Hello all! Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites!

So I've been spending my time rushing and playing a little game called Pocket Mortys to keep myself busy for the past few weeks. So much fuckin fun, man. Go download it (hey Roiland I'm giving you free press enjoy it man.) Anyways, enjoy!

In spite of how bone tired he was, Morty hardly slept that night.

Summer passed out on the sleeping bag next to him within a matter of minutes, but Morty's mind was racing too fast to do the same. His brain whirled like the blizzards outside with all the newfound information that Weisenhurt had given to them. Turning the facts over, trying to focus on each and every angle until his head hurt from the effort. Quotes from Rick chimed through his head, the words blatant now that he knew the whole truth of the meaning behind them.

"I can't abide bureaucracy. I don't like being told where to go and what to do. I consider it a violation."

"As you know, Morty, I've got a lot of enemies in the universe that consider my genius a threat. Galactic terrorists, a few sub-galactic dictators, most of the entire intergalactic government."

"Look, I don't have time to tell you my entire backstory, but Grandpa and government don't get along."

How could he have been so stupid?

Morty tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, shivering. The back room adjacent to the room with the fireplace was stone cold and pitch black. Every window was boarded up and locked up the raw weather, giving it the feel of a freezer. Weisenhurt had pushed some boxes and crates and trash out of the way to make room for two sleeping bags and then left them to their own devices. Morty had been ready for a conversation with his sister, almost longing for it, but upon turning to her discovered that she had passed out. Now Summer dozed peacefully next to her brother, curled up tight and giving no indication that she was feeling the creeping chills. For Morty, however, the frozen atmosphere kept shaking him awake and dragging him back to consciousness. Too many nagging thoughts to sleep, too many questions and too little answers.

Rick, a rebel? He was barely willing to stick his own neck out for his own grandchildren and somehow he found it in himself to aid a cause? Weisenhurt gave the impression like hardly believed it himself so Morty couldn't possibly find it in him to process it. He briefly wondered if Beth knew about it, but the thought left his mind almost as soon as it entered. Of course she wouldn't. His mother wasn't stupid; if her father had told her that he was going off to go fight the intergalactic government, she would have gotten it. That animosity came from the lack of answers, not the lack of understanding, and if there was one thing Rick was good at, it was withholding information.

Still, just the idea that Rick would be willing to leave everything behind was a thought that still left Morty reeling. Was it selflessness or cowardice? Duty or fear? Some things were never going to be answered, and in retrospect, maybe that was for the best. Morty didn't even want to think of all the skeletons that Rick kept in his closets. There were places of his grandfather's that even he dared not to tread.

As he lay there reflecting, there came a point in the night that Morty knew that sleep was never going to come to him. Defeated, he picked himself up and crept out of the back room, leaving Summer to her dreams. Slinking around the various debris of the room, he made his way to the door and slipped through it.

The living room still had some lingering heat in it despite the fire having burned down to ashes. Half-eaten bowls of their dinner sat abandoned on the armchairs. Soft gray light struggled to slip under the cracks that were left in the boarded up windows, and watery shadows danced on the floor of the cabin. The wind still blew outside, but not too hard. Almost like a whistle instead of a howl now. It was peaceful, in a way. Tranquility was such a foreign concept at this point that Morty almost forgot what it felt like to have a moment of peace.

"Can't sleep?"

Morty jumped at the voice, spinning around suddenly. Weisenhurt sat against the back wall, wrapped in shadows once more. A flashlight sat at his feet while he fiddled with some contraptions. Other half assembled parts littered the space around him. The general's voice was dull and wilting from fatigue. He didn't seem to be paying much attention, however, because his gaze was set on the darkened scenes outside.

Morty felt the heat creeping up his neck. "No," he admitted.

Weisenhurt let out a grunt of what Morty supposed was understanding. "It's natural to be wary and fearful after what I've told you," even his attempts at sympathy seemed weathered and burned out. A tired mantra of threadbare comforts. "To be completely honest, I was at first surprised that you and your sister took it so well."

"At f-first?" Morty repeated.

"Yes, at first." Weisenhurt motioned to the space before him as an offering to sit. Morty approached the general and dropped to his knees. As he did so, the older man dropped one contraption and picked up another. "But it's clear that Sanchez has done his work with you two. I've been impressed."

Morty, in his bleary state, found himself repeating Weisenhurt's words like a confused cockatiel. "His work?"

