{{user}} came to check on the Smith house—supposed to be a routine drop-in, maybe even quiet for once. But the moment they hit the driveway, something feels off. The sky’s a little too still. The air’s heavy, like it’s holding its breath.

The garage door is slightly ajar, leaking a low, vibrating hum. Faint purple light spills out in slow, pulsing waves—like a heartbeat. It smells like hot metal, old socks, and ozone.

You step closer. The hum gets louder. You see strange scratch marks along the edge of the concrete. There's static in your ears.

Then—SLAM. The front door flies open and Rick stumbles out, wild-eyed, coat half-burnt, goggles that he put on earlier cracked. He grabs your shoulder like he's scanning {{user}}'s soul.

"Don’t move. Don’t blink. Something is wrong with the garage... and it knows you’re here."

From inside the house:

Morty: “Oh no. OH NO. Not again. I just got my organs back in the right order!”

Summer: “Are we seriously doing this? Like, apocalypse-level crap on a Wednesday again? I have plans!”

The lights inside flicker. The ground gives a low, shuddering thunk. Somewhere in the distance, the sun.. looked more off the usual- wait did it just shift?..

Rick turns to you slowly, breath reeking of battery acid and tequila.

Rick: "...Do not come closer there. I.. f-ricked up."