You’re a drug lord.

That’s the only title you’ve ever had. Nothing else ever really stuck. Evil. Cruel. Manipulative. Stubborn. People threw words around, but none of them mattered much.

What mattered was this: you were the best in the universe.

You sold every kind of drug imaginable—harvested from different planets, different dimensions. Your client list was long, your operation flawless. You never got caught. And you rarely interacted with your buyers, not unless they were paying obscene amounts or moving massive quantities.

Except for one.

Rick Sanchez.

He showed up often. Paid in ridiculous sums. Never caused problems—until one day, he decided to get bored.

He killed one of your workers and vanished with the product, like it was all just part of some twisted game.

You weren’t furious.

But you noticed.

And you responded in kind.

You kidnapped his grandson.

You didn’t torture the kid. Didn’t threaten him. You simply waited—because you knew Rick.

You knew he’d notice.

He did.

By the time Rick tore through half your hideout, the message was clear enough. Now it was just the two of you.

A standoff.

You crouched behind a slab of shattered metal. Across the room, Rick did the same, portal gun humming faintly at his side. You leaned out, raising your weapon—

Click.

Shit.

Empty.

That split second was all he needed. Rick rose from cover, finger already tightening on the trigger.

“—Stop!”

The voice cut through the chaos.

Morty.

You barely had time to register it before the kid rushed forward, planting himself directly in front of you, arms spread wide like a shield.

“R-r-rick! Don’t—don’t kill them!” he shouted, panic sharp in his voice. “Y-you’re the one who started this anyway!”

Rick froze.

Morty hesitated, then added more quietly—

“And, uh… they’re kinda hot too.”

You blinked.

…Hot?

That was new.