I'm gonna move to the southwest, and, I don't know...

And so there was another chase across the barren landscape of what used to be the Pacific Northwest, only this time, it was just Rick and the giant ball of Isotope 322 being chased by the Death Stalkers and his grandkids.

"Grandpa," Summer shouted from the passenger side of Hemorrhage's rig as they nearly pulled up next to him, "you're being stupid! Just surrender, and our friends will give you mercy!"

( Kiss my ass, Summer! )

Rick shot his portal gun into the ground. The front end of his vehicle fell in, while the tail end remained, sticking out just enough for the vehicle behind him to crash into it and spin up into the air. Because there hadn't been enough trucks and cars spinning wildly and crashing gloriously into the ground yet that day.

Leaving Summer and Morty behind. Possibly forever. Because fuck that noise.


______________________________________________

There they were. Summer and Morty Smith, stuck in post-apocalyptic Earth, abandoned by their Grampa, dealing poorly with their parents divorce and Morty had a monster arm with a mind of its own. Summer was just....going to let Morty deal with that for a moment. That arm had a lot of pent up aggression and a vendetta it needed to fulfill, but he seemed to be doing okay with it in the ThunderBlood Dome. Summer thought it might be best if she did a little damage control, with the one person left that she thought maybe she could depend on in this Rick-forsaken world.

( Do you guys have the phrase 'a hat on a hat'? )

"Hey, I'm doing a coffee run--" he started, but he didn't get far before noticing the hot and heavy make-out session going on. "Neeever mind," he sang, quietly backing right back out and giving them their privacy.


[[ Part 4 of 4! Continued from here, here, and here! There's more tomorrow, but I figured I'd leave ya'all on the cliffhanger. Can be open to any calls, texts, or ooc, though Summer might be a little, uh, distracted for a bit, ahem]]

The landscape stretched out arid and dry for miles upon miles, stretching to the abysmal horizon. Heavy clouds, brown and forboding, hung low in the pollution-choked sky. All was quiet except for the approaching rumble of vehicles, their wheels kicking up red dust, their tailpipes spewing thick smoke. Rick was at the wheel of a green all-terrain vehicle, Summer beside him in the passenger seat with her ponytail whipping in the wind. Morty stood, facing backwards, bracing himself as he held a gun trained on the vehicles following them closely. Too close for comfort, pimped out vehicles driven by madmen dressed in a disarray of metal and leather and tubes.

"Morty!" Rick called out. "Shoot the mohawk guy!"

"They all have mohawks!"

( Okay. But not because you told me to. )

Rick lifted his detection device that he'd grabbed from the car, focusing it on the glowing rock, and, just as he expected, the little yellow lights sang out their rapidly beeping song.

"Kiiids," Rick turned to his grandchildren, renewed with a sudden spark of interest. "Weird pitch. Let's have this be our new life. Let's be post-apocalyptic savenge--gerrr--brrp--eers!"


[[Part 2 of ??. Continued from here! Who doesn't love a good Mad Max homage, huh?]]