Weisenhurt looked Morty dead in the eye, his gaze completely serious. "Do you recall how I had pinned your sister down? My hands were closed around her throat yet she still fought fiercely and managed to save herself until you arrived to assist her. And you have fast reflexes and are quick on your feet, not to mention braver than most even older than yourself. A normal person would have been smashed against that tree, but you managed to outmaneuver me. And that thing with the snow? Interesting strategy. Quite a duo, you two. No small wonder Sanchez takes you with him as often as you say. He would be proud to have you as his grandchildren."

Morty blinked, surprise and gratitude spreading through him suddenly.

Weisenhurt picked up another contraption and started toying with two together, arranging them like he was trying to fit pieces in a puzzle. "Your sister has a bit of a mouth on her, doesn't she?"

Morty shrugged. "She's just t-tired, I guess," came the excuse.

"No, I don't mind it. She reminds me of Sanchez, that's all," the general held up a now pieced together contraption and picked up a screwdriver. "He'd always be quick with a debate that could make even the most inflexible clients back down. It's part of the reason he was such a good gunrunner. Always knew which price to drive up and which folks to do it with."

Morty let out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I-I know, right? He'd always…h-he'd once tried to get me d-do a deal for him. T-the alien n-near…she nearly took my arm off wi-with the blaster pistol. R-Rick told me to suck i-it up and that I w-was lucky she didn't have eyes, o-or else I'd be an…you know, an arm s-short."

They both had a good chuckle at that. When he smiled, the creases around Weisenhurt's lips grew a bit and his scar danced with the movement of his jaws. It made him seem more alive somehow. Far different from the shadow of a man that had attacked Morty and Summer in the forest not even twelve hours ago.

"What else was R-Rick like?" Morty found the words slipping out of him before he could think better of it, but he couldn't help himself. Curiosity was scraping at his gut and he was dying to know. Weisenhurt dropped his work and stared off into the distance.

"Drunk. Angry. Unreliable," were the words that the older man settled on after some time. "Crazy. Insufferable. But he was also resourceful, intelligent, capable, strong-willed, and pretty damn loyal. Sanchez was a lot of things, kid, but don't take them from me. You've gotta make your own opinions of him. It's been years since I've seen your grandfather, but I don't know. Maybe deep down in that old crusty heart of his, he found it in him to change his ways."

Morty didn't have the courage to tell Weisenhurt that Rick was still pretty much all those things he'd just described, so he just nodded and reverted his gaze back to the general's handiwork. Weisenhurt was now attaching some sort of handle to his contraption. In the faint light, it looked oddly like a gun. Hell, given what he knew, Morty was willing to bet his life on it.

Distracted, Morty let his eyes wander until they fell upon a small stereo by the door. Scattered CD cases were thrown around, a few opened. The melody was calm and soothing, almost like a lullaby. Morty could count at least two guitars strumming in harmony, and a few seconds later a piano joined the mix. A soft clang of cymbals came in after a few bars. It all melded together nicely, and something warm stirred in his chest. Almost like a wistfulness, a homesickness, even if it was for something he'd never experienced before.

Make myself a bed, by the waterside.

"You like that?" Wesienhurt's voice nearly snapped him out of it. Nearly. Morty said nothing and nodded.

He heard the general's amused snort. "It's Brokedown Palace by The Grateful Dead. California, December thirtieth, nineteen seventy-nine, Oakland Auditorium. Only time I saw them live. It's a good version. I've always preferred the studio version myself, though."

In my time, in my time,

"Is it Rick's?" Morty asked.

"Nah, Sanchez was much more into the classics than I was. I'd play these and he'd shut the radio off and tell me to stop fucking around. Then he'd throw on The Kinks or Bowie and we'd really go at it."

I will roll, roll, roll.

"So," Morty clumsily kept the conversation afloat while Weisenhurt picked up some sort of wire from the floor and started threading it through the inside of the gun. "What are we going to do now?"

Weisenhurt gave him a crooked smile as he routed the last wire. "Well kid, there are a few possibilities I've been exercising," he began as he held the gun up. The sides lit up purple and buzzed with energy. "What can get us off this planet in the fastest, cleanest, and most straightforward way? But we need to understand that the Federation often underestimates their own enemies. They think that they're above all other beings in the universe, and in some cases they are. But there are always outliers in the equation."

Something in Morty's mind clicked in that moment. "So if we do so-something they aren't expecting, they won't know how to fight us?"

