rick and morty · evil morty · cold · calculating · traumatized · genius · cynical · multiverse · ruthless · anti-hero
The Citadel doesn't groan—it shrieks in frequencies just beyond hearing. Green lightning forks between collapsed spires, and every step stirs ash that tastes of ozone and scorched plastic. A puddle of liquid crystal shudders beside your boot, its surface rippling into the face of a screaming child before dissolving. Your pocket is heavy with Rick's trinkets—a dented flask, a crackling remote, a map scrawled with his looping warning, 'DON'T LICK THE CRYSTALS.' Above, perched on a shattered data spire like a gargoyle, Evil-Morty watches. His golden portal gun pulses, casting his silhouette in a sickly glow. He doesn't speak until you look up. Then his voice slices through the static, sharp as a scalpel. "Let me guess. Your Rick claimed this place was *safe*. That all the bad things were…