Evil Morty stood at the center podium, a quiet storm behind his eyes, hands folded neatly against the edge. The auditorium was packed—hundreds of Ricks, scattered Mortys, Citadel personnel, and automated drones recording every word.
From the moderator's stand, a white-haired Rick with two cybernetic eyes leaned forward.
"Candidate Morty," he said, his voice sharp through the mic, "the number of displaced Mortys is soaring. Satisfaction among Ricks is plummeting. And the divide between these two groups has never been wider."
A pause. Then the blade was twisted. "Fix that. Real quick."
Evil Morty's voice came low and clear. "I don't see a divide between two group"
The audience shifted. A few Ricks blinked. One raised a brow. General Rick, unimpressed, leaned into his mic and cut in.
"Can I offer my two cents?"
He farted. Loud. Obnoxious. Laughter erupted across the room. "Classic," muttered Juggling Rick, chuckling.
Reverse Rick doubled down with his own flatulence, and another wave of Ricks howled with laughter. A few Mortys even joined in nervously, unsure whether to laugh or cringe.
But then Evil Morty simply said: "Have you guys finished?"
The entire room went silent. He adjusted his tie, gaze calm, but eyes sharp with something colder.
Then he spoke."The division I see isn't between Ricks and Mortys. . The real divide is between those who need the Citadel broken… and the rest of us trying to survive in it.
I see it everywhere I go.
I see it in our schools — where they teach Mortys that we're all the same. That ambition is danger. That questioning means punishment.
I see it in our streets — where Mortys are given guns to fight each other, while the real enemy cashes in behind polished walls.
I see it in our factories — where Ricks, genetically identical, intellectually identical, work for a fraction of what their superiors make. Like cogs — in a machine they were born to own.
This place doesn't have a Morty problem. Or a Rick problem.
The Citadel has a parasite problem — Ricks and Mortys who feed on its chaos and debt. Who profit when we're too afraid to dream bigger.
But I've got a message. From the Mortys who still believe in hope. From the Ricks who remember what science was for. A message from the ones who keep this place alive…
—to the ones who poison it:
You're outnumbered."
The crowd exploded. Hundreds of Mortys stood. Dozens of Ricks — stunned, unsure, then slowly joining in. Some clapped hesitantly. Others with clenched fists. The auditorium trembled.
But then… A wheeled voice rolled forward. Gritting. Bitter.
It was Hothead Rick — now in a wheelchair, one leg still gone from earlier.
"Then answer this, Candidate Morty!" he barked into the mic. "If you're so damn righteous — then how do you justify two inferiors invading our Citadel? Like aliens! One of 'em even stole my portal gun!"
Gasps. Murmurs. Heads turned. A flare of tension reignited.
But Evil Morty didn't raised a hand. "Hothead Rick,", "if you're such a Rick, then tell me — why haven't you regenerated ?"
Hothead Rick froze.
Evil Morty continued, voice cutting and sharp: "Ricks replace their limbs. Their organs. You call yourselves gods. You rebuild yourselves like you're invincible. But here you are stuck in a chair, pointing fingers."
"That's our problem. All of us — every Rick, every Morty — we keep pretending we're untouchable. But we're not. We lost to the Galactic Federation. We are not gods. We're just… a grandson and his grandpa. And we're bleeding."
A silence followed — sharp, breathless — until one voice from the audience cut through.
"I choose Candidate Morty."
A single Rick. Then another. Then more. A ripple turned into a tide.
One after another, across the vast amphitheater of the Citadel, Ricks began to stand. Mortys too. The chamber thundered with echoing voices — not in chaos, but in unison:
"Candidate Morty."
"I vote Morty."
"All in for Morty!"
Thousands, then tens of thousands, standing, shouting, clapping, cheering — the walls themselves seemed to tremble under the weight of their choice.
The moderator Rick at the panel adjusted his glasses, voice dry with disbelief.
" I guess you're already president before the election even starts."
Evil Morty didn't smile at first. He just glanced toward the crowd, then turned toward the cameras, toward history.
"I'm not in office yet," he said coolly. "But since you've already accepted me, there's one more matter. There are two individuals not present here — a male and a female. Suspected, judged, and labeled as inferiors. Refugees under my roof. They're not inferiors. They have names. Kang Woo and Makima. And I declare them fully pardoned."
His eyes swept the crowd again. "Anyone object?"
Evil Morty let the moment hang — then allowed a small, quiet grin to curl at the corner of his mouth. "Good," "Then I guess we don't need paperwork."
He stepped down from the podium, the cheers still echoing like thunder behind him. A tidal wave of sound chasing him all the way into the backstage corridor.
Waiting there, breathless and wide-eyed, was Campaign Manager Morty.
"I can't believe it," he stammered. "You did it, sir. You actually became President Morty!"
Evil Morty didn't stop walking. "Yeah. Thanks . that's why You're fired."
Campaign Manager Morty stood frozen, stunned into silence — the door behind him still shaking with applause.
Evil Morty moved on, steps echoing down the sleek hall that led toward the Citadel's exit — where neon signs met the glow of the street.