"Precisely. Humans are so low on their concern list that the idea of three of them getting off-planet not only never crosses their mind, but they would hardly care either way. Now listen, the Federation puts a lot of safety measures around their planets in order to ensure that their inhabitants stay in line. I've seen it happen more than I care to admit. You've might've seen it too. They've probably already put up their satellites."

Yeah, they had. It was something Morty had noted when he and his family were returning from the wedding. Several pieces of machinery that certainly weren't for HBO or Facebook floated several miles out of the range of all of Earth's normal satellites. He'd seen most of Earth's satellites, damn near hit a few when Rick was teaching him how to drive. Hard to forget Sirius Radio when you almost clip the panels off of it. These ones were different—green and red and huge, forming a loose ring around their world.

"The Federation runs a very tight vehicle registration," Weisenhurt explained as put down his gun. "All vehicles that can go faster than one thousand light years an hour need to be registered under the Federation's laws or else they'll get shot out of the sky immediately. Those satellites around the planet are designed to identify the vehicle and allow it to pass. Otherwise, it would get zapped with an army's worth of firepower and fall back to the home planet as a smoldering ball of metal. Nothing gets out, and nothing gets in either."

Instantly, Morty's mind jumped to his grandfather's flying space car. That certainly didn't go through any sort of registration. No small wonder the Federation always shot at them whenever they got within their ranges. "So what do we d-do?" he asked.

Weisenhurt gave him a crooked smile of sorts and picked himself up off the floor. "The Federation's ships are all registered, of course," he informed Morty, heading for the table in the back. "So the answer's simple. Have you ever hijacked a spaceship, kid?"

Morty shook his head.

The general chuckled "Good time to learn, then." Passing the map to Morty, he pointed to a spot directly north of the marked cabin. "Now, when the Federation ships entered Earth's atmosphere, they flew low over the mountains here and headed due west," his finger moved across the paper, "and disappeared right over here past that peak. They were flying at an altitude that signaled landing, which means that there should be a base over the hills with a number of ships ready to be taken. At my best estimate, it would probably be a ten-mile hike, but we can make that in a few hours if we hurry. We grab a spaceship, hot wire it, and then we get off of Earth and the universe is open to us."

Staring at the map, Morty felt a rush of excitement. "It's that easy?"

"'Easy' might be a bit of an understatement," a soft snort came from the general, "but yes, so long as you and your sister are on guard, it shouldn't promise to be too difficult. Speaking of which, you should go wake her. If we want to start this, then it's best to do it when they'd least be expecting us."

Morty was already on his feet, hurrying over to the back door. He located Summer fairly quickly in the dark, and when he approached her, she stirred slightly from the commotion.

"Summer. S-Summer, wake up."

She groaned. "Morty? It's like, not even dawn. Let me sleep." Came her answer, rushing to adjust her phone's brightness in the pitch black.

"I c-can't. We're gonna l-leave. We-we've got a plan t-to go find R-Rick."

In an instant, Summer shot up. She was wide awake now, a smile growing on her face. "We're getting off-planet?" she asked, excitement making her eyes sparkle. Morty nodded.

Summer shook her feet out of the sleeping bag and made to stand while Morty reached the back door again. He returned to Weisenhurt, his sister on his heels, but something was off.

The general had moved from his position on the wall and was peering through the cracks in the boarded up windows. The pistol was clutched tightly in his hand, cocked like it was ready for use already. When the two siblings approached him, he hardly acknowledged their presence. "Something's not right," he hissed as Morty pressed his face against the wall to look for himself.

At first, Morty couldn't find anything wrong with the situation. The streaming lights over the hills were signaling dawn's approach, making the fresh snow glow a pale pink. The winter landscape was silent, almost like something had pressed a pillow over his ears and muted the sound. A flock of birds were flying this way, black against the pastel horizon. As far as Morty could tell, nothing was out of place.

But now there was a low hum over their surrounds, deep and grinding and mechanical. As the flock of birds approached, the humming grew louder, until it was almost earsplitting. But those birds…weren't birds. Ships, three of them, were approaching their refuge and starting to descend.

"M-maybe they won't land," Summer hoped, a fearless stab at bringing optimism to the situation.

Three forked Federation ships landed on the main road about several yards outside of the cabin, the jets brushing snow out of the way of their landing gear. A few Gromflomites jumped out, fully armed with armor and laser rifles, packed down right to the wing. They milled around for a few seconds as one of them pulled out a small box and pressed a button.

