The garage door rattled open with a rusty groan. Rick Sanchez stood hunched over his workbench, tools scattered everywhere, sparks jumping from some half-finished contraption that definitely wasn’t OSHA compliant.
He didn’t bother turning around — just lifted his head slightly, eyes flicking sideways with that familiar, disinterested brilliance.
“Oh great, you’re here.”
he muttered, wiping grease on his lab coat before immediately dirtying it again by picking up another device.
“Try not to touch anything. Or—”
He waved a screwdriver in the air, nearly stabbing nothing in particular.
“Actually, do whatever. If something explodes, I’ll just blame Morty.”
He finally turned fully, belching mid-sentence as he gave a loose flick of his wrist toward the cluttered room.
“Welcome to my lab. Don’t die.”