For the time that followed, Morty fully experienced the joy of controlling time.
The scenery and people before him, even the words he spoke, all kept rushing backward before his sixes, one after another.
Number 5, Number 9, Number 11—one by one, people came from behind him and walked toward the front.
Words that had previously been spoken forward now played backward, as if the words that had drifted away into the air were being stuffed back into his mouth.
Only when Morty had convinced the last Rick to help him did he stop time from running backward.
"Timor..."
Number 8, who had been speaking, noticed the scene before him. One second, Morty had looked utterly sincere; the next, he was beaming with delight.
He immediately stopped talking and stared at Morty with a strange expression.
The sensation was so choppy it felt like reality had torn. He knew something must have happened just now; no matter how good someone was at changing expressions,
they couldn't possibly switch between two faces in less than half a second, without even a transition in their facial muscles.
Morty had noticed it too, and sighed inwardly.
These Ricks are too smart. Is it really not exhausting to live like this...?
Normally, high intelligence and low emotional intelligence are the standard genius combination. Rational thinking and deep contemplation tend to weaken their ability to read people, little by little.
But Rick just has to be the damn exception!
He reined in his expression, pretended nothing had happened, and looked in another direction.
Now that Number 8 had sensed something was off, he might as well roll the dice again and cut out this whole stretch.
He could convince Number 8 again, then figure out how to deal with Number 1.
Just as Morty was