The Trans-Dimensional Council of Ricks sat in their lofty chamber, suspended in the vast void of neutral space. A ring of chairs, more like thrones, encircled the trial floor, each occupied by a Rick more self-righteous than the last. From the minimalist Zen Rick to the gothic cyborg Rick, they were all here, wearing expressions like they just smelled a fart with a PhD.
"Welcome, Rick Sanchez of Dimension C-137," one of them intoned in a voice practiced for dramatic courtrooms. "And the anomaly, Richard."
The floor shifted under them as two pedestal platforms rose and locked in place. Rick sighed. Richard laughed. "The Trans-Dimensional Council of Ricks?" Richard snorted, shaking his head. "You guys couldn't think of a shorter acronym? TDCoR sounds like a cult, not a governing body."
The chamber went silent. "Silence," growled Rick in ceremonial armor. "Mock this trial again, and we'll skip straight to sentencing."
"Oh no," Richard grinned, not at all intimidated. "The council is mad I made fun of their little club name."
"I mean... he's got a point," Rick muttered. "Council? Please. You guys hand out judgments like you're some kind of interdimensional monarchy. King Rick the First and his Royal Court of Passive-Aggression."
"Enough!" barked Zen Rick. "Rick Sanchez, you stand accused of the mass murder of 43 Ricks, 1 Morty, and a sentient bagel named Jerry."
"I've been framed," Rick replied coolly, hands in his coat pockets. "Probably by Rick B-22. That guy's always had serial killer eyes."
"You refused to join us," monocle Rick added with disdain. "And now your history has caught up to you."
Richard stepped forward, diplomatic smile in place. "Okay, let's all just breathe and dial down the murder jazz for a second. My name is Richard. Singular entity, not affiliated. Not guilty. Can we start with some evidence that doesn't involve vibes and ancient grudges?"
"Enough," a council member snapped. "We know what you are, Richard. A singularity. A variable in our perfect system. That alone is reason enough to put you in containment."
Richard leaned toward Rick. "You gotta be kidding me," he whispered.
"Don't look at me," Rick said with a shrug. "I built the council as a prank."
Richard sighed, shook his head, and muttered, "Well, if we're already convicted... JOHN."
A sudden wind blew through the sealed chamber.
CRASH!
The far wall of the council shattered into a thousand hexagonal shards. Standing in the breach was John Wick, or what John Wick would look like if the Matrix and Blade Runner had a baby and gave it a plasma rifle. His suit gleamed in metallic midnight black. Pulsing blue lines traced across his chestplate like circuitry, his eyes hidden behind a visor, scanning for targets. Twin guns magnetically floated behind him, while a retractable blade gleamed at his side.
He moved like death. Calculated, brutal, unstoppable. The council barely had time to shout. Within seconds, lasers were dodged, bones shattered, and Ricks fell left and right. John Wick's bullets hit only non-lethal targets, but the trauma would last for eons. A Rick tried to throw a plasma grenade, Wick shot it in mid-air, and used the explosion to vault over the trial wall.
Richard and Rick made a run for it as the chaos unfolded. Richard turned back as he was about to leave, and John looked at him. Richard gave a single nod, John returned it. Then he disappeared into the fray. Back in their spaceship, Rick collapsed into the co-pilot seat, laughing breathlessly.
"You keep John Wick on your speed dial?" he wheezed.
"John Wick," Richard said, pulling up a holographic display. "John Wicks, I helped a bunch of John Wicks by saving their dogs, so they owe me."
"That's... mildly terrifying. Also super hot." Rick said, with a single eyebrow raised. The spaceship hummed to life beneath them, but neither Rick nor Richard touched the controls. A hologram flickered on blue light, forming into the face of an AI with a pirate hat.
"Welcome back, Captain," said the AI. "Jack Sparrow, at your service."
"Jack," Richard said, hands moving quickly through data screens. "Pull up portal gun travel history across all registered Ricks."
Within seconds, thousands of profiles were loaded onto the hologram. A cascade of Rick faces flooded the screen like a cosmic mugshot gallery. "Filter out all Ricks whose portal data doesn't match C-137," Richard instructed.
"Aye-aye, Captain."
With a blink, 99% of the Ricks vanished. Only a few profiles remained—fewer than ten. Richard was scrolling through them when Rick jabbed a finger at the display. "Wait. That one. His location field is blank."
Richard's eyes narrowed. "No trace on the tracker?"
"Yeah," Rick muttered. "That's not good. You know... I once theorized that if someone wanted to go completely dark, even from me, they'd need to do something sick."
He stood up, fished a flask from his coat, and took a long swig. "They'd need a bunch of Mortys," he said. "And they'd need to torture them. Keep the multiverse bleeding grief and guilt. It would cloak them like a freakin' shroud."
Richard stared at the blank file for a second. Then he activated the Atomic Printer embedded into the ship wall. "Jack," he said, "we're building a Morty detection unit. Feed schematics to the printer."
Metal plates hissed, laser welders sparked, and within moments, a sleek device formed, a round black orb with concentric rings of energy and a central red scanner. They installed it into the dashboard. "Begin scan," Richard commanded. "Look for any large concentrations of Mortys across the multiverse."
Jack's voice was tense now. "Scanning... Match found. Two primary clusters."
A 3D map appeared. One blip showed the Morty Daycare Center. The other... glowed red. "Unidentified source," Jack confirmed. "Location hidden. Power levels rising."
Richard pointed. "Set course."
Jack obeyed. Engines roared to life. As they shot through the stars, Rick reclined in his chair, flask dangling from one hand. "Well," he muttered, "guess it's time we caught ourselves a sick bastard."
He raised the flask to the stars and grinned. "To justice, Rick-style."