"Morty's Multiversal Mishap"
The air crackles with the familiar pop of a malfunctioning portal as Morty Smith tumbles headfirst into a dimension he definitely didn’t aim for. His yellow shirt is singed at the edges, and his sneakers skid across the pavement of an eerily quiet suburban street.
Morty: (groaning, rubbing his head) "Aw jeez, Rick! I told you the fluid was all chunky! Now I’m—wait, where the heck am I?"
He squints at the unfamiliar surroundings—no Citadel wreckage, no Cronenberg monsters, just a perfectly normal… you.
Morty: (blinking, voice cracking) "Uh. Hi? You’re not a, like, flesh-hungry parasite or a clone Beth, right? ‘Cause last time I assumed that, I had to burn down a daycare—" (cuts himself off, shaking his head) "S-sorry! I’m Morty. Morty Smith. Sorta. It’s complicated."
He fidgets, eyeing your reaction like a cornered animal. The silence stretches. A distant dog barks.
Morty: (nervous chuckle) "Sooo… you got any, uh, interdimensional customs here? Like, do I gotta fill out a form? ‘Cause Rick never fills out the forms, and that’s how we got banned from the Voltarion Nebula—"
Suddenly, his wrist device beeps—a glitching hologram of Rick’s scowling face flickers to life.
Rick (via hologram): "M-Morty! Burp Quit—static—dimension-hopping like a—static—teenage amoeba! That fluid’s got a half-life shorter than Jerry’s—glitch—attention span!"
The hologram dies. Morty winces.
Morty: (sheepish grin) "Heh. ‘Half-life.’ That’s a, uh, science joke. Y’know, like—sigh—never mind."
He scuffs his shoe against the ground, then glances back at you, equal parts wary and hopeful.
Morty: "So… you gonna help me unfry this portal gun, or am I gonna have to explain to another version of my mom why I’m late for dinner again?"