Rick Morty: Pocket Mortys Novels & Stories

GWEN “I'll put your ass on a bus back to Podunk if you don't toe the line, Wix. Could you sing where you worked? They won't even let you back onstage when I'm done ripping you to shreds,” Morty, the executive handjob, yells at me from the Homegrown Records conference room.

Why wasn’t she awakening? Mortus took off his tunic, his glowing white skin littered with a few scars, but mostly tattoos of crosses and busty women. “I’ll get them covered, just for you. I’ll rip the skin from my body if that will make it better.” My arms were trying to crawl away from him, only to be pulled back to the center of the bed.

Omar reminded his mom of more tragically funny things that happened that Halloween night. “Yeah, I remember now. That toy machine gun kept poking him in his booty and he kept saying how he couldn’t breathe through his Deadshot mask. He also kept talking about how his underwear felt too tight beneath his pants.” Amy’s laughter choked her up. She remembered watching her husband walk down the sidewalk, trying to adjust his Deadshot costume by tugging on his butt, and his crotch. She remembered thinking about how Will Smith gracefully sported the costume in Suicide Squad, making it look easy.

The few who did have their helmets on were all open faced. POP! POP! POP! "HEHE I-I-I FORGOT HOW M-MUCH F-FUN THIS CAN B-BE!" Mortis cheered from the back of the line thrusting his stick out again, and again. If everyone wasn't so concentrated on the battle at hand they would probably look at their friend with both concern and disgust.

The purple flame touched Morty's clothes and burnt furiously instantly. "Argh! Help!" Morty screamed as his flesh started to burn. He was quickly incinerated into a crisp corpse. Before he died, his eyes were filled with fear and disbelief. No one expected him to be defeated by a good-for-nothing. "You just refuse to stay away. You only managed to kill the powerhouses from the Night Pavilion through sneak attacks!" An angry voice was suddenly heard coming from outside. It was Claude Loft, Morty's brother. He was also an enforcer just like Morty was.

My voice drips with sarcasm. "Hey, moral support is important," he says, not bothering to move from his comfortable position. Before we go, Rowan pulls out a marker and scribbles her number on Danny's arm. The ink bleeds slightly into his skin. He winks at her and she grins back, clearly pleased with herself. I groan loudly. "Really? You two?" "What? He's a cutie." Rowan says, grabbing one of my boxes without looking apologetic.

"Boss has been on edge lately. He said you're not picking up his calls or returning his messages. Where are you, Morty?" Rhea asked over the phone. "Home," Morticia replied, munching on her popcorn as her eyes stayed glued to the movie playing on her screen. "Home? I'm standing at your doorstep, Morty. Since when did you start lying to me?" Rhea asked, her tone sharp. "I am home-Washington, with my family," Morticia replied, her voice calm.

"But why did you all elaborate such a complicated plan? If you only switched the will and put Mexdoxa's name, there would have been no need for all this nonsense. " " We did switch the will but there is one detail I have not mentioned. Only the wolf that resulted in an Alpha and his mate fusion could interact with the pack. Only Madoxe's wolf could be viewed as the Alpha." " So the man that contacted me was Madoxe, who was posing as Madoxe after Mezdoxa who had paused as Madoxe died. " "Since nobody felt his death, he didn't have the choice but to take over. "

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" "Morty. Morty's an elf. Morty don't want to talk to you because Morty don't want trouble." "Don't pay attention to the stupid elf, he's a coward. The name's zeta by the way." she said then she walked in. She was pretty huge for a woman and she kinda looked scary with her shoulder length black hair, deep grey eyes and a snake tattoo on her arm. "I like to get to know to the prisoners before I kill them. Now, tell me bout urself"

I stopped, then let out a short, cold laugh. "It didn't die peacefully. It barely made it a year. And it died choking. I still wonder what Zoey was trying to get. All that smoke in my house, those weird rituals. Suffocating a helpless little thing." I looked straight at him. "What exactly was she praying for?" His lips shook. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. "But you were thorough," I said calmly. "You let Zoey live in the house for six months. Scrubbed everything clean. Even replaced the wallpaper." I paused. "You just forgot one thing—the hamster. And you forgot who I am. I'm a doctor."