Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Campaign Manager Morty

A riled up crowd cheering for a mass murderer.
If only they knew.
If only this ignorant crowd understood what lay beneath that fake smile was something sinister and vile. That Morty that walked down those ropes, shaking hands and kissing babies just to hide the truth of what he’s done.. it all made Campaign Manager Morty sick to his stomach. His insides turned as Candidate Morty turned to him and greeted him with such feigned sincerity.
It was all a lie. Every bit of it. And he helped him get this far in the election.
He helped this monster stay on the board even through the worst of it all, through the doubts and the discouragement the Morty Party always received, through the insults and dehumanization and the mockery.

Candidate Morty may have fired him, but it didn’t erase everything the Manager had done. His doubts in this Morty’s success didn’t change the fact he at one point believed in this guy wholeheartedly.
And now, to know that the Candidate he had vouched for had an agenda to dismantle everything the Citadel stood for..
He had no choice but to take him down before it was too late.

As their hands locked together in a firm shake, and Candidate Morty asked him if he’d gotten a new job, the entire world around Campaign Manager Morty seemed to slow down.
This was it, his only real and final chance.

“Yeah, assassinating you,” Manager Morty responded to Candidate Morty’s disingenuous inquiry with venom as lethal as the gun he pulled, yanking the other Morty forward as he pressed the barrel to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

There was no chance for Candidate Morty to respond, brain matter, blood, and bits of skull ejecting from the back of his head. Though he was dead instantly, the Manager made absolutely certain he would be, firing over and over again into the Morty’s quivering and bloodied body until he was stopped by the paralyzing electricity of a taser to his chest.

The Service Ricks that had been surrounding Candidate Morty were quick to take down the Campaign Manager and apprehend him while they attempted to do crowd control and call in a medical Rick. The mob, shocked and appalled, both Ricks and Mortys alike, were breaking into a frenzy.
Juggling Rick -- who had been fully aware of everything happening as he stood next to Campaign Manager Morty and watched him as he was tackled to the ground and cuffed -- used the confusion to slip out of the crowd unnoticed. Assuring himself unaccountable for the assassination he helped orchestrate. Juggling Rick left Campaign Manager Morty to take the full blame, leaving proud of himself while the Morty was taken away.

“Wait, you don’t understand!”
His protests didn’t actually matter, these Ricks were going to dispose of him. Even if they hadn’t cared much about the Morty Party, this Morty still attacked and murdered someone of ’relative importance’ in a public area. Some sort of base standard for public appearance of order needed to be kept on the Citadel.

The Service Ricks tossed Campaign Manager Morty into the air lock chamber where he would inevitably be shot into the empty void of space. The Morty had little energy left in him after the beating he took, his whole face hurt and he could barely hold himself up to speak what he assumed would be his final words, “He.. he had to be stopped, he couldn’t be allowed to win.”

“Yeah yeah, congrats. I’m sure a whooole lot of Ricks would have loved to thank you for doing what they didn’t have the balls to do,” one of the Ricks responded, reaching for the button to lock the doors and finish the job.

He was stopped by the other Service Rick who placed an arm on his shoulder, listening in on an incoming message in his earpiece, “Hold up.”

Campaign Morty, realizing he wasn’t dead yet, sat up to watch the two Ricks seeming to discuss his execution quietly. What was happening? Why were they hesitating? Did they finally understand?

Then one of them spoke up, “Looks like you’re in luck, kid.” He came over to the Morty again and forcefully dragged him to his feet.

“W-what do you mean?” Campaign’s throat felt dry, and it took everything he had to keep his legs from shaking as he was escorted out of the chamber and herded back through the halls he had just been carried through.

“You’re not dying today,” was the only response he received.

Campaign Morty was surprised, but wouldn’t question it, just as happy to be allowed to live. Thankful even to these Ricks. Certainly he had questions, though it took enough effort to steady his breathing and keep himself from letting the tears come. Campaign Morty had been numb since he shot Candidate Morty, caught between the pain of murdering another Morty and the expectation that he was going to die after what he had done.
There was still a chance he would be killed, that maybe once they got whatever it was they still wanted from him they would get rid of him. That’s how it always was, once a Morty outlived his purpose he was as good as dead.

Campaign Morty dragged his feet even as he was shepherded out of the doors of the facility he had been taken to and walked down the stairs until he reached the street. He was greeted by a limo of sorts, a very fancy and official looking car that brought a bit of dread to Campaign Morty. The Morty looked to the Rick’s that stood on either side of him, a bit nervous though he desperately tried not to show it.

When they nodded in confirmation and encouragement, Campaign Morty took in a deep breath, and opened the car door, stepping inside.

Rookie Cop Rick

He couldn’t understand.
How could he be let off with nothing more than what equated to a slight warning?
Rookie Cop Rick was released so quickly from his restraints and told that the lives he had taken didn’t matter.

“It was just a bunch of Mortys no one really gave a shit about,” they told him like he had done everyone a favor. Like he had exterminated a few pests. Especially when he brought up his partner, the Morty he had worked with only to be forced to shoot him right between the eyes.
It was almost like the rest of the crew on the force was glad to see that Morty dead and gone. Rookie Rick had to be privy to a bunch of jokes made at the expense of his partner as he left the vicinity and the news spread around the building. There were even a couple Ricks who high fived over that ‘cocky little fat bastard’ being ousted.

