CH1: Awakening

Morty Smith woke up, and something was different.

It wasn't the way the light slanted through his window, casting those familiar morning beams that slashed across his poster-laden walls. It wasn't the distant, muffled hum of breakfast chaos downstairs—his mom, Beth, lecturing his dad, Jerry, about something trivial while Summer slurped her cereal with deliberate disdain. Those things were normal, comforting even, in their regularity. No, it was something deeper. Something unshakable had shifted inside Morty, and he felt it with an almost palpable clarity the second his eyelids snapped open.

At first, he thought it was just another nightmare, something lingering from the chaotic, interdimensional adventures he and Rick had been on lately. But as he lay there, the remnants of sleep fading, his mind racing, it dawned on him that this feeling wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced before.

It was as though a fog had lifted from his brain—a fog he didn't even know was there.

Morty had always been a follower. That was his role. His identity. Tag along with Rick, get dragged into bizarre, life-threatening situations, play the sidekick, and occasionally blurt out some anxious objection that Rick would laugh off. He had accepted that role a long time ago, resigning himself to being the "dumb kid" who happened to have an insane genius for a grandfather.

But now, lying there in bed, Morty felt different. He felt alive in a way that made every second of his past seem muted, like he had been watching his life through a haze. Thoughts were moving faster—so fast, in fact, that he had to consciously slow them down, piece them together in a way that didn't overwhelm him. His mind was like a machine, newly oiled and finely tuned. Ideas, patterns, and solutions to problems he didn't even know existed were flashing across his consciousness with frightening speed. He felt as though he could solve complex mathematical equations without a second thought, deconstruct entire philosophical treatises with a glance.

And it wasn't just his mind. His body felt stronger too—leaner, more powerful. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles. His senses were sharper. He could hear the clink of dishes downstairs, the faint buzzing of an insect near his window, the ticking of the clock on his bedside table. His vision seemed to pick up details he had never noticed before, like the intricate patterns of dust motes floating through the sunlight.

For a brief moment, Morty panicked. This wasn't normal. This wasn't him. Who was he now? What was happening to him?

He sat up abruptly, his feet hitting the floor harder than expected, and for the first time, he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. He almost didn't recognize himself. His body had changed overnight. He had always been on the shorter side, skinny and awkward, but the person staring back at him was taller—much taller—and muscular, with broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his t-shirt. His face, while still unmistakably Morty's, looked more mature, more defined. His brown hair was still messy, but now it seemed more intentional, like it framed his sharper features in a way that gave him an air of quiet confidence.

He stood and walked to the mirror, his legs feeling more stable, more grounded than ever. As he stood in front of his reflection, something else stirred within him. It wasn't just physical or intellectual power—it was a sense of identity that he had never felt before. For so long, Morty had lived in the shadow of Rick, defining himself by his proximity to his genius grandfather. But now… now there was something more. There was a version of Morty that didn't need Rick to define him.

The realization was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

"W-What the hell?" Morty whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it all. The voice that came out was deeper, more controlled. "This isn't… this isn't right."

But was it wrong?

Morty sat back on the edge of his bed, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. Memories of his old self flashed through his mind: the scared, uncertain boy who flinched at danger, who relied on Rick to solve every problem, who never once thought he could be more than just the scared sidekick. That Morty was gone now, replaced by… what? A more capable version? Someone who could finally stand on his own?

A sudden surge of emotion washed over him, a blend of excitement and dread. He didn't know what this new version of himself would mean for his relationships, for the way he navigated the world. Would Rick notice? Would Rick care? The thought of telling Rick, of revealing that Morty—his Morty—was suddenly twice as smart, twice as capable, felt… dangerous. Rick didn't take kindly to threats, and Morty knew, deep down, that his newfound intelligence would be seen as exactly that: a threat to Rick's dominance, to the delicate power dynamic that had always existed between them.

Morty clenched his fists, trying to calm the whirlwind inside his head. His entire life, he had been content with playing the sidekick, the follower, the one who looked to others for guidance. But now, something deep within him rebelled against that idea. He knew he was different now, smarter, stronger—better.

For the first time in his life, Morty didn't feel like he was living in someone else's shadow. He felt like he could be the one to cast the shadow. And that realization filled him with both pride and fear. What did that mean for his personality? For his sense of self? Who was Morty Smith now?

Standing in front of the mirror, Morty began to ask himself questions he had never considered before. What kind of person did he want to be? What kind of man did he want to be? The word felt foreign on his tongue—man—but looking at his reflection, it seemed appropriate. He wasn't the awkward, anxious boy anymore, afraid to speak up or assert himself. He was… something else. Someone else.

But that identity—this new, more confident, more capable Morty—was still forming, still taking shape. And as exciting as it was to imagine the possibilities, it also terrified him. Because for all his newfound intelligence and strength, there was one thing Morty couldn't escape: the knowledge that, deep down, he still didn't know who he truly was. Not yet.

The door to his room creaked open, and Morty's heart leapt into his throat. He turned quickly, his mind racing through a thousand possibilities in a split second. His mom's voice called up from downstairs.

"Morty! Breakfast!"

For a brief moment, Morty hesitated. Part of him wanted to stay in his room, to keep reflecting on the person he was becoming, to make sense of the transformation that had occurred overnight. But another part of him—the part that had always been Morty—wanted to go downstairs, to slip back into the routine of family life, to pretend that nothing had changed. Because as long as he could pretend, maybe, just maybe, he could hold on to the version of Morty that everyone else expected him to be.

But something told him that pretending wasn't going to be an option anymore.

Morty took a deep breath and stood up, his mind racing, his muscles tensing. He wasn't sure what was waiting for him downstairs, or what the rest of the day would bring. But as he stepped out of his room and into the hallway, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life, his identity, his very existence had irrevocably changed.

And there was no going back.

As Morty descended the stairs, the familiar din of his family filled his ears, but it was muted somehow, distant. His mind, now a well-oiled machine, was already anticipating questions, responses, and reactions. He would have to play it smart—play it cool. For now, at least.

But deep down, he knew: this was the beginning of something far greater than anyone could imagine.

And Morty Smith, for the first time in his life, was ready.