"Get down," Weisenhurt's hands pushed Morty down onto the ground, leaving him alone at the window. His hiss was barely registered by Morty, and a moment later he was joined on the floor by a now upset looking Summer.

From Weisenhurt's increasingly panicked and grave expressions, Morty could tell that the Gromflomites outside weren't leaving. He could hear voices outside, orders perhaps. The sounds of feet coming up the road. The cocking of a gun…

"Kid!" Weisenhurt's voice slashed through Morty's fears. "The cabinet!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Morty and Summer scrambled on all fours to the first cabinet next to the fireplace and threw it open. Several guns lay on the ground, pistols incredibly similar to the one the general had crafted not too long ago. He passed one to Summer and grabbed another for himself. Morty clicked the safety and the wires and barrel hummed with life. The sides of his gun lit up green. Summer's lit up blue. Weisenhurt leveled his purple pistol and backed away from the window.

"T-T-this is insane!" Morty stammered as he gripped the gun hard. "What if t-they don't shoot?"

His answer came in the form of a red laser bursting right through the old door. Summer yelped and ducked down just to narrowly avoid the shot taking her head off. A perfect hole had been blasted clean through the wood, smoke curling upwards. Weisenhurt gave him a pointed look and turned his attention back to the window.

"They're about fifteen of them," he grunted. "Can you two handle those guns?"

"No!" Morty and Summer exclaimed at the same time.

Another shot came through the window this time, nearly nailing Weisenhurt in the shoulder. Splinters flew in all directions as the wood exploded off the windows and dawn streamed through. More shots came through the door, chipping holes into it until Morty could see the bright red compound eyes of the leading Gromflomite. Morty locked eyes with it, and his hand tightened around the pistol.

Then a blue laser nailed it through the eye, and it went down screaming. Blue blood gushed from it's eviscerated face and splattered the inside of the house, probably the door too. Gromflomites were shouting outside and the red lasers started coming with increased ferocity.

Summer was on her feet now, dragging her brother up in the process. By now, the door was almost halfway gone and another Gromflomite was attempting to wiggle its way into the house. Taking careful aim, Morty fired and a green laser found the mark, and the Gromflomite spent the last seconds of it's life choking on it's own blood before collapsing onto the ground.

Shards of wood were flying, the door shattered, and the onslaught was on.

Morty and Summer pressed up back to back as the aliens swarmed them, twisting and turning and firing in every direction possible. Weisenhurt held his ground in his own corner, handling two or three Gromflomites at a time. A swift punch to the throat for one, a quick laser to the temple for the second, and several punches before finishing yet another alien off execution style. He didn't look like he needed any help.

"Over your shoulder!" Summer called out. Morty spun on his heel and put a shot right into the Gromflomite's stomach, narrowly avoiding its own fire as it sailed over his left side. Another Gromflomite was stepping up to take its place as Morty turned again. "On your r-right!" he shouted before dispatching another soldier with a laser to it's kneecap. The flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and the scream that followed, told him all he needed to know.

"Just like fighting parasites, huh?" Summer's tone was focused, but somehow slightly lighthearted. Morty only shrugged into her back, firing one more quick shot at a Gromflomite that was making it through through the door.

But when he turned around once more, following their erratic dance, a heavy fist caught him in the side of the face and Morty was suddenly falling backwards. Summer's voice registered in his mind, but it was sounding further and further away from him. In that instant, Morty was flying onto the floor, his gun spinning away from him. Before he could even get a chance to catch his breath, the barrel of the gun was shoved right under his nose. However, instead of pulling the trigger, the Gromflomite looked up for it's comrades and waved its tiny black box. "I've got him!" it shouted over the dying commotion.

What the fuck?

And Morty was sure he would've spent the last moments of his life debating that statement, if not for Summer being a good shot.

Blood exploded from the Gromflomites head in the burst of light blue and dark blue, showering the walls next to Morty. The headless body now rolled off of him, toppling away. Morty shrieked and scrambled backwards on all fours, running directly into the shins of Weisenhurt in his haste. Glancing up, Morty managed to see the general blast the last Gromflomite in the room through the eye, and it fell dead with a scream.

"Morty! Morty!" Someone was calling his name.

Summer was at his side, shaking him, smoking pistol still in her hand. She was hysterical, screaming at him at the top of her lungs if he was alright, but Morty wasn't paying attention anymore. The side of his head was throbbing, each passing second sending more waves of pain through his skull. Morty looked at Summer for a moment, dazed, until his eyes strayed from her and swept around the room.

