Invention

Morty rubbed his eyes as he entered the lab after another long night's work. He really should have gone home and gotten some rest, but he wanted to keep working. Needed to keep working until he was finished. He had been asked to make something that could turn the tides of the battle, but doing so was proving more difficult than anticipated. With the enemies' defenses developing faster than their own offenses, they had to do something unexpected. But if he could come up with it, didn't that mean that it was possible someone else had thought of it first?

It had to be so out of left field that even he didn't know what he was making. Which was especially difficult when he was the only one working on it. There had been fear for some time that there might be spies among their numbers, and so to deter such possibilities, Morty had been asked to work on his own. He had agreed to it, of course, at the time thinking that it would be little to no problem. But he had quickly been proven wrong.

Papers were scattered around the lab with desperate scribbles of hastily forged and discarded ideas. Early on they had been more... official. Professional. And they had been disposed of much more neatly. But that had been thrown out the window after some time. He didn't have time to be following procedure, and it was possible that by some stroke of luck combining old and quickly forgotten ideas could be combined to find the solution he was looking for. Though the twelve times he had attempted that previously had proven fruitless.

He sat at his desk and chugged away at the alcohol that had been provided to him. He was diseased with faulty digestion, and one of the side effects of that was that alcohol, while still capable of getting him drunk, invigorated him as well. Most people got tired, but Morty woke up. It was like caffeine, but far more addicting.

He downed an entire bottle of whiskey before setting to work. Most people found that being drunk was a hamper on their work, but in this one instance, for Morty it was useful. He didn't want to know what he was doing. Didn't want to understand the words on the paper. In giant letters that even a drunk couldn't miss on the wall in front of him was a single word - WEAPON. It was the only thing that kept him on track.

In the corner of the room was a pile of testing materials, both for creating and for testing against what was known about the enemies' current defenses. But they had been untouched for more than a week, and were gathering dust. Morty could only hope that he would soon be able to return to them. But with each passing day, he was beginning to doubt that more and more.

Something unexpected. Something new. Something... old? Something so old that it could be considered new? Something old, combined with something new. Something... silly. Unexpected. Something stupid. Something that couldn't possibly work. Something so dumb no one would ever even think to defend against it. Something... soft.

Something to overwhelm. To suffocate. Perhaps...

The drawings were horrible, and the terrible excuse for writing that was his scrawlings were almost illegible, but Morty passed out thinking he may have finally stumbled on to something.