. You can't outrun this."

Morty's heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing. He couldn't accept that. He wouldn't accept that. There had to be something he could do, some way to break free from the path he was on.

"There's got to be someone who found a way," Morty insisted, his voice trembling with desperation. "If you couldn't, maybe someone else did. Maybe there's a version of us out there who figured it out."

The older Morty's face darkened again. "If there is, I haven't found them. And believe me, I've searched. But every version of us I've met has either fallen to the power or is just waiting for it to happen."

Morty felt the weight of his words sink into him like a stone. He had been holding on to the hope that somewhere, out there in the multiverse, there was a version of him who had beaten the odds, who had found a way to resist the corruption. But now that hope was slipping away, replaced by the cold, suffocating realization that he was on the same path as all the others.

"I'm not like you," Morty said, his voice barely audible. "I'm not going to give up."

The older Morty shook his head. "That's what we all say at first. But eventually, you'll realize that fighting it only makes it worse. The more you resist, the more it tightens its grip."

Morty stood there in silence, the older version of himself watching him with a mixture of pity and indifference. His heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't let himself believe that he was doomed to the same fate as every other version of himself.

"I won't let it take me," Morty whispered, more to himself than to the older Morty.

The older Morty sighed, shaking his head. "You already have."

Morty left the dimension with a sinking feeling in his chest. The conversation with the older version of himself had left him shaken, but it hadn't crushed his resolve completely. If anything, it had only made him more determined to find a way out.

He returned to his lab, pacing the room as he thought over everything he had learned. The multiversal energy was more powerful than he had ever imagined, and it was clear now that it had a will of its own. It wasn't just a tool to be wielded—it was something alive, something that could corrupt and control those who tried to use it.

But Morty couldn't accept that his fate was already sealed. He couldn't believe that there was no way out. There had to be a way to sever the connection, to regain control of his mind and his actions.

He had one more option—one more person who might have the answers he needed.

Evil Morty.

If there was anyone who had figured out how to navigate the balance between power and control, it was him. Evil Morty had outsmarted the Council of Ricks, dismantled the Citadel, and disappeared into the multiverse with his own agenda. He had power, yes, but he had also shown restraint, patience. He hadn't been consumed by the same reckless ambition that had plagued the other versions of Morty.

Morty grabbed the portal gun and programmed the coordinates. It was risky. Evil Morty wasn't exactly the type to offer help freely, but Morty was running out of options.

The portal flickered to life in front of him, casting a green glow over the room. Morty stared into it for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. This was his last shot—his last chance to find a way out.

Taking a deep breath, Morty stepped through the portal.

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