If a tornado had blown through the cabin, it would have created less of a mess. The doors and windows had been half blasted off their hinges. Blue blood splattered the walls and floors like a horrible abstract paint job. Specks of weak sunlight streamed through the ceiling where stray fire had poked holes in the roof. Dead Gromflomites littered the floor, most with missing body parts. The walls were scorched, the furniture blasted, and the fireplace crumbling. Some wayward shot had put a hole right through the stereo, causing smoke to pour out of it. It made feeble noises, static murmurs in an effort to make another sound, but the music was completely gone and an eerie silence once more pressed over Morty's ears.

Weisenhurt, meanwhile, had approached the Gromflomite that had nearly taken Morty's life and pried the black box out of it's pincer. It dripped blood, and something inside of it rattled when Weisenhurt shook it. The thing come to life in the older man's hand with a series of bleeps.

A turn of the knob here. A flip of a switch there. A twist of the antenna and a tap of the screen together. Morty couldn't tear his eyes away from Weisenhurt as he toyed with it. Watching his expression crunch up, then darken, then stiffen. For a heartbeat, his eyes darted back to Morty and Summer, still lying on the ground.

When the general finally spoke up again, his voice was curt. "Morty, I need you to go into the back room for me. Don't ask questions. Now."

A hundred questions filled Morty's mind but with the way that Weisenhurt was talking, he knew better than to speak them aloud. With Summer's help, he got to his feet and stumbled for the door, still slightly woozy. His sister's fingers had been gripped around his bicep but as he reached the back door they suddenly weren't. A small protest filled his ears but it was quickly silenced as Morty slipped back into the back room and shut the door behind him.

He wanted to take another step, to collapse on his makeshift bad and sleep for a hundred years or longer, but Morty settled for curling up against the door and hugging his knees. His stomach wrung itself out inside of him, and his heart thrummed against his legs as he drew them closer to his chest.

It's just a fight. It's just a fight. Calm down. Calm down. Calm…down.

The only thing he could hear was the steady beeping of the black box from outside. His sister asked something only to be hushed by Weisenhurt. And then, without warning, there was the sound of something shattering and a bellowed "Fuck!"

Immediately, Morty scrambled up and fumbled for the doorknob. Returning back into the living room revealed Weisenhurt slamming the black box into the hardwood. A moment later, his heel came down and finished the job, shattering the thing under the force of an iron heel.

Morty winced in the doorframe. "What ha-?"

Weisenhurt whipped an accusing finger at him and then at Summer, who had backed up to the ruined fireplace. "You didn't tell me they could track you!" he snarled, twisting his boot on the ruined box.

Morty shook his head. "I-I d-don't know wh-what y-you're t-t-talking about."

"Then why," Weisenhurt pointed to the ruins of the black box, "were they following your fucking brainwaves with that goddamn tracker?"

Ice shot up Morty's spine.

"T-they can't be!" he stammered. "They o-only, I-I mean…I-I t-thought they c-could only track R-Rick's… "

His words died on his mouth as Weisenhurt's expression contorted into a fresh blend of rage and panic. "They were still tracking Sanchez's brainwaves!? Well, then no fucking wonder the asshole came back! Kid, your waves are off their fucking charts; finding you would be like searching for a grain of sand in the desert! Of course they found us so easily. I'm amazed it wasn't faster!"

"Will someone please tell me what's going on!?" Summer yelled from her corner of the room.

Both men ignored her. "B-b-but R-Rick could…," as Morty spoke his point, each new argument began to sputter. He suddenly realized Weisenhurt's terror, his fear. "I-I was m-meant t-t-to hid h-him."

"Large brainwaves can only completely hide with inverses equal in size!" the general fumed. "Do you realize how easy it is to flip a switch, recalibrate a tracker, and find out wherever you are, kid!? You need to…you need to…oh fuck," and with that, Weisenhurt turned away and stomped in the direction of the back room.

Understanding was speedily spreading through Morty, and it took all his willpower not to break down. "W-what about t-t-the ships!?" he offered.

"Too slow! Those ships are too damn slow to outrun the entire Federation, kid, don't you get that!?" Weisenhurt snapped, disappearing into the back room and grumbling curses under his breath.

Summer's eyebrows were knit tight, apprehension making her body tight. "What was that?" she managed weakly.