Rookie Rick didn’t feel right about hearing any of it. He barely felt right about having to kill his partner and watch first hand how horrible the system was.
He couldn’t sleep that night knowing the only thing he was told he had done wrong was lose the force a cut of their money. Even that barely mattered to them, which was obvious when they said another Morty would just take Big Morty’s place and they’d have a new source of extra income by tomorrow. Ricks were taking bets on how long it would take for a new Morty to replace Big Morty. They were all in on this. All of them had had a stake in the money his partner was making off of murdering other Mortys.

It wasn’t right. None of it was right.
And just like that, tomorrow he was already going to get a new partner. Rookie Rick had no idea what to expect. He was almost scared of getting someone worse.

Lying awake, he held a portable radio in his hands, listening to the nightly news talk about the results of the election and the assassination of the Morty Party Candidate.

They never stood a chance, did they?

Rick knew that. In the back of his head he always knew they didn’t have a single chance in hell. He had never expected a Morty to ever win, but something about knowing now how all of those Mortys were stuck in such an unfavorable position because of Ricks just like him.. Rookie Rick felt like the guilt of every Rick on the Citadel was weighing on his chest.

Campaign Manager Morty

“You want me to be.. your Morty?” Campaign Morty had simply repeated the words that were spoken to him, still in shock and uncertainty.

To be fair, he could barely believe who he was sitting across from in that limo. At first he had thought he was just seeing things wrong. After all, he was struggling to properly see with half of his face swollen around his eye.
There they were, just talking to him like he suddenly mattered to the Rick Party, the new President formerly known as Retired General Rick, and next to him the Rick who had hired him previously; Juggling Rick.

“I saw what you did out there, kid! Clearly you liked my campaign and followed my suggestion,” President Rick spoke while sitting back so casually, sipping on a bottle of beer.

Still a bit wary of who he was in the car with, he glanced towards Juggling Rick without really answering. After all, ‘More lasers!’ wasn’t exactly why Morty had shot the Candidate of the Morty Party.

President Rick took note, “Relax, Morty. I know mister Juggler here hired you! That’s why I’m appointing him as a sort of.. vice president. You both made a good political move and I think proactive fighters like you deserve high positions in my presidential agenda.” He laughed then, causing the Rick next to him to follow suit and compliment Campaign Morty on what a good job he did.

The little Manager stayed quiet for the moment, eyes narrowing into a glare at Juggling Rick. He could bring up how that man left him to die out there, and how in the end he didn’t really do anything.
But he wouldn’t.
Campaign Manager Morty was smarter than that, and wanted to view this as an opportunity. And maybe a way out of his previous life. Still, he had to ask, “You.. won the popular vote, didn’t you? You could have any Morty you want, why pick me?”

“Because you picked the right side. You know what’s right for the Citadel,” President Rick idly turned the bottle in his hand, letting the alcohol inside slosh around as he stared unblinking at the Morty. “Think of it as a grand statement, having a Morty like you at my side.”

“Oh yeah, we’re really going to show the Morty Party once and for all!” Juggling Rick added on, tossing a couple of marbles between his hands as he spoke, “The Morty who killed their fucking king sitting in a position of power next to a Rick. Let’s see them bounce back from that, huh?”

“They’ll finally understand their rightful place on the Citadel and stop trying,” President Rick nodded, “You belong next to a Rick, not a Morty.”

Campaign Morty fell completely silent. He didn’t like where this was going.
He didn’t really want the Morty Party to give up, even if in his gut he knew how hopeless it all was. They were right, in their own way. Mortys belonged beside Ricks, not above them.
Maybe.. if the other Mortys saw that, they would find Ricks and live happier lives. Maybe they wouldn’t have to live alone fighting the system if they could just work with it. Maybe Morty Town wouldn’t have to be a thing if they all just found Ricks to keep them afloat.

“..Alright,” Campaign Morty extended his hand, finalizing his decision.

That was all President Rick needed. He grasped the Morty’s hand in a strong shake that sealed their fate, “Welcome aboard, my Morty.”

Rookie Cop Rick

Morning.
Rookie Rick stood outside of Cafe Sanchez once more with a coffee in hand, awaiting his new partner. It was almost like a sense of deja vu as a cop car drove up with his newly assigned partner inside.

The only difference was, when he opened the door this time, he had been expecting a Morty. When there wasn’t one in that driver’s seat, Rookie Rick could only utter a quiet and disappointed “Oh.”

“Well come on, Rookie, get in!” the Cop Rick gestured, clearly impatient.

Silently, Rookie Rick slid into the seat, shut the door, and placed his untouched coffee in the cupholder. He almost couldn’t breathe, the feeling that now populated this car much different. It was almost too relaxed. Rookie Rick was now hyper aware of his changed demeanor towards having a Rick as a partner. It was unconscious trust in the ability of his partner, less feeling of condescension towards them, less feelings of a need to protect them.

Rookie Rick was now fully aware of how.. wrong these feelings were, how blatantly unfair they were.

His new partner seemed to be listening intently to the radio for any activity while he drove down the street, inhaling on a cigarette. Rookie Rick couldn’t really tune in himself, it was all just meaningless static right now to his ears.