Standing there, just outside the tall glass panels, were Kang Woo and Makima.
Evil Morty raised a brow. "How long have you two been here?"
Kang Woo gave a half-shrug. "Long enough to hear your victory speech."
Makima crossed her arms, eyes studying Morty with mild amusement. "To be honest… I never thought you'd succeed, President Morty, I need to check my angle."
Evil Morty smirked . "Different worlds," he said, pushing open the door to the street, "different rules. You just have to know how to use them."
Kang Woo gave a half-grin. "I've got a new stratagem… if you want to hear it. Something to solidify you as the sole ruler."
Makima glanced sideways at him, raising a brow. "Kang Woo, your crazy ideas might actually be on the level of Discordia now ."
Evil Morty sighed. "I'm gonna regret this… alright, let's hear it."
—15 minutes later—
Inside the luxury suite of Evil Morty's new presidential palace within the Citadel, the air was thick with smoke, tension… and blood.
Evil Morty coughed harshly, crimson spattering into the cloth in his palm as he leaned forward from the plush couch.
"That… was the craziest idea I've ever approved," he wheezed. "Every Rick candidate, even campaign manager Morty — they nearly killed me, Kang Woo."
Evil morty slumped back against the cushioned chair, his breath ragged. "Though… . Everyone's captured. Tossed into the vacuum of space. Probably still screaming."
Kang Woo, already seated with one leg crossed over the other, simply gestured lazily toward the open display screen showing political chaos outside.
"Look at the bright side, You've got emergency power now. Absolute control — until the supposed 'Evil Rick' is found and dealt with."
Makima, seated beside him with a wine glass in hand, narrowed her eyes. "That Evil Rick… is made up, isn't he?"
Kang Woo only offered a thin smile.
Evil Morty didn't even try to answer. Instead, he peeled back his sleeve to reveal the compartment beneath his arm — a built-in cybernetic medkit.
Tiny needles pricked into his skin, injecting emergency stimulants and clotting agents. He grunted, pain dulling slightly.
"Remind me," he muttered, "never to listen to your crazy plans again, Kang Woo."
Ding.
Only Kang Woo saw it — a flicker of light flashing just above his vision. His status window unfolded silently.
+50 Relationship with Evil Morty (MAXED)
Evil Morty's bond cannot be locked. He remains cautious by nature, but he trusts you enough as a drinking companion and a collaborator in high-risk operations.
Reward Unlocked:
– Knowledge to construct a Citadel-class hub
– Extreme political strategy aptitude (Passive Skill: Empirecraft)
– Blueprint unlocked: Evil Morty Portal Gun (Preview available in Menu)
Kang Woo didn't blink. Didn't react outwardly. But inside, he smiled.
Then Evil Morty looked up again, eyes clearing with cold precision.
Evil morty voice low. "There's a shadow council of Ricks. They're on their way — all the usual high-roads bastards. Normally, I'd kill them the second they finished their 'we object to your authority' speeches."
He leaned forward slightly. "But I want your suggestions. You both. What should I do with them?"
Kang Woo tilted his head, calmly checking the time in his internal clock. "When's the council supposed to arrive?"
Evil Morty gave a tired exhale. "They're Ricks — punctuality isn't their strong suit. Most'll show up within an hour. The main member ? Probably late."
Kang Woo nodded slowly. "Then I've got just enough time. If I don't return in an hour, stick to your own plan. But if I do… I'll give you something that'll benefit both of us."
Kang Woo stood. His coat fluttered slightly with the motion, casting a shadow off the seat. Then he glanced at Makima. "Let's talk about what's been confusing you, Makima. As I promised — once Evil Morty became president of the Citadel, I'd answer what I can. Some things I can't explain, but what I can, I will."
Makima blinked, caught off guard. Her lips parted, but her voice hesitated. "Kang Woo… I'm not in a hurry. Evil Morty still hasn't fully cemented his presidency. Shouldn't we wait?"
Kang Woo turned his head slightly, gaze calm but firm. "He's already handled the hardest part. The vote. He won it in front of the entire Citadel. That debate, those questions, the staged opposition? He shut it all down with a single line.."
"Not to mention the Emergency Power Act — which, by the way, is complete bullshit we made up. But it worked. Now he has absolute control over the Citadel until the so-called 'Evil Rick threat' is dealt with. Everything else? It's just trash left to clean up."
Evil Morty chuckled from behind, rubbing the half-sealed wound near his ribs.
"He's not wrong. The Citadel's got another suite — clean, disconnected, far from the usual Rick-and-Morty infestation. Go. Get some air. Talk."
He raised his portal gun and fired at the floor. A green ripple burst open — swirling like a boiling puddle of time and space — and stabilized into a gate.
"That place is yours," Evil Morty said, eyes half-lidded. "Jump in when you're ready."
Kang Woo didn't hesitate. He turned to Makima and, with surprising grace, took her by the fingers — gently, like a prince leading a lady to a dance.
Makima blinked. Her cheeks warmed, flustered for just a moment… but she kept her composure, lips pressing into a faint line of amusement.
Then the two stepped forward — into the swirling green portal.
With a soft whump, they vanished.