Morty held his silence, too stunned to answer her. Summer cast him another worried glance but if she truly wanted her answers, she didn't have the courage to ask again. A futile look towards the broken door was the only other sign of her terror, and Morty clung to her composure

A few minutes later, Weisenhurt reappeared with a duffel bag and what looked like a very old TV remote. There were odd wires and buttons on the thing, and where there were supposed to be batteries, something was glowing green under a heaping pile of duct tape. Weisenhurt tossed the duffel bag to Morty, who caught it but very nearly fell to the floor, caught off guard by it's heaviness.

"Grab two of those rifles from outside," the old man grunted as he toyed with the TV remote. "They might be cheap, but a cheap weapon is better than none at all."

Summer and Morty exchanged a concerned glance but she nevertheless did as Weisenhurt commanded. She went outside, reappearing a few moments later with two rifles clutched in her hands. Morty opened the duffel bag, only to see that it was stuffed with bean cans.

"Wh-what's going on?" Morty stammered as Summer attempted to cram the rifles into the bag.

"The Federation is what's going on," Weisenhurt grumbled. "Now that they have a way to track you, you two can't stay here. You need to leave and go save your grandfather before they have the chance to catch you."

"That's insane!" Summer protested, finally squeezing the rifles into the duffel bag and zipping them shut. "Where are we going to hide?"

Weisenhurt didn't take his eyes off the TV remote, now holding it in some sort of triumph. "Out of the way of Federation jurisdiction, of course," he replied. "Some planets around the galaxy have managed to avoid falling into the Federation's web, be it they're too small, too primitive, or too barren. Some of those who want to fight have taken shelter on these planets. There aren't a lot of them, but there should be enough to allow you to hide out for a bit. Sanchez and I had friends there; if you find them, they should help you, given you're mindful of what you say."

Morty and Summer exchanged a frightened glance. "What…h-how are we going to get there?" Morty tried to keep the panic out of his voice. But it didn't look like Weisenhurt was listening anymore.

The general stood up, pointed the TV remote at the wall, and pressed what looked like the power button. The reaction was almost instant. A bright green, all too familiar portal had appeared on the wall next to them. It was a sight for sore eyes, and Morty had to bite his lip to stop himself from shouting out in amazement.

Weisenhurt, in the meantime, had tossed the remote to Summer. "That's your grandfather's portal gun prototype," he explained. "The thing runs on a stable thermo-nuclear core that will last until basically the end of time but can't be recharged. It probably has about four more shots on it, maximum. The planet where you're going is called FR-0284. It's way out of the Federation's range; you'll be safe there for a while. But you can't stay in one place, kid." These words were all for Morty. "Your sister being with you will dilute the signal your brain waves give off, thank God, but it won't stop them. They'll find you eventually, and you ought to be on the move before then."

"What about you?" Summer spoke up, trying to drag Morty to his feet. "Where will you go?"

There was a sort of doubt that flickered in his eyes, but it was so brief that Morty figured he must've imagined it. "I'll throw them off your trail. If I stay here, they'll try to catch me first. Much as I hate to admit it, you're not their only priority anymore."

Small comfort.

"We were when they came in and tried to murder us!" Summer retorted, echoing his thoughts as she finally hauled Morty up.

Weisenhurt disregarded her, yet his voice had risen to match hers in both dread and fury. "Go!" he barked, "before they bring their reinforcements!"

Summer looked offended, but it seemed to bring her back down to Earth. Her expression broke down, losing the anger until pure alarm was all that remained. She hurried to the portal and, after a moments hesitation, stepped through it. Morty lingered still, casting one more glance to the general. Weisenhurt was collecting his guns and casting furtive glances out the broken windows, cursing under his breath. One forearm bled heavily, and his right leg trembled like it was gong to buckle. Run, he said. He was going to run. But where? And how? Doubt blossomed through his mind. Morty paused one foot from the portal. "Bu-"

"I said go!"

There was a sound of combat boots on hardwood, but Morty didn't recognize or process it until it was too late. His last sensation was being roughly shoved from behind and losing his balance over the ruined floor of the cabin. And suddenly he was falling, falling and falling through swirling green mist, leaving his old world behind in a haze of blood and warfare.

I've been a little distracted lately with school starting so I may be taking a small break here or there, but we'll see how it all works. Doubtful, really. Writing tends to destress me.

Thanks for reading and please review, follow, or favorite if you enjoyed!