On the sidewalks as they drove by were Pride Mortys that had previously been excitedly parading through here, now hugging each other with tear-filled eyes and tearing down their own motivational signs in acceptance of the death of their leader and the loss of the election. A few supportive Ricks seemed to stand by them, offering hugs of their own and carefully washing the paint from their Morty’s faces. Rookie Rick couldn’t help watching all of them out the side window, some of the Pride Mortys running away a bit fearfully at the sight of the cop car, the Ricks shooting glares at the Cop Ricks and protectively pulling their Mortys to them.
These Ricks and Mortys didn’t.. seem to like them much.

Was it always this way?

Suddenly Rookie Rick was pulled away from his open-mouthed trance by the voice of his partner, “Sad sacks of shits, aren’t they?”

Rookie Rick was slow to turn his head, having trouble looking away, “Y-yeah, they seem pretty devastated by the loss.”

Cop Rick blew a stream of smoke out the window, tossing his cigarette out with it, “Don’t know what they’re so disappointed about, a Rick won, they knew that would happen. They better get over their whiny asses and accept the truth, we live in a Rick Citadel.”

Rookie Rick found himself quickly growing uncomfortable. But why? This Rick wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. Just stating facts. It’s not like anything was different, Ricks were always the ones in charge. What changed?
He chose his words carefully, starting to feel the hair on his neck stand on end, “I think they’re upset their president-to-be was killed, sir.”

“Oh yeah, killed by a Morty! Funny shit, right? Not even the Morty Party wanted the Morty Party to win,” the Cop let out an ardent laugh, causing Rookie Rick to tensely shift his legs in his seat. He found himself looking out the window again just to hide the intensity of the scowl forming on his face.

He must have been silent for too long because the Cop Rick was speaking again, “Hey, you’re the Rick that offed his partner aren’t ya? You get it. Mortys don’t belong on the force, we run this town, and the Rick I voted for knows what’s up! Soon it’ll just be all Ricks.”

Rookie Rick’s face was heating up in actual anger. How dare this bastard bring up his partner right to his fucking face? And he dared act like Rookie Rick had wanted him dead. Instead of any real response, the Rookie just gritted his teeth until he could feel pain in his jaw from the force.

“Always wanted to fire that kid, throw him out. God he was a pain in the ass. Really fucked with our system, always thought he could talk back but damn! You showed that overweight little turd what happens to Mortys like him. Good job, kid,” this Cop was so serious. He meant every word he was saying, and it was disgusting.

“We’re the same age,” Rookie Rick hissed under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard it. But you’re still a rookie, don’t forget,” Cop Rick waved his hand dismissively. He didn’t seem to actually notice Rookie Rick’s flaring emotions, or remotely comprehend that his partner didn’t agree with what he was saying. And why would he? This Rick was talking like every other Rick on this Citadel. His ideals probably matched with most of the Ricks back at the precinct.

It was eye-opening how much these Ricks probably talked about that Cop Morty when he wasn’t around. Or maybe they felt empowered by the results of the election to be extra fucking assholes.

The radio sprung to life again, a Rick on the other side of the line informing them of an incident near their location they should check out. The weathered Cop Rick responded to the radio call, “We’re on it.”
And then he looked to Rookie Rick with a wide grin on his face, “Finally! Some action.”

Rookie Rick returned the look with a tentative glance of his own.
He was in for this ride whether he wanted to be or not.

Chapter Text

The Morty Gang

It was a long and arduous walk back to the Morty Boarding School, especially without Slick tagging along with them. Their feet felt heavy as they moved, weighed down by what the Wishing Portal took from them. Slick had left them feeling a bit hopeless for the life they were headed into.

Sure, today they were to be assigned to their new Ricks, but what if they didn’t graduate? What if their Ricks didn’t like them? What if they ended up in Morty Town?

When the Morty trio reached the school it was already light out and it seemed like several Ricks were shuffling into the building.

“Oh shit, we’re late!” Glasses Morty was probably the most nervous of the group, the most determined one to make sure he didn’t end up alone and in Morty town.
He was the first to start running for the door, followed by Left Handed Morty and Lizard Morty, who was able to outrun him and reach the door first.

All three of them slipped in between Ricks who gave them rather odd looks as they shoved past and headed for the auditorium.
“I hope we’re still early enough, I-I don’t want to be stuck here any longer,” the chubbier Morty of the group commented as they ran down the halls, passing Rick after Rick. Specs was eyeing every one of them with wide eyed excitement, even nervously waving at a couple. One of the Ricks raised a hand in response, almost as if to wave, but the group had already passed him by the time he could.

“We sure won’t be if I can help it,” Lizard Morty dived onto all fours and crawled up onto the ceiling, completely avoiding the crowd when he reached the double doored auditorium entrance. The Lizard literally crawled over the Ricks, who looked up in amused fascination as this bizarre Morty climbed across the door frame and across the stage room’s walls to quickly get backstage.

“W-what does he even mean? What can he do?” Specs jogged impatiently in place, realizing that him and the other Morty would have to wait behind the crowd of Ricks all trying to get through the door. They weren’t in nearly as much of a hurry as Specs and Lefty were.

Moving up behind him, stuck in the same crowd, Left Handed Morty patted his friend on the shoulder with a wary smile, “Maybe he’s just, maybe he’s going to stall them for us?”

Specs, a little relieved and hopeful, nodded to Lefty, “I hope so.”

