The air around the breakfast table was as thick and stagnant as congealed syrup, and Beth’s complaint cut through it like a fork scraping against a china plate: “Jerry, you can’t keep treating unemployment benefits like a career.” Jerry was just about to defend himself when a sharp knock erupted at the door. Standing outside was a wriggling pink fleshy blob—Rick’s interstellar messenger. This unexpected visitor instantly dragged the Smith family’s domestic strife into a galaxy-spanning whirlwind of crisis.
With obvious impatience, Rick pulled a metal egg from the blob’s body, and Birdperson’s gruff voice echoed forth, inviting him to his wedding with Tammy on Planet Squanch. “Weddings are just funerals with cake, anyway,” Rick scoffed, tossing the egg into the trash. He had always held such confining rituals in contempt. Jerry chimed in with an ill-timed remark, only to be bundled off as a “gift” by the blob, which teleported him directly to the wedding venue. Forced to retrieve his troublesome son-in-law, Rick had no choice but to gather Beth, Morty, and Summer, and set off for Planet Squanch.
Planet Squanch’s sky glowed with an eerie purple hue, and the local Squanchy residents greeted them warmly, holding glowing fluorescent plants. Jerry landed in a disheveled mess, his hair sticking up in all directions. He had barely finished complaining about the treacherous journey when Tammy’s parents left him speechless—when he questioned, “Is it really appropriate for a teenage girl to marry a forty-year-old bird-creature?” the alien couple beamed with pride, expressing full support for their daughter’s choice. Seizing the opportunity, Beth pressed Birdperson about Rick’s past. The quiet, avian creature finally spoke, his tone heavy: “The Galactic Federation calls us terrorists. We’ve fought countless wars for freedom, and our hands are stained with blood.” The warm, nostalgic memories Beth had hoped for dissolved into a cold history of violence. She unclenched her tightly fisted hands and suddenly understood why her father always wrapped himself in indifference.
The alcohol at the wedding feast did nothing to ease Rick’s restlessness. Morty approached him with a drink: “Grandpa, all our family and friends are here. You don’t have to keep thinking about running away.” Rick paused, his gaze sweeping over the noisy guests before finally settling on Birdperson. When the officiant declared the couple joined in union, Rick stood up—an unusual gesture—and said, his tone awkward yet sincere: “I don’t believe in marriage, but I hope you and Tammy… can break the curse of dying alone.”
Before the echoes of his blessing faded, Tammy suddenly raised an energy gun, her smile twisted into a menacing grin: “Thanks for that little confession, Rick. I’m an undercover agent for the Galactic Federation, and this place is surrounded.” The banquet hall’s walls instantly transformed into holographic screens, and the shadow of Federation warships loomed over the entire planet. Birdperson lunged at Tammy to confront her, but she shot him through the chest without hesitation. Feathers mixed with blood splattered across the wedding cake, fulfilling Rick’s prophecy of a “funeral with cake.” Amid the chaos, the Squanchies shouted “For freedom!” and charged at the Federation soldiers, sacrificing their lives to buy Rick’s family time to escape. Rick grabbed his terrified family and fled in a spaceship, the roar of the exploding teleportation gun ringing in their ears.
They fled to two extreme planets in quick succession: one where the sun screamed endlessly, its sound waves powerful enough to rupture eardrums; the other where all life grew on corn cobs, and even the drinking water had the thick consistency of cornmeal mush. Eventually, Rick settled them on a small asteroid far from Federation surveillance, where a shabby wooden hut barely kept out the wind and rain. That night, by the campfire, Jerry tried to incite the others: “If we hand over Rick, we can go back to Earth and live a normal life.”
“You don’t get it at all. He was absent from my life for twenty years—I can’t lose him again,” Beth retorted, leaving Jerry tongue-tied. Morty clutched the tiny teleporter Rick had given him and added, his voice tight: “We love him, even if he’s a lunatic half the time.” Summer nodded in agreement: “Love isn’t a transaction. It doesn’t need to be quid pro quo.” Rick, hiding beneath the floorboards, heard every word. For the first time, a faint look of emotion crossed his weathered face.
The next morning, Rick patted Morty on the shoulder and said he was going out to buy ice cream. “You’re not coming back, are you?” Morty’s voice cracked with tears. “I can handle you leaving, but Mom will be heartbroken.” Rick avoided his grandson’s gaze and turned to board his spaceship. He didn’t go for ice cream. Instead, he called the Galactic Federation and offered his surrender in exchange for his family’s freedom.
In a dim bar filled with alien drunks, Rick stared at a photo on the wall—himself, Birdperson, and a Squanchy. His fingers brushed gently over the image. Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” played through the murky space, and the lyrics “I hurt myself to see if I still feel” pierced his heart like a needle. When Federation soldiers kicked down the door, he raised his hands calmly, offering no resistance.
When the Smiths were returned to Earth, they found their home unrecognizable—alien tourists wandered the streets, the currency had been replaced with Federation nutrition tablets, and Jerry was forced to take an “emotional regulation pill.” Moments later, he was informed he owed seven thousand Federation credits, yet he beamed with joy at the job the Federation had assigned him. On the prison transport ship, an alien criminal asked curiously: “What’d they lock you up for?” Rick stared out at the starry sky beyond the porthole and whispered, “Everything.”
In that tiny, palm-sized hut on the asteroid, Beth sat alone on the roof, waiting from sunrise to sunset. She had no idea why her father had suddenly vanished, yet she clung stubbornly to that communicator, firmly believing she would receive his signal someday. Meanwhile, in the Galactic Federation's maximum-security prison, when Rick was asked by his cellmate, "Why are you in here?" he replied softly, "Everything."