“No,” Morty said.
“Okay, new plan. Family therapy. We’re going to a dimension where therapists have no ethical boundaries and the hippocampus is a public utility. In and out, Morty. Twenty-minute mind-bleach.”
Rick’s smirk flickered. “Remember what? The time I turned your bed into a Cronenberg? Ancient history.”
Morty, however, wasn't looking at the moon. He was looking at the half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. His hands were trembling.
“I remember,” Morty said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Okay,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “New rule. No more ‘portal travelers’ leftovers.”