The morning sun filtered through his window as Morty rolled out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. The warm water cascaded over his skin, easing the tension from yesterday's manipulation. As he lathered soap, he caught a glimpse of the faint crimson hue beneath his skin—the nanobots shifting and integrating perfectly with his biology. He stepped out, towel dry, dressed quickly.
Summer burst into the bathroom without a care, her eyes widening as she took in Morty's toned physique. The towel slipped dangerously low on his hips, giving her an unobstructed view of his abs and that dangerous 'V' leading downward. She froze mid-step, cheeks turning pink.
"M-Morty?" Summer stuttered, trying to play it cool but utterly failing. Her gaze lingered on the defined muscles she'd never noticed before. Morty, oblivious to her sudden interest, bent down to grab his deodorant, the towel riding up slightly.
"there's no need to be shy Summer." He said with a slice smirk walking closer to her, giving her ear a little nipple.
Summer's breath hitched as Morty stepped close, his voice dropping to that confident, knowing tone. The slight graze at her ear made her whole body shudder, and for once, the fearless Summer Smith was speechless. He pulled back with a slow smirk, his crimson nanobot veins glowing faintly under his skin, letting her know exactly what kind of power was now standing in front of her.
"See you later." He said, leaving going to his room.
Summer stood there, stunned, as Morty casually walked out, leaving her alone in the bathroom. She touched her ear where he'd 'nipped' her, a shiver running down her spine. "What the actual fuck...?" she whispered to herself.
Her face burned as she stared down at the unmistakable wet spot on her shorts. It was warm, sticky, and definitely NOT from the shower. Her mind raced—Morty was her brother, but that brief encounter had triggered something primal. The way his muscles looked, that smirk, the touch... She touched her inner thigh, confirming her worst fear. Her body had reacted on its own.
Morty leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced through yesterday's events—reengineering the Omniton, slipping into Ben's universe, the nanobots now permanently bonded to his DNA. He'd even handled Summer's little meltdown effortlessly. But what really nagged at him was Summer's reaction in the bathroom.
Morty's eyes widened as he recalled the details of The Essence of the Breeder. The god of light had described it perfectly—enhanced appearance, irresistible charm, reproductive dominance, and the ability to bypass physical and moral boundaries. He sat up suddenly, a realization dawning on him.
"So, if I've got a piece of that essence mixed in with my nanobots... and Summer's a teenager with all those crazy hormones... it wouldn't be crazy to think that my presence alone might trigger some... unexpected reactions." He whispered to himself, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
Morty grasped the portal gun firmly, his crimson nanobot veins glowing as he dialed in the coordinates to Reagan Ridley's universe. The gun hummed to life, a swirling vortex opening before him. Without hesitation, he stepped through, emerging in the heart of Reagan's world.
Morty materialized in a sterile hallway—inside a research facility. His Ultimate Mind instantly mapped the building: floor plans, security protocols, employee rosters. Reagan Ridley's workplace. He adjusted his clothes, the Breeder Essence pulsing subtly beneath his skin. He wasn't here to cause chaos—he was here for Reagan specifically. And testing the essence on a woman known for her cold, detached professionalism.
With a single touch, Morty infiltrated the terminal, downloading terabytes of classified information directly into his nanobot network. Government secrets, cutting-edge weapons, global intel—all siphoned away silently. He also fabricated a convincing backstory for himself in this universe, complete with a fake identity and credentials.
Morty leaned casually against the wall, his eyes scanning the facility's blueprints on his HUD. He spotted Reagan's office on the top floor, her schedule indicating she'd be alone during lunch. Perfect. He waited patiently, his appearance subtly altered to blend seamlessly with the facility's employees.
Morty's fake profile pinged through the facility's system—"Morty Smith, Junior Researcher, transferred from another branch." His credentials were flawless, his background check clean. He walked through the halls with purpose, nodding at security guards who recognized him from the system. His ultimate mind calculated Reagan's location precisely—Level 4, VIP office. 5 minutes away.
Morty paced down the sterile hallway, maintaining his professional demeanor. He passed several scientists and interns, nodding politely. The security badge around his neck pinged at each scanner—red lights turning green without hesitation. His HUD pinged: "Target Reagan Ridley spotted. Level 4. Office 12A." She'd be there alone, working through lunch.
Morty's ultimate mind mapped the facility perfectly—security cameras, guard patrols, Reagan's office layout. He knew every blind spot and dead zone. His nanobots enhanced his senses—he could hear whispers from three floors away, see infrared heat signatures through walls. He was essentially invisible to their systems.
Morty ascended to Level 4, his fake credentials working seamlessly at every scanner. The elevator opened to a VIP floor—sleek, modern, quiet. He passed three secretaries who barely blinked at his presence, their eyes momentarily drifting to his enhanced features—the Breeder Essence subtly amplifying his attractiveness even in a professional setting. His HUD pinged: "Office 12A. Reagan Ridley."
Morty approached Office 12A, pausing to activate his mental camouflage—suppressing the Breeder Essence's aura just enough to avoid immediate suspicion. The door was closed. Through the crack, he could hear typing—fast, precise, efficient. Reagan Ridley's signature work style. His HUD confirmed: "Target alone. No security presence within 50 meters." Perfect.