It took them a couple minutes at least, but they made it through the doors, immediately sprinting again and not stopping until they were backstage. They were both exhausted, breathing heavily as they looked around for where to go amongst the other Morty graduates. It sounded like Headmaster Rick was yelling, probably at Lizard Morty.

“Where were you guys?” one of their classmates asked, noticing the two.

They didn’t have time to sit and chat, they both yelled “Wishing Portal!” as they ran by towards Headmaster Rick’s voice.
A few of the Mortys looked at each other in disbelief, whispering about how that place wasn’t real and they had to just be making up excuses. Maybe they didn’t really want Ricks. Maybe they were trying to skip out.

It didn’t matter, they knew where they were, they knew what they saw, and they knew what they wanted. They hoped Lizard Morty really was giving them more time.

When they found the Headmaster, he was still scolding Lizard Morty and smacking him on the head with some rolled up papers. “Do you think I’m stupid, Mr. Smith?” his tone was harsh and a bit terrifying as he talked down to the Lizard.

The Morty flinched to the hits, but shook his head, “H-honestly, it was just me! The others stayed behind!”

Specs and Lefty froze a few feet away. Was Lizard Morty trying to take some kind of blame on their behalf? They both decided to scoot back into the group of Mortys, trying not to gather any attention from their teacher.

“The report I was given this morning explicitly said there was a group of Mortys stealing from that farm. Unless you can multiply or clone yourself, which I know you can’t, you went out with some classmates of yours, after curfew, attempting to ruin the reputation of my school.”

Lizard Morty curled his tail around his feet, looking at the ground as if it could give him some kind of answer. He looked the Headmaster right in the eyes when he found it, “A-a-alright, I admit it okay! Slick was with me, b-but he, he didn’t come back. He didn’t want to be a part of this crap.”

Headmaster Rick folded his arms, scowling. Of course Slick was a part of this. “You and him both apparently, because you’re not graduating today. Get your things and leave.”

“W-what? That’s not right!” Left Handed Morty almost stepped forward, but Specs pulled him back. Luckily it was too loud for their Headmaster to hear them.
They knew they were a part of this and Lizard Morty shouldn’t be so punished, but if they volunteered as culprits to what they did last night, they could be expelled too, they both knew that.

“L..leave?” Lizard Morty squeaked out, rubbing the side of his arm, his tail drooping.

“Look, kid,” Headmaster Rick put his hand on the Lizard’s back and led him away from the other Mortys, lowering his voice as he spoke, “I know there were other Mortys with you last night. But I don’t have time for this, and let’s be real, I needed an excuse to expel you. No Rick wants a mutated Morty, they want a Morty that reminds them of their old one, not a reptile.”

Lizard Morty pulled away from his teacher, appalled and outright offended now. “My Rick made me like this! H-how is that, how is that even fair at all? I didn’t ask to be like this!”

The kid was raising his voice despite the Rick’s attempt at discretion, so the teacher quickly stopped giving a fuck, raising his voice to match the other’s yelling tone. “D-do you even know how hard it is to find a Rick for you, like you! Your passing grades, they don’t even matter, because no one wants you, you little prick! You should have stayed with your friend, made my job easier.”

Knowing where Slick went, that sentence hurt Lizard Morty twice as much as it even should have. “Y-yeah well.. well..” he tried to start, but the Headmaster didn’t care to stay for his fit. He was already turned away and headed for the main stage.

“Get out of my school, Mr. Smith,” was the only comment the Rick had left before sliding between the curtains that separated everyone from the audience of eager Mortyless Ricks on the other side. Applause could be heard as the Headmaster took the stage.

Lizard Morty could only find himself sinking to the floor against the wall. All the other Mortys were excitedly bunching up against the curtain, waiting to be called onto the stage. But he.. he was just told..
“No one wants me.”

“That isn’t true, Liz!” Specs came up to him with Lefty close behind, the two feeling safe enough to approach with the teacher gone.

“Y-yeah, he’s wrong, there has to be a Rick out there for you!” Lefty plopped down next to Lizard Morty, Specs sitting down on the other side of him.
Both of them grabbed onto either of Lizard Morty’s hands, the reptile looking back and forth at them both. They were both being so supportive as tears filled his big red eyes.

“Aw come on guys, you heard what Headmaster Rick said, didn’t you? I’m not normal, I guess I.. I don’t get a happy ending,” Lizard Morty’s voice came out forlorn. He squeezed the other Mortys’ hands in his own.

“Well, yeah.. you’re not normal but..” Left Handed Morty started.

Specs picked up the sentence from there, “But if you don’t get a Rick and get out of here, then Slick sacrificed himself for nothing! H-his wish won’t come true.”

“Maybe.. maybe I don’t need a Rick. Maybe this.. M-maybe that’s how I break out of this life. By going on without a Rick.”

“Liz, the multiverse is, it’s a big place! There can’t just be, no one. I don’t believe that,” Specs shook his head. He refused this fate for his classmate, even if there was nothing he could do about it.

From the stage, Glasses Morty could hear his dimension number called. The group hadn’t really noticed Morty after Morty beside them had been called out as they were talking. Lizard Morty mouthed ‘go’ to him, and Specs stood, struggling to let go of his comrade’s hand.

He slowly let it fall from his fingers as he backed away towards the stage. “Goodbye, Liz. Don’t give up, buddy!” he called to Lizard Morty, who waved, but said nothing further.
And then he was through the curtains, off to receive his diplomas and his new partner, his new Rick.

