A Genius Morty

Rick Sanchez leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed as he stared at the holographic display in front of him. His lab was dimly lit, save for the flickering blue light from the monitor casting long shadows across the cluttered workspace. He took a long, thoughtful sip from his flask, the sharp burn of the alcohol barely registering anymore. His mind was too preoccupied with something far more perplexing—Morty.

The kid had been acting strange. Stranger than usual, anyway. Morty wasn't the most reliable, mentally stable, or particularly sharp tool in the shed, but Rick had always counted on his grandson's predictability. His constant whining, stumbling, and overall lack of intelligence were practically the backdrop of their adventures. But lately? Something was off. Morty wasn't just acting a little more confident, or having a growth spurt—he was different. And Rick didn't like it.

Rick frowned, swirling the liquid in his flask as he replayed recent events in his head. Morty had shown remarkable agility during their last trip to the Plutonian Crystal Dimension. Faster reflexes, sharper reactions. He'd even taken down a couple of hostile aliens on his own with a level of efficiency that was completely unlike him. And the way he'd disarmed that one attacker with barely a second's hesitation? That was no fluke.

More than that, Morty had been talking differently too. More assured, more precise. It was subtle, but Rick noticed everything. The way Morty had shrugged off complex ideas without his usual stammering, the way he had fixed the toaster with a casual mention of "simple physics" like it was nothing. And now, there was that ever-present sense of control radiating from him, like Morty was playing a game where he knew the rules better than anyone else. Morty wasn't supposed to know the rules.

"Something's not right," Rick muttered to himself, slamming his flask down on the table with a metallic clang. His eyes narrowed further as he pulled up a 3D model of Morty's vital signs from the last week, the digital outline of his grandson's body rotating slowly on the screen. His pulse rate, body temperature, and even his REM sleep cycles all looked perfectly normal. Too normal.

Rick wasn't stupid. He'd been through this song and dance before. Clones, alternate versions, body snatchers—it wouldn't be the first time something—or someone—was pretending to be Morty. It wasn't that Rick thought Morty couldn't change, but this was different. This was too drastic, too fast. It didn't add up, and Rick didn't trust it. Morty's sudden competence couldn't be coincidence.

Which was why Rick had decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Alright, Morty," Rick said, leaning forward in his chair. "You wanna play games? Let's see how you handle this."

Rick stood up and walked toward the back of the lab, where a series of high-tech medical devices were stacked against the wall. He grabbed one of them—a sleek, silvery object resembling a handheld scanner—and made his way upstairs, his steps unnervingly quiet for a man so often drenched in chaos. The house was dark, and a quick glance at the clock told him it was well past midnight. Perfect timing.

Morty was asleep, Rick was sure of that. Over the years, he had learned every detail about his grandson's sleep patterns, right down to the timing of his snores. Morty was a deep sleeper, which made this the perfect opportunity for Rick to conduct his little test.

As he approached Morty's room, Rick paused at the door. The soft sound of Morty's breathing came through the thin walls. Rick pushed the door open a fraction, just enough to see Morty's sleeping form sprawled out on the bed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Everything seemed normal—too normal.

Rick didn't waste any time. He slipped into the room, moving with a grace and stealth that would have surprised anyone who didn't know him. His eyes flicked to the corners of the room, making sure there were no hidden cameras or traps. Not that he expected Morty to be hiding anything like that—after all, Morty had no idea Rick was onto him.

Right?

Rick hovered over Morty's bed, the scanner in his hand humming faintly as he held it above Morty's head. This was no ordinary scanner, of course. Rick had customized it specifically for detecting anomalies in brainwave activity, genetic irregularities, or any other indication that the person in front of him wasn't who they seemed to be. If this wasn't the real Morty, the scanner would know. It always knew.

Rick moved the device slowly, the scanner's soft glow illuminating Morty's face in the darkness. He watched the readings carefully as they appeared on the small screen: brainwave patterns, electrical impulses, synaptic activity—all normal. Morty's DNA signature was perfectly aligned with his previous records. Even his REM sleep cycles were exactly as they had been for the past eighteen years.

Rick frowned, his frustration mounting. This didn't make sense. There should have been something—anything—out of place. A spike in neural activity, an irregularity in his brain chemistry, anything that would confirm Rick's suspicions. But no. The scanner showed nothing. Morty was, by all accounts, perfectly ordinary.

And that made Rick even more suspicious.

He stepped back, running a hand through his wild hair, scowling at the results in disbelief. "Alright, you little shit," Rick muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the scanner. "You wanna play the perfect Morty act? Let's see how long you can keep it up."

As Rick turned to leave, he couldn't help but glance back at Morty one last time. The kid was still out cold, his face serene and undisturbed by the chaos brewing in Rick's mind. But Rick knew better. This wasn't over. Something was going on, something big. Morty was different, and no scanner was going to convince Rick otherwise. He would just have to dig deeper.

With one last look of suspicion, Rick silently made his way out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. He headed back down to the lab, his mind already racing with theories and contingency plans. The scanner might have shown nothing, but Rick was determined to figure this out. Whatever was happening to Morty, Rick was going to get to the bottom of it—even if he had to break the universe to do it.

As the door clicked shut behind Rick, Morty's eyes opened.

He lay there in the dark, blinking slowly as the events of the past few minutes replayed in his mind. He had felt Rick enter the room, sensed the faint hum of the scanner as it passed over him. His mind had processed it all while he slept—or at least pretended to sleep. Morty's enhanced mental state allowed him to maintain a conscious awareness even in deep rest, a skill he had developed over the past few weeks. It was just another tool in his growing arsenal, another way to stay one step ahead of Rick.

Morty let out a slow, controlled breath, careful not to make a sound as he shifted slightly in his bed. Rick was on to him. Of course he was. Morty had known it was only a matter of time before Rick's paranoia kicked in, before he started poking around, looking for answers. But Morty had planned for this. He had anticipated every possible scenario, every move Rick might make.

And this test? The scanner? Morty had seen it coming a mile away.

When he first realized his abilities were evolving, the first thing Morty did was prepare. He knew Rick would eventually suspect something was off, and when that time came, Morty couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. So, he had taken steps—careful, calculated steps—to ensure that Rick wouldn't find anything unusual. Morty had spent hours studying the intricacies of his own brainwave patterns, his DNA, his physiological markers, and he had adjusted them accordingly. It wasn't easy, even with his heightened intelligence, but he had managed to manipulate his own body and mind to appear completely normal under Rick's scrutiny.

The scanner hadn't picked up anything because Morty had made sure there was nothing to find.

But it was more than that. This wasn't just about hiding his abilities—it was about playing the long game. Morty knew that if Rick couldn't find any anomalies, it would only fuel his suspicions. It was a delicate balance. Morty had to give Rick just enough normalcy to keep him guessing, but not enough to satisfy him.

Let him wonder, Morty thought, a small, satisfied smile creeping across his face as he stared at the ceiling. Let him drive himself crazy trying to figure it out.

Morty wasn't the same kid Rick thought he knew, and soon, Rick would have no choice but to see that. But not yet. Morty wasn't ready to reveal his hand. For now, he would let Rick keep searching, keep testing, keep doubting. It was all part of the plan.

And when the time came, Morty would be ready.

With one last glance at the closed door, Morty settled back into his bed, letting his body relax as he allowed himself to slip back into sleep—this time for real.

Tomorrow would be another day of pretending to be the same old Morty. But Morty knew the truth.

He was in control now.

And Rick had no idea.

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