Morty opened the door casually, clipboard in hand, looking every bit the dedicated junior researcher. "Excuse me, Ms. Ridley? I'm Morty Smith, new transfer. Dr. Chen asked me to deliver these preliminary findings to you personally." His voice was smooth, confident, layered with subtle pheromonal manipulation from the Breeder Essence.
Reagan didn't even look up from her monitor, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "You're the new transfer? Smith, right? Chen's still an idiot, sending a junior to my office for preliminary findings when he should be doing his own data processing." Her tone was clipped, professional—the classic Reagan Ridley dismissiveness.
*Target's psychological profile confirms:*
Morty's ultimate mind processed Reagan's response instantly—cold, efficient, dismissive. Classic high-functioning sociopathy mixed with extreme intelligence. His Breeder Essence subtly adjusted its pheromonal output—lowering aggressive hormones, increasing trust and comfort chemicals.
"I'm just following orders, ma'am," Morty replied, his voice soft, non-threatening. He stepped closer, placing the clipboard on her desk—his hand brushing against hers briefly. The Breeder Essence's touch was gentle, almost imperceptible—designed to soothe rather than arouse.
Reagan paused, her icy blue eyes flicking up to meet his briefly. She dismissed him mentally, focusing back on her screen. "Just put it on the desk, Smith. I'll glance at it later." Her tone made it clear she had zero interest in small talk or personal connections. Classic Reagan. Cold, brilliant, and utterly focused on work.
Morty's Ultimate Mind mapped Reagan instantly—Defense contractor, CIA liaison, world leader manipulation, emotionally detached, trust issues, sleep deprivation, alcohol dependency, repressed desires. He saw the fractures beneath the icy exterior. The Breeder Essence thrummed—responding to her loneliness, her isolation, her desperate need for someone who could actually match her intellect.
"Ms. Ridley,"
"Ms. Ridley," Morty continued, lowering his voice just slightly, "Dr. Chen specifically emphasized that these findings require your immediate attention. Something about a breakthrough in quantum-level encryption that could impact Project Chimera's timeline." He leaned in, just enough for his enhanced pheromones to drift into her personal space—calming, centering, subtly flattering.
Reagan finally paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She looked up again, suspicious now—her years of CIA indoctrination screaming that something was off. The "Breakthrough in quantum-level encryption" line was good, tailored to her specific obsessions.
"Chen is a complete moron," she said flatly, leaning back and crossing her arms.
"Probably," Morty agreed quietly, his mind working at lightning speed. He pulled out the chair in front of her desk, sitting down without asking—an act of casual defiance that her subconscious would register. "But even morons stumble onto valuable data sometimes. Like this."
Reagan's eyes narrowed—the slightest flicker of interest. Her arms uncrossed. The Breeder Essence's pheromones settled into her system like a warm bath. Morty's ultimate mind processed her micro-expressions—pupil dilation, subtle neck tilt, index finger tapping her chin unconsciously.
"Show me," she said, her tone losing half its ice.
Morty's fingers moved smoothly, pulling up the encrypted data on her screen—real information, but not the actual Chimera project details. He knew exactly what she'd be interested in. His voice softened, almost conversational. "You'll notice the anomalies in Section Three-B..."
Reagan's eyes locked onto the screen, her analytical brain instantly dissecting the data. She hadn't even read the whole report yet, but her mind had already flagged the anomalies Morty pointed out.
"This encryption methodology..." she murmured, leaning forward, her cold demeanor cracking just slightly. "This shouldn't be possible. The quantum key distribution alone would take a decade to develop."
"Which is why I thought you'd want to see it," Morty said smoothly. He watched her, the way she'd completely forgotten her usual guarded stance—shoulders tension easing slightly. His Ultimate Mind cataloged every shift in her demeanor: pupils dilating, pulse point in her neck softening.
The Breeder Essence whispered. It fed on her isolation.
"How did you even..." Reagan started, her voice dropping. Her brain fought the unnatural ease she felt—she didn't trust people, especially new transfers from some obscure branch. But the pheromones worked beneath her conscious threshold. Her fingers traced the screen, unconsciously moving closer to Morty's hand.
"Chen sent me with these specifics, Ms. Ridley."
Reagan's logical brain flagged the inconsistency—Chen wouldn't know enough about quantum encryption to send specific details. Yet... the data was legitimate. Revolutionary. Her mind whirred, trying to reconcile the impossible breakthrough with the suspicious circumstances. The Breeder Essence pushed gently—warmth spreading through her chest, lowering her defenses.
She loosened her tie—a rare sign of vulnerability.
The tie loosened—Reagan's hand moved away from her collar, but her eyes remained on the screen, processing. The data was too good to be true. Her CIA instincts were screaming a warning, but the unfamiliar comfort of being around someone who understood her work-level was overriding.
"You're too young for this level of access,"
"Different branch," she echoed, her eyes flicking to him briefly before snapping back to the screen. "Which one?" She asked, her tone sharp—testing him. The Breeder Essence nudged her subconscious, making her less likely to pick up on any potential lies in his response.
"Blacksite Division Eighteen," Morty replied without hesitation. A real division, but one so obscure most people wouldn't know its specifics. He'd chosen well—Reagan's expression remained neutral, but her posture relaxed marginally. Blacksite Division Eighteen was known for its intense, secretive projects.