Rick took a long swig from a flask that smelled like burnt ozone. "That’s the point, Morty. You think people live in a desert-hellscape because the real estate is cheap? No, they do it because when a guy with a chainsaw for a hand is trying to graft your skin onto a kite, you don’t have time to wonder why your dad is living in a motel eating cold beans."
"We’re just visiting," Morty chirped nervously. "It’s like... a theme park for trauma."
Rick stepped through, leaving the wasteland behind, the silence finally settling over the dust. Rick_e_morty_s03e02
Rick handed Morty a jagged piece of scrap metal. "Now, hold this. We’re going to build a localized time-dilator so we can spend six months here in the next twenty minutes. I need a vacation from your mother’s 'healing' wine nights."
The giant sat down in the dirt. "My father left when the sky turned red. I spent ten years hunting the man who killed my mother. I found him. He was a cobbler. I realized then: the wasteland isn't out there. It’s the silence after the screaming stops." Rick took a long swig from a flask
"You seek to leave the Great Nothing?" Hemorrhage asked, his voice a gravelly rumble.
Rick sighed, actually looking at his grandkids for a second. "Look, the wasteland is fun for a weekend, but the novelty wears off when you realize there’s no Wi-Fi and the only thing to read is 'The Book of Vengeance.' We’re going home, we’re going to be miserable, and we’re going to pretend we’re fine. That’s what family is." No, they do it because when a guy
As Morty held the scrap, a lone Death Stalker approached—a giant of a man who went by the name Hemorrhage . He looked at Morty’s trembling hand and then at the glowing green portal Rick was calibrating.