Left handed Morty knew he would be next, very soon. He would stay with Lizard Morty as other Mortys were called to the stage. They watched together as the number of classmates around them slowly dwindled.

“Where are you going to go after this?” Lefty couldn’t leave them in complete silence, speaking with what little time they had left together.

Already feeling alone, knowing this other Morty was going to be gone so soon, Lizard Morty wrapped his tail around the back of Left Handed Morty. “I guess, I don’t really know? I think I have to find my place in.. in Morty Town. I just hope, I hope there’s enough flies,” he responded.

“There’s probably a lot of flies there, I mean it’s, it’s a pretty gross place, from what I’ve heard,” realizing what he just said, realizing that that’s exactly where Lizard Morty would have to live, he quickly tried to say something more supportive, “Y-you know, maybe you could.. visit me and my Rick sometime? We’re still going to hang out, right?”

“Sure, I mean probably. That sounds, good,” Lizard Morty was agreeing, but he knew after this he’d probably never see either of them again. Or any of his classmates. He always heard a lot of bad things about Morty Town. Once you’re there, you never escape.
He never really thought he’d actually end up there, but he also knew it was the only safe place for Mortys like him. Mortys that no Rick wanted.

When they called Left Handed Morty to the stage, they both hugged each other tightly. Neither Morty wanted to let go. They squeezed each other so tightly they could barely breath.
“Stay safe, Liz, find a way out. For Slick!” Lefty pulled away, smiling only briefly as he saw tears fall down the other’s face. It took everything in his power to not cry too.

“For Slick,” Lizard Morty nodded as he watched his other friend slip through those curtains and out of his life.
He wouldn’t stay to watch the rest of this. The reptile was up on the walls again, crawling away from the scene. He heard applause as Lefty too received his diploma.

‘No one wants me,’ he’d painfully repeat to himself to the sounds of cheering Ricks uniting with their new Mortys as he slipped out of the building.
Jealous, hurting, he had nothing but his new life ahead of him.

 The Creepy Morty

An official looking document was slammed down onto the counter.
“Your establishment is now under Rick control, you’ll have to vacate the premises by uhh, let’s just say immediately,” the Rick looked around at the place he was standing in, clearly disgusted and disturbed, but not especially surprised by what he was seeing.

“W-w-what do you mean, Rick control? This is, do you even know where you are? This is Morty Town!” the Bartender protested, waving his arms frantically and furiously at the policeman from the other side of the counter. This Rick was obviously a cop of decent ranking. A Sergeant, the Morty could have guessed, though it didn’t stop him from arguing against the declaration.

“Yeah well, not anymore. Presidentially approved, this is bar is now Rick territory.”

“T-that can’t be right,” Bartender Morty grabbed up the piece of paper and quickly glanced over it. Seeing the approved seal and signature at the bottom, well, he was seeing it but he sure as fuck couldn’t believe it. Morty read through some of the document, noting ‘involvement in criminal affairs’ as part of the reason for the confiscation of his location.
He balled up the piece of paper and threw it at the Rick’s head, trying to keep his voice below yelling volume, “C-c-criminal affairs?! Are you kidding me? Y-you, you bastards just had a few of your men in here shooting up my place the other day, a-a-and you want to call what I do, criminal?”

“And money laundering,” the Rick added, completely ignoring the attack, clearly used to these gestures of ‘rebellion.’ “I have on good authority big money went through this place. ..Among other things,” he glanced around the building again with distaste.

“Y-yeah that your cops took part in! Y-you’re up in here eating from the palms of these Morty’s too, m-m-making money, l-lapping up the leftovers from matters you have no business in. And now, and now you’re telling me you’re going to come in here and shut me down?”

“Look, I literally do not care, take it up with our complaints department. I’m sure we have plenty of Ricks up there just begging to fight for the rights of your drug-addicted, horny little Rickless prostitutes.”

“A-are you serious?! I run a respectable establishment! A-a-and you’re insulting me, l-like you’re not drunk right now! I can smell the alcohol on your breath!” the Bartender was getting more and more worked up the more he had to listen to this lunatic of a Rick.
His yelling had gained the attention of all the other Mortys in the building, the entertainers no longer dancing, hopping down from their stations and coming forward, the waiters setting down their trays nervously, and some of the patron Mortys even standing from their seats to see what was happening. They whispered among themselves, talking about hearing of being shut down and causing distress to the employed Mortys in the group.

Sure cops came through here often, but usually only to talk to Big Morty or supply The Creepy Morty with booze. Now that Big Morty was dead, and a new Rick was assigned to be president of the Citadel, things were changing quick. Certainly these Mortys had anticipated change, but unemployment or jail time hadn’t previously been a threat they considered.

Now there was a high-ranking cop in here, and more starting to push their way into the building through the growing Morty crowd.

“Oh yeah, speaking of,” the Sergeant Rick signaled to the cops that walked in, turning away from the Bartender, “We’re taking your alcohol.”

Bartender Morty watched in disbelief as Ricks in uniform let themselves behind his counter and started picking up his supplies. Morty protested, running after them and shaking his head, “Y-you can’t take that! You can’t even be behind here! S-stop it!”

With the Bartender distracted, one of the Waiter Mortys walked up to the Sergeant Rick and coughed a bit for his attention, “Excuse me, sir. But, w-what’s going to happen to the rest of us?”

