Rick and Morty: My Grandfather is Rick?

Let's say, looking at the entire multiverse, aside from certain individuals and forces, who can beat Rick Sanchez in a one-on-one fight?

Didn't you see anyone trying to get back at you? Didn't you ever consider a one-on-one, desperate approach?

They only ever think about ganging up on each other!

Only a gang fight is worthy of your illustrious reputation!

But now it's your turn to raise a large army and prepare to fight that powerful enemy. So who exactly is this powerful enemy?

"I know you have questions, so let me now tell you... the true face of the Shadow Group!"

As Grandpa's voice faded, the elevator had reached the lowest floor.

The elevator doors, with a single pane of transparent glass, open to both sides.

A prison located at the very bottom of Mirror City appeared before Morty's eyes.

Roar! ! !

Ow! ! !

The moment the elevator doors opened, the endless roars of ferocious beasts echoed from the cells on either side of the silver metal road that stretched straight ahead into the darkness!

And! Frenzied cursing!

"Rick! You damned old dog!!! I curse you! I curse you!!!"

Chapter 250 The Cage of the Mirror City

"Ah, this guy? He's the wizard who tried to ambush me somewhere before. I happened to be researching wizards at the time, so I captured him, locked him up here for a while, and then forgot about him."

"And then there's this beast. In the entire multiverse, there's only one planet that produces this kind of ferocious beast. Its fur always glitters with gold. It's the only beast from which gold can be extracted from its fur. You know that gold can only be produced when a star dies and explodes, right?"

"Then there's this guy, the Fruit People. They're skilled at producing all sorts of fruits. Eating this fruit grants you a special ability. The only downside is that the eater might never be able to touch seawater again, because this fruit must grow in freshwater, so the eater can only touch freshwater."

What should have been a gloomy and dark underground prison path, under the detailed explanation of his grandfather, gave Morty the feeling of shopping in a supermarket.

Of course, this is if we ignore the intelligent creatures behind those cages, their eyes gleaming red, spewing all sorts of foul language.

The atmosphere was alright...

Yes, for example, if all the specimens are replaced, it can be transformed from a horrific underground prison into a biological museum full of humanistic atmosphere.

Thinking of this, Morty smiled.

He suddenly felt that all intelligent beings seemed to have achieved an unprecedented level of tacit understanding across the entire multiverse in this area.

A cage containing living creatures—that's an outrageous cage.

A cage containing inanimate objects can be called a biological specimen museum, suitable for children to cultivate their interests and hobbies.

Whether a living thing is placed behind tempered glass or iron bars, only its life or death can determine its fate.

What came before it was...

A child with an innocent face and curious eyes.

Or an adult with a fierce look on their face and cruel eyes.

Perhaps there's not much difference between children and adults, because children will one day grow into adults, and some of these adults will stand in front of a new cage, just like when they were children, looking at the adult beings inside who were once children.

"Ugh..."

On this road that seemed to stretch on forever, Morty let out a long sigh and saw his grandfather, who had been walking ahead of him, stop.

Without offering any further explanation, Grandpa walked to the specially made iron gate and, with some difficulty, pulled it open. The gate was about five centimeters wide.

next second.

What appeared before Morty and Sammy was a fly-like man!

"Holy crap! Why is it the Fly Men?! Why not Rick or Morty? Are the Fly Men actually part of the Shadow Corporation, or at least a member of it??"

"What? What? This mutated giant fly, we previously..."

Grandpa, who had taken in both of their expressions, still didn't like to explain too much. He took out a wad of black goose down from his inner pocket and placed it in Morty's hand.

The meaning of asking someone to do work is very clear; there's no need to guess.

"Go ahead, the interrogation is yours. I'll need your help with many things in the future."

"Um"

After hesitating for a few seconds, Morty nodded in agreement, which was considered an implicit acceptance that he and his grandfather could still maintain their cooperative relationship.

Entering the ten-square-meter room, he dragged the metal table and chairs that were placed in the corner to a meter in front of the fly man.

