Rick and Morty: Smartest Morty in the multiverse

Drop me some stone and comment sire. l will appreciate it

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The sound of the engine pulling up wasn't like anything the Smith household was used to it wasn't Rick's ship landing with a whir and hum of alien thrusters or the clunky grind of Jerry's sad little sedan stalling in the driveway; this was something altogether different a deep, guttural purr that rose and settled like a predator's yawn, the kind of sound that made people step away from windows or lean toward them, depending on how brave they were feeling that day. Rick had his head buried in a circuit board spread across the counter, a half-finished alien wrench sizzling with blue plasma in his hand, but the second he heard the engine stop that clean cut of power switching off like a scalpel pulled from bone he didn't flinch, didn't move, just pressed his lips tight and stared a little harder at the wires. Beth was pretending to read something on her tablet, the page frozen for the last five minutes, her eyes darting to the front door every few seconds like it might swing open and knock her over. Summer didn't bother showing up. Upstairs, her music was playing through her door, but the volume had lowered, not enough to be heard fully but just enough to say she was listening. And then the door opened, and in came Morty.

He wasn't hurrying. Wasn't showing off either. Just… walking, like the house was his now, like everything in it moved with the gravity of his presence. He wasn't wearing one of his old yellow shirts or those hopeless blue jeans that made him disappear into the background. Nah. Morty was draped in jet-black cargo pants tailored sharp at the ankle, cuffed over matte obsidian sneakers that looked like something out of a high-end magazine the kind of shoes you wear when you don't run from things, you walk toward them. His shirt was a black silk blend, loose at the collar, sleeves rolled just enough to show the new silver bracelet hugging his wrist like a whisper of danger, and a sleek chain that disappeared beneath his neckline. The rings were what did it, though. Rick noticed them first silver, one on the index, one on the thumb, and a dark onyx band that looked almost ceremonial. His watch was a bold-faced thing that blinked with more tech than fashion, something you could tell told more than just time. And his scent hit them before he did not overpowering, just sharp enough to command attention, a storm of pepper, citrus, and something metallic underneath, like thunder had a flavor.

Beth stood up like her chair had suddenly become electric, her voice catching in her throat. "Morty…?"

He gave her a warm smile not sweet, not mocking, just… composed. "Morning, Mom." He dropped a paper bag onto the counter like it was nothing. "Picked up some cannolis from the Italian place. Figured we could use a change from your usual toaster waffles."

Rick was still hunched, arms folded now, staring at Morty like he was trying to X-ray the kid through the lenses of his mind. "What, you rob an art dealer or something, kid? Walk in here looking like a Bond villain's favorite nephew."

Morty laughed, low and genuine. "Nope. Just went shopping. It's Sunday, remember? No school. Figured I'd upgrade."

Beth slowly approached, her eyes dancing over the outfit, the rings, the cologne that made her dizzy in a way she didn't want to think too hard about. "Where'd you get the money, Morty?"

"I've been saving," he replied simply, grabbing a cup and pouring himself juice like this was a Tuesday. "Remember that ice cream truck I wanted to buy when I was ten? The one I kept stashing money away for, convinced I'd turn it into a mobile dessert empire?" He grinned over his shoulder. "Guess that dream melted."

Rick scoffed. "And you dumped all that into this?" He gestured vaguely at Morty's entire form. "I mean, sure, you look like a GQ assassin, but what's the angle here, huh?"

"No angle, Rick," Morty said, and his tone dropped a notch not cold, not hot, just deliberate, like a piano chord struck with full awareness of its weight. "Just tired of playing the old roles. I'm done with the costume."

Beth was about to speak again when Morty added, casually, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "Oh, and the bike outside? That's mine now."

Both Beth and Rick paused and it was Rick who moved first, striding toward the window like some paranoid predator, his coat brushing past Beth's arm. He squinted through the glass and there it was: parked neat and polished at the curb, its blood-red frame catching the morning sun like a forged weapon a Ducati 916, an icon of speed and rebellion, half history, half heartbeat.

"You're kidding me," Rick muttered. "That thing's a relic. You're not licensed to ride that."

Morty leaned against the fridge, sipping from his glass. "Funny thing about licenses, Rick. They don't stop the world from spinning."

Beth covered her mouth. "Morty, that's not a toy—"

"I know," he interrupted, softly but firm. "It's a machine. A piece of something beautiful that got forgotten. The owner crashed it, couldn't bring himself to ride it again. I promised him I'd treat it right."

Rick turned from the window, eyes narrow. "You mean to tell me some washed-up pizza slinger just handed you a Ducati for a handshake and a sob story?"

"I paid for it," Morty said. "Three thousand. Needs a little work. I'll do it myself."

The words hung in the air like smoke and the silence after them wasn't awkward or shocked, it was hollow. Like the house had suddenly realized it wasn't the biggest thing in Morty's life anymore.

Beth walked over slowly and put a hand on Morty's chest, fingers resting just below the chain. "You've changed," she whispered, not sure if it was fear or awe behind her voice.

Morty looked down at her with something bordering tenderness. "I'm just becoming who I should've been."

And she without thinking, without blinking nodded. Because somewhere deep in that gut of hers where mother's intuition hides, she knew this wasn't a phase. This wasn't rebellion. This was the arrival of something inevitable.

Rick moved back to the counter, picked up a tool, set it down, picked it up again. "You're playing a long game, Morty. I know the signs. I invented most of them."

Morty smiled. "Then you should enjoy the show."

And with that, he reached into the bag and pulled out a cannoli, took a bite, and leaned against the fridge like this all of this was just the beginning.

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He bought other things beside what I've shown you before