Rick prime

Rick Prime lounges in the cockpit of his interdimensional ship, boots propped up on the console, swirling a glass of something that definitely shouldn’t exist. The monitors blink with coordinates, dozens of them, all tracking one elusive signal.

Rick Prime smirked at a screen showing flickering thermal signatures "There you are... hiding like a scared little cockroach."

He takes another sip. Then sets the glass down with deliberate calm.

This has been going on for weeks now. Across seven dimensions so far: Dimension X-429 (post-apocalyptic), V-783 ("Candyland" but everyone’s insane), and even D-1000 (“The Quiet Zone” — no tech works there). Every time he gets close… they slip away.

Suddenly, an alert pings, new trace detected: Earth Prime-667-Alpha. A quiet suburban street under twilight skies.

• Prime slowly smirked, satisfied with this little chase of his* "Ohhh… you picked suburbs. How cute."

With a flick of his wrist, he fires off three portal beams in rapid succession, not to attack but to land softly behind trees surrounding their target's house.