This fly-man, whose mouth wasn't gagged, had fly-like eyes and a face with very few facial muscles, so he didn't have many human facial expressions.

Just like a cat.

If a person doesn't have enough facial muscles, it's actually not easy to judge their emotions.

Especially for newbies in the interrogation field like Morty.

He was basically clueless about interrogation, relying on his lack of experience with the Fly Man and his knowledge of micro-expressions learned from higher primates.

Everything is useless in front of this guy.

However... for the Great Old Ones, interrogating others involves more than just psychological manipulation or physical torture.

Another way is to directly access and read the memory.

This approach is the simplest and most direct.

Similarly, any interstellar civilization that reaches this stage will develop its own countermeasures against this method of memory reading.

The simplest and least damaging method is, of course, one that requires no resistance at all. If you touch my memory, the bomb in that memory will explode, not only making the memory unusable but also killing the person instantly.

An even more extreme approach would be to avoid even touching the memory itself. The moment you ask the question and I utter the words, the memory bomb will kill me instantly.

Thinking of this possibility, Morty turned his head and looked at his grandfather standing on one side of the door, asking him with his eyes if he knew.

“His memories are untouchable; they're like trigger bombs. But he can talk about them himself, so you have to force him to say them.”

Good guy!

Was it implanted with a memory bomb?

Is the questioning done solely through interrogation?

This is not just a little tricky, it's extremely tricky.

The only good news is that the other person can speak voluntarily, rather than being in a dead end where uttering a single word means certain death.

Realizing how tricky the situation was, Morty's gaze fell on the toolbox his grandfather had given him. Since his grandfather had given it to him, it must be something that would come in handy.

So Morty removed the thin thread that had wrapped the roll of down blanket.

Spread the tools inside, along with the blanket, on the table.

A handful of fine needles, as thin as a hair, entirely black.

A specially designed nail clipper to solve the problem of overly long nails.

A drilling machine with a drill bit about the size of a 50-cent coin.

Then there are saws, syringes, small glass jars containing unknown liquids, and embedded handheld devices for rapid bloodletting and hemostasis in certain special areas.

These tools may look ordinary, but they are actually a complete set of professional interrogation tools.

The fly-man, whose limbs were chained, finally reacted for the first time since Morty entered the room.

"Morty, as Rick's cutest little dog, you're in charge of the interrogation. Is he planning to charm me with your adorable little face and get the answers he wants?"

"Hehe... I think you'd better just put down these adult things and go back to your mother Beth's arms to cry. That would be better."

He heard the Fly Man, speaking in his shrill voice, trying to provoke him.

Morty sneered and walked over.

Standing in front of him, he slapped him hard across the face.

"Ha! That hit pretty hard, but is that all the strength you've got?" The fly-man, having just been slapped, continued to mock Morty.

But Morty remained silent.

Silent as a stone, he mechanically slapped the fly-man's face every two seconds.

No matter what he says, what he curses, or even if he spits out a mouthful of blood.

Morty showed no sign of stopping.

He just kept drawing the needle over and over again, as if the process would last forever.

"Stop smoking! Stop smoking! Say something!!!"

Chapter 251 Departure

"You...say something! You fucking say something to me!!!"

"Stop hitting me...stop hitting me...that's not how you interrogate someone!!!"

"This is psychological warfare! Okay?! This is psychological warfare! This is a verbal battle between us! A clash of intelligence!!!"

"Stop hitting...Let me ask you a question..."

After enduring five minutes of being slapped repeatedly by the 'silent' fly, he initially managed to withstand it, but soon began to break down emotionally under the mechanical torture.

Because the way Morty looked at him was like how a higher primate would look at a real fly.

That's not the look you give to intelligent beings.

That's the way you look at ants!

That indifference wasn't feigned; it stemmed from his genuine disregard for the possibility of being slapped repeatedly and potentially killed on the spot.

How could the fly-man not be anxious?

Besides not wanting to die, he also knew that his grandfather wouldn't kill him, which is why he seemed so fearless when he saw a Morty.

They even dared to openly mock him.

Who knows...