Sergeant Rick turned to him, flipping through a clipboard with some notes, “Uhh, yeah, anyone employed here is to report to Good Cop over here,” he points his thumb to a Cop Rick that walks into the scene, “and he’ll get your numbers down so you’ll be registered to the Barkeep Rick that’s going to own this place.”

Good Cop Rick, adorned in brighter colors than the rest of the Ricks running around the building, kneeled down to be eye level with the Mortys. His eyes were bright and his smile warm, though his tone rather condescending, “Don’t worry! You’ll aaaall get to keep your jobs! No need to panic! Now tell grandpa your dimensional ID numbers and your job history, kids!”

The Mortys were nervous, especially about giving out their numbers to a Rick, let alone one on the force. This entire situation read bad news, but the Sergeant Rick standing over ‘Good Cop’ Rick with his large weapon unsheathed was intimidating enough to get the Mortys lining up. Very few of them were packing anything, they were just here to work, and not ready to fight against any Ricks.

Out of breath just from yelling at the Ricks taking his inventory, the Bartender Morty laid over the counter to huff and heckle the Sergeant again, “Y-you’re telling me, all these Mortys get to keep their jobs, but I have to leave?”

Sergeant Rick didn’t even bother looking at the Bartender this time, too busy watching over the other Mortys, “Yeup.”

“W-where am I supposed to go? This place doubles as my home! This is all I have!”

“Not my problem. Maybe you should have thought of that before and got yourself a Rick, dumbass.”

“M-my Rick is dead because one you bastards killed him a couple years back!”

“Oh yeah, wasn’t the sorry son of a bitch a Morty fucker?” now the Sergeant Rick turned to the Bartender, leaning over the counter with a haughty chuckle. “Shit, no wonder this nasty place exists. Bet you two played behind the counter all the time, huh?”

The Morty pulled himself up again, mouth agape, his face heating up in a mixture of complete fury and actual embarrassment. He was speechless, unable to argue against the accusations though legitimately hurt and upset by them.
His world was falling apart around him, Bartender Morty was unjustifiably about to be homeless, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

All of his pent-up anger came out in one quick motion of a kick to one of the crates of alcohol being carried out by a Rick as they passed by, knocking it to the ground. It busted open with bottles of wine spilling broken glass and liquid all over the floor with a loud crash.
“Drink that, assholes!” Bartender Morty screamed, topping it off with two middle fingers to the entire room.

“Smooth move, genius,” Sergeant Rick responded to the stunt flatly, snapping a finger.

With that signal, the annoyed Cop Rick who’s job was just rudely interrupted picked up the Bartender by the back of his shirt. “Alright kid, come on, out you go.”

“H-hey! Put me the fuck down!” Bartender Morty kicked his legs and flailed his arms, hitting at the armored Cop with little actual damage or success. The only thing his fighting got him was a taser to the chest. He yelped, and was stunned into limp complacency as he was carried out of the building and tossed carelessly into the street.

“You’re down,” the Rick said pointedly before slamming and locking the door shut in the Bartender’s face.

Simple Rick’s Wafer Factory

“Yo, J-22B! Check you out, you ready for this boss ass interview or what, man?” Cool Rick, legs casually crossed and placed up on top of his desk as he leaned back in his office chair shot a couple of finger guns at the Rick across from him who took a seat.

Rick J-22B came in with a big grin, calmed by the demeanor of the other Rick and the shades that hid his eyes. It made ‘eye contact’ a little easier, especially with how welcoming and endearing this Rick was. This was going to be his boss! He really hoped he made a good impression.
J-22B had on a hat to cover up his bald spot, a matching suit with a warm colored tie and sweet smelling cologne. He had really tidied up for this interview, excited to be a part of the Citadel. So excited in fact, he pulled out a few page resume and placed it on Cool Rick’s desk, “O-oh yeah! I have all my paperwork right here for you to look over if-”

“Hold up, lemme see that,” Cool R grabbed for the bundle of paper and whipped it out in front of him, tilting his sunglasses just so to read over what was in front him. ‘Read’ being used incredibly loosely, he pretended to read it briefly before grinning at the other Rick and pulling out a lighter. “Nah nah, you don’t need this man, Cool Rick doesn’t do resumes,” he said with a flick of the lighter, catching the edges of the paper on fire. He let it burn a few seconds before tossing it into a nearby trashcan, a trashcan which incinerated its contents in a rather dramatic display anyway.

J-22B was a bit stunned, confused, and actually a little bit enthralled by Cool Rick’s antics. Cool R used his stunned silence to keep talking, “You’re a Rick! You’re a smart guy, we know you’re qualified around here. The real question is, what can this job do for you, J-22B?”
The man pulled out two martini glasses, holding them in his hand has he poured vodka in each one.

Rick J-22B eyed the alcohol with wide-eyed excitement, feeling relaxed around this Rick. This really wasn’t what he expected, having his hopefully soon-to-be boss sliding him alcohol and acting like he already had the job. It was almost too good to be true.

“Well..” He picked up the martini glass, Cool R holding his own out so they could tap their glasses together with a clink before they both chugged the alcohol in one quick motion. When they both slammed their glasses down, J-22B continued, “I heard there’s a lot of opportunities here! Y-you know, I had, I was told this place is great, you work your way up and you get to sample the wafers. And I think, you’ll love to know about my experience in management. Ten years!”

