Chapter Text
Long after the Citadel was destroyed, a group of abandoned and/or runaway Mortys had all come together and formed a group that's now known as MORT, the Morty Organized Resistance Team. It's name was spread far and wide across the galaxy, whispered by both Mortys and Ricks.
And that was how Morty ended up at the MNet, the asteroid-turned-base that holds the members of MORT.
People liked to ignore official names a lot, though, so they usually called it the Murrow, the Morty Burrow. They also liked to ignore the name MORT if they were off the clock, and called it the MR(Morty Resistance) instead.
It was much easier to remember the word Murrow and Morty Resistance than fucking actual names. Plus, it made most Mortys feel more at home. So they stuck to Murrow.
As much as the MR liked to deny it, the Murrow was very similar to the Citadel. All it needed was to balance out the Morty-to-Rick ratio and boom, you have a new Citadel.
But nobody complained because despite the Murrow being very similar to the Citadel indeed, it had one thing that the Citadel could never have:
Freedom.
Every Morty was free to leave the Murrow whenever they want. There were no laws aside from ‘no violence, and murder, and also clean up your own mess', which was probably impossible to break due to every Morty being passive creatures.
They didn't even have a leader!
And so Morty stayed at the Murrow for a while.
He sat down on one of the benches, scrolling through his phone. One of the Mortys obsessed with programming made an app that can only be activated with a specific crystal which also needs to be jammed in your phone's charging port to work.
One might ask, “But why go through all that trouble just for some stupid app?”
Well, simple. Not only does the app connect hundreds of people across the galaxy without WiFi, but it also keeps track of stuff happening in the Murrow. Like news stations and job offers(though you don't get money).
Basically, it's a big ass, multi versal group chat, filled with different versions of yourself, along with a couple of versions of your grandfather.
Morty opened the app, and immediately clicked on the first article he saw.
[Rogue Morty Sighting in Murrow?]
A normal Morty might just call it fake news. After all, the C-137s, otherwise known as the Rogues, never cared about communities such as this. But Morty was one of the smarter Mortys.
Rogue's Morty was one of the few who talked back, one of the few who wasn't afraid of lashing out against his own Rick. Sure catching Rick C-137 himself is a guaranteed fail, but Morty C-137? That was a different story.
Morty remembered, when the Citadel was still standing, he had worked at the Citadel's gift shop. Specifically, the toy section of it. A Morty had bought a toy train, but due to new rules from the president, he had to scan his Dimension Number.
He remembers his jaw and the DN scanner dropping from the shock of it all. Rogue Morty just rolled his eyes, paid, and left without a word.
His eyes flicked across the words on the article, only to close it once he realized it's purely fake.
He grits his teeth. Another day, another fake article about Rogue Morty.
Before you get all creeped out, no, Morty is not a stalker. He was simply assigned to find and spy on Rogue Morty, as part of his job as a MORT taskforce member. Simple as that.
…
Okay, so maybe that technically counts as stalking, so what? At least this time it's legal.
—
Morty rushed to the Murrow Market, wearing the required uniform for MORT Taskforce interrogations—a full-body invisible force field, and the usual Morty attire, to erase unwanted attention. As well as a DN scanner.
He stopped in front of a shop that sold medical care. Panting, he opened his phone.
Earth R-391(Morty)
<𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘵
<𝘨𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮
<𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘵
𝘐𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘣>
𝘐𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥>
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦>
<𝘸𝘵𝘷𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘥𝘦
𝘙 𝘶 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?>
𝘐𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯>
𝘏𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦>
<𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘺
<𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳
He sighed. There was no way to differentiate between Rogue Morty and any other Morty, and he can't exactly-
“Oof!” Another Morty bumped into him. He looked up from his shoulder, “Are you-?”
“You're Morty G-374, right?”
Someone might assume that this Morty was just another average Morty, but G-374 thought otherwise. With no evidence, he schooled his expression and pulled the scanner to his temple.
His gut was right.
Earth A-000(Morty)
“M-Morty Prime?” He asked, uneasily.
The Morty nodded, and, to G-374's surprise, smiled, “One of your friends told me you were looking for me. Something wrong, dude?”
“Uh- let’s- uhm, sit down for this.”
—
“What's up?” Morty Prime asked. Like this scenario was normal. Like sitting down at a table in the cafeteria with fucking 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 was normal.
Morty can't bring himself to speak, it feels like his jaw was glued shut. He always imagined this, but he never thought he'd actually meet 𝘵𝘩𝘦 Rogue Morty.
He cleared his throat, and pulled out a communicator, “Uh, I'll just go down a list of questions made for you.”
“Cool,” He took a sip of his drink.
“First question: Is your Rick treating you well?” He then added more quickly, “Uh- please be honest. We won't do anything to your Rick, we just-”
“I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 calm down,” Prime said calmly. He chuckled, “He's fine, I guess. He always says he doesn't give a damn, but I know that's a lie.”
“I see,” know? His does he know when a 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘬 lies?? “Uh-” he cleared his throat again, “Do you have any connections within the MNet?”
“Nope,” Prime popped the ‘p' sound, “just visiting.”
“O…kay…” he typed the answer in, “Why 𝘢𝘳𝘦 you visiting?”
“Hm…”
“...” Morty waited patiently.
“Bored.”
“Wh- that's it?” he asked, “You're bored??”
“You heard me.”
“I-” he sighed, and entered the answer anyway. Morty scrolled through the questions and ignored the ones that he knew were too personal.
After a few moments of awkward(at least for Morty) silence, Prime spoke up, “Do you like your job?”
When he looked up, Prime looked like he was deep in thought, “Wh- what?”
“Do you like your job?” He repeated more firmly.
“No- I- I heard you, just- why would you ask me that question?” He asked, incredulous, “Do I look like one of those miserable office workers?”
“No, no!” Prime waved his hands around for emphasis, “I just- you look like you want something more. Like you like your job but you wish for more… I dunno, adrenaline?"
A shiver went down Morty's spine.
“So… Do you think of quitting sometimes?” Prime asked, “Do you think of running away and exploring by yourself? Or do you just wish people would give you more thrill? Do you want your job to be more exciting, or your life?”
“...” He looked down in thought. Silence enveloped them.
“Sorry,” Prime broke the silence, “Uh- I guess that got a bit 𝘵𝘰𝘰 personal, huh?” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.
“It- it's fine,”
They continued answering questions, but what Prime said had never left his mind.
—
He waved him goodbye, and headed towards the MORT Taskforce building, where mission debriefings and meetings took place.
He entered, and walked straight to the front desk. He placed his elbows on the surface, “Hey, can you assign me some of the higher risk assignments? Yeah. My DN is…”