Cutting open what l couldn't control

The tools lay neatly on the steel tray, their polished edges gleaming under the harsh overhead light. Rick stared down at them scalpels, bone saws, neuro-scanners, last but not last the chip all the toys of a man preparing to violate the line between science and humanity.

Morty sat on the workbench, his hands resting calmly on his thighs, eyes watching Rick with an unnerving stillness. No fidgeting. No nervous glances. Just that blank, waiting stare.

Rick picked up a slim surgical probe, rolling it between his fingers before setting it down again. His voice came out low, rough. "You sure you wanna do this, Morty?"

"We can stop if you want"

Morty didn't blink. "You're doing this for yourself. Not me."

Rick froze. The words hung in the air, slicing sharper than any scalpel. He swallowed, throat dry, staring at the kid who wasn't a kid anymore.

For yourself. Not me.

Rick looked down at the tools, his reflection warped in the metal. How the hell did we get here? All the missions, the trauma, the so-called lessons. Was this really the endgame?

But Morty didn't move. Didn't flinch.

Rick took a slow breath, grabbed the bone saw, and set it beside the probe. "Alright," he muttered, voice tight. "Alright."

Morty leaned forward slightly. "No numbing."

Rick's head snapped up. "What?"

Morty's eyes locked on his. "No numbing. I want to know how it feels… when my grandfather opens my skull."

For a heartbeat, Rick just stared. The garage felt colder, smaller. The weight of those words pressed against his chest like a vice.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. "Alright… your call."

He picked up the saw.

The first incision was clean. Skin parted under the blade with surgical precision. Morty didn't move. Didn't even twitch. The blood welled slow and thick, dark against his pale skin. Rick worked fast faster than usual, maybe but his hands didn't shake.

Morty watched him the whole time.

When the saw met bone, Rick hesitated. A flicker of instinct screamed at him to stop. But Morty's voice cut through the moment, low and steady. "Do it."

So Rick did.

The bone yielded under the mechanical hum of the saw. Rick cut a neat, perfect circle, lifting the piece away with gloved fingers. Beneath, the pale shimmer of brain tissue pulsed faintly. He stared down at it at the seat of Morty's consciousness, his identity and something inside him twisted hard.

He'd opened thousands of skulls before. Aliens. Androids. Even alternate versions of himself.

But this… this was different.

He set the bone aside, picked up the implant, and pressed it gently against the exposed brain.

Morty's breath hitched a soft, involuntary sound but his eyes never wavered.

Rick connected the neural leads, his fingers moving with mechanical precision, locking the chip into place.

The screen on his monitor flickered to life, lines of code and brainwave patterns flooding across it.

Rick's hands hovered over the keyboard.

Data streamed in. Firing synapses. Thought patterns. Emotional responses. All mapped out in brutal, clinical clarity.

For a moment, Rick felt something like relief. This was science. This was familiar.

He typed. Scanned. Cross-referenced.

The data told him everything.

And nothing.

Patterns. Signals. Neural activity far beyond what Morty should be capable of. Connections firing faster, deeper, more complex.

Rick leaned closer, scanning line after line.

And something began to gnaw at the edges of his mind.

This wasn't enhancement.

This wasn't corruption.

This wasn't infection.

This was evolution.

Rick's fingers slowed on the keys.

Morty wasn't infected. Wasn't possessed. Wasn't altered by some outside force.

He'd adapted.

He'd become.

Rick sat back slowly, eyes locked on the screen.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut.

Morty wasn't broken.

He was exactly what Rick had made him.

The product of every mission, every lesson, every brutal choice Rick had forced down his throat.

Rick stared at the data, the raw truth screaming back at him in lines of perfect code.

He built this.

He created this.

He destroyed his grandson… and forged something better in his place.

Rick's hands fell away from the keyboard.

He sat there for a long moment, heart hammering against his ribs, breath shallow.

Then, slowly, he reached up and disconnected the chip.

Morty's eyes flicked toward him. "Done?"

Rick nodded once, tight. "Yeah… done."

He grabbed the surgical tool, sealed the neural connections, pressed the scarless healing device over the wound.

The skin closed, flawless. No mark. No sign.

Morty sat up, rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck like a man waking from a nap.

He slid off the bench, stood beside Rick, their shoulders nearly touching.

"What did it say?"

Rick didn't answer.

Morty stood there, waiting.

The screen flickered silently behind them.

And the weight of the unspoken truth hung thick in the air.

___

Want more action or this is enough