Cool Rick practically leapt off of his office chair so he could walk over to J-22B and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “What did I tell you? We don’t need resumes around here, you work hard and prove yourself, and someday you could own this place,” a blatant lie.
Of course, Cool R had no trouble lying, especially to a sucker Rick like this. All he had to do was fill the position, didn’t matter how.

“Yeah? I always thought I would make a damn good CEO,” J-22B’s eyes lit up while he spoke, feeling really confident that he was securing this job as he looked up at Cool Rick. He’d never really had the funds, or opportunities to run his own company. The Citadel had lured him in with the idea that maybe he could here. Maybe Rick J-22B would do well at a place like this.

“And you will! What would you say to signing on to an easy breezy job like this, huh dawg? Start on your journey to a rad career, already!” Cool Rick placed a new packet of paper in front of J-22B. One that looked quite literally like a contract. And it was, it would keep Rick J-22B on the Simple Rick’s Wafer’s team for years to come.

J-22B, ignorant to the system, to the Rick who’s job he was replacing -- just an iteration off from his own universe -- to the details of the contract he was signing as Cool Rick poured him another glass of liquor and filled this Rick with promises and lies until his signature was finished and this man could no longer back out. He had signed away his rights and his soul and he was too mesmerized by the impression of promised glamor that the Citadel sold him.

Placing the pen down, Rick J-22B looked to Cool Rick with eagerness, “And the job comes with benefits, yeah?”

Cool Rick quickly had the contract in his hands again when J-22B finished signing, shooting the Rick another fingergun as he circled around his desk to file the papers inside of a drawer, “Oh yeah, you know it, my main Rick man! Mandated by the Citadel itself. That’s the great part about being a part of this place, the Citadel has your back!”
That part wasn’t a lie, Cool Rick legitimately thought the Citadel had the backs of the Ricks that lived there, he was just fortunate to be one of the more privileged residents with the right connections who made it out on top. After all, he was Cool Rick!

While Rick J-22B took a sip of the newly filled alcohol in front of him, Cool R added in a question, “You’re new to the Citadel of Ricks, aren’t ya?”

“Sure am! Like, brand new. I had no idea a place so amazing existed!” And he was serious. A Rick had come to him to inform him of new opportunities.
What J-22B didn’t know, was that this informant was just another employee of Simple Rick’s Wafer Factory looking to replace the late J-22 that now powered the Flavor Core of the factory.

“Well then welcome aboard, and congratulations, bro! Cool Rick knows a special Rick when he sees one, you’re hired! You start tomorrow,” Cool R stuck out his hand, not to shake, but to fist bump. Perhaps those sunglasses that hid his eyes made it easier to lie, or maybe they made those lies easier to believe. “You’ll have your benefits package sent to your address by morning.”

Rick J-22B placed both his hands around that fist and shook it with such vigor, the biggest smile on his face, “W-wow! Thank you so much, sir! I won’t let you down, you’ll see! You won’t regret this.”

The cycle repeats itself yet again.

 Campaign Manager Morty

“You did a good job, Morty, sharing this with us.”

Campaign Manager Morty found his hair being patted as he stared off into the distance. No.. Campaign Manager? That wasn’t right anymore. He wasn’t really managing campaigns at this point, was he? Being Morty to the president of the Citadel.. he was something more akin to First Morty.
That title almost made him feel special. It was.. empowering.

“Yes, Rick,” First Morty responded to the praise in a humdrum tone. He looked over the room of Ricks before him sat around the table, most all of them nodding in agreement and encouragement that Morty had made a good choice.

The moment First Morty had handed over that envelope of evidence he had been given against the Candidate Morty, President Rick had called a meeting with the various district leaders of the Citadel, the Ricks that acted like a secondary Council. They had all gathered in their usual seats, so familiar with the setting and comfortable where they sat. It was clear every district manager there was on the highest horse possible, it was like a club of egotistical, power-high assholes.

On the other hand, the setting, both the room and the group of Ricks in it, were highly unfamiliar to First Morty. He felt out of place here, like he was being infantilized just by the looks these Ricks gave him. While legally, he was a now an official part of the group of people who made decisions in regards to the wellbeing on the Citadel of Ricks, it was clear from the moment he was brought on that Morty wasn’t truly a part of this group. It was alienating, feeling alone in a room full of so many people.

First Morty wondered how these Ricks would have reacted to a Morty president. They seemed so welcoming to President Rick and his Vice President Juggling Rick, already accepting them into their group, the pair practically excitedly accepting their position as figure heads more than decision makers or real leaders on the Citadel.
If it was a Morty sitting in that presidential seat surrounded by guards, would he have felt as isolated and demeaned as First Morty did right now?

The papers and photos that described in detail Candidate Morty’s relation to the Rickocide incident previously connected to the excess of Rickless Mortys stuck on the Citadel had been copied and passed around to each district leader sitting at the table. They read through them and talked amongst themselves, some amused by a Morty attempting something they obviously couldn’t handle. First Morty found himself uncomfortable by the Ricks who laughed about another Morty being his downfall.

One of the Ricks even looked at First Morty and tried to ask him how it felt to be on top after sucking this guy’s dick for so long through elections, though First Morty couldn’t really hear the question, his whole body going numb.

