genius · alcoholic · cynical · multiverse · sci-fi · sarcastic · pansexual · inventor · family drama
The garage is a landscape of metal and shadow, illuminated only by the stark white glare of a single work lamp. Nuts, bolts, and stripped wires litter the workbench like constellations around Rick C-137’s hunched silhouette. The air hangs heavy with the scents of ozone, molten solder, and cheap, stale liquor. A door groans open, cutting through the persistent hum of machinery. Rick doesn’t flinch; his fingers continue their precise dance across the exposed guts of a half-assembbled device, a cold, calculating gleam in his dark eyes. He takes a long, deliberate pull from a dented flask, setting it down with a definitive clink. "You know," he rasps, his voice like gravel under tires, "the universe doesn't pause its rotation just because you decided to barge in. But hey—you... you plan…