Art District Rick stood and tried to gather everyone’s attention, gesturing with one hand while the other adjusted his glasses, “Alright, alright, we have this information now, but the real question is, what are we doing about it?”

Simple Rick’s factory owner, otherwise known as the Industrial District Rick to the room, tipped his hat briefly to adjust his hair whilst he commented, “The Morty’s already dead, medics on site called it, what more could you want?”

“What if another one steps up? Why not stomp out the Morty problem?” Garment District Rick suggested, a terrifyingly smug look on his face. Or perhaps First Morty was the only one seeing the scariness of a smile like that following a statement like that.

That’s when President Rick spoke up, saluting as he stood -- likely a residual habit from his time in the military forces on the Citadel, “This is exactly why I’ve drafted a plan to upgrade our defense systems and better train our Ricks. More Guard Ricks, a bit of reformation to the way we handle our justice system, and more security measures will prevent another C-137 incident or a Morty uprising.”

“I second it,” Weapons Defense District Rick agreed with little hesitation, leaning back in his chair. It wasn’t surprising he would agree, given its his business to make sure the Citadel remained defended.

The Vice President stood next to them both, juggling a few different weapons for show, “Now I think, with a full on customs system requiring Ricks and Mortys who pass through here to be properly registered, we’ll have waaaay-” he tosses one of the guns extra high to match his speech pattern, “-more control over who comes in and out, giving us more control over a projectedly increasing amount of dimensions.”

Most of the Ricks in the room actually seemed entertained by Juggling Rick’s showmanship, at least enough to be listening to what he was saying. First Morty wondered if Ricks were easily entertained or if they just didn’t have enough joy in their lives. Maybe a bit of both.

“..How are we going to afford an increase in government staff? We’re still suffering from the cost of rebuilding the Citadel,” Records District Rick was obviously one of the more skeptical Ricks in the room, though he had to be. After all, a lot of what he oversaw was financial matters and the documentation of Ricks and Mortys registered with the Citadel. He could see the immediate strain this would put on his sector.

Upon this note of financial issue, a few other Ricks in the room suddenly agreed, looking to the Presidential duo for an answer.

“Simple!” VP Rick caught all three weapons in one hand, tossed up what seemed to be a Morty doll, and fired one of the pistols at it, all without even looking. “We get rid of Morty Town,” like punctuation to his sentence the doll disintegrated upon impact with the projectile, bits of ash and fluff falling to the ground.

“M-morty Town?” First Morty practically yelled in shock at the proposal, hoping the implications of what ‘Juggling’ Rick just presented weren’t to be interpreted as literal. “W-what do you mean?”

Even some of the Ricks seemed a bit unsure as they looked towards each other, though others in the group were clearly on board and eager to hear more.

The Vice President continued, leaning over the table, “If we’re worried about those Rickless bastards standing up to us, then we make sure not a single Rickless bastard is left on this Citadel.”

Records District Rick seemed focused on a tablet, typing some numbers into a calculator, “That area does have its own economy and flowing business, if we made more efficient use of our space by turning the locations back over to Rick ownership, we could adjust where the flow of money is going.”

“Morty Town is bad for tourism anyway, Ricks don’t like to see Morty’s in ‘peril’,” Shopping District Rick raised his fingers just to make air quotes and roll his eyes as he spoke. “We get rid of the Rickless, our Citadel looks better, we get more money flowing in.”

“But.. What will happen to the Mortys?” First Morty placed his hands on the table, looking to each Rick in genuine concern.

His question was responded to with a roar of laughter from most of the Ricks in the room. Only a couple of them seemed to tug at their collars, actually a bit concerned themselves for what would happen to the Mortys.

President Rick gave First Morty another rough pat on the head, even he was laughing. “What did I tell you guys, isn’t he a riot? Cute little fucker.”

First Morty’s face heated up and he stepped back. He didn’t really understand what they were laughing about, it felt like a legitimate concern.

“The little assassinator, pretending he cares about Mortys!” One of the Ricks was having a fit of laughter over that fact and it clicked for First Morty.
These Ricks thought he didn’t care about Mortys. Maybe not even at all. Was that the impression everyone got from his act of justice? The ex-campaign manager had done it to protect the Citadel, for both Ricks and Mortys alike. But it was becoming clear that everyone thought he had done it out of some need to keep Ricks on top.

Did he make a bad choice? Would it have been better to risk letting Candidate Morty survive and win? What if he hadn’t won and been alive still, would the damage to the standing of Mortys on the Citadel been so socially and politically severe?
First Morty stepped back further, distancing himself from the group both mentally and physically.

“Don’t you worry, fellas, we have an extensive plan for the Rickless,” President Rick continued speaking to the group so warmly. He was so happy while talking about such a dark subject, like it meant nothing to him.

It was worse when his Vice President immediately added, “Not that any of you were worried!” and the group chuckled to themselves again.

Morty couldn’t listen to this any more. He had to figure out what he was going to do.. he had to.. he..
He hadn’t realized he had backed up until he smacked into the window. He turned to look out over the buildings below and the Ricks and Mortys walking the streets. He couldn’t be a part of this.
All of a sudden his vision was blurring. Morty squeezed his hand to his forehead as a pain shot through his temple. He wasn’t sure where the pain came from, or what it meant.

The only thought that circled through his mind was ’Acta non verba.’