Me myself and her (Megan)

Marco2 started to zone out for a minute.  He watched her pick up the necklace and admire it and then put it back.  His first and only thought was to slip it into his pocket.  Sure he could easily pay for it with th cash he still had, but it was in his nature to steal shit.  It was his survival instinct and he had been doing it for so long.

 He thought about it, but he didn't something told him that little miss feed the homeless would frown upon it.  Plus don't they lick chop you're hands off or some shit for doing that here?  He wasn't sure, but he was self aware.  He was aware that he was just a copy.  In a weird way he was like the ultimate body guard for here here in Africa.  He could literally take a bullet for her with no cosequences.  Though who would want to shoot here was beyond him. 

Marco2 said very little while they walked their way back to the convoy.  He was off in his own head.  Not Marco's head, but his own mind.  Yes, he could individualize his thoughts.  It worked in a weird way.  But the longer a  copy was allowed to move about without being resorbed the more independant they became.  They thought more for themsevles, they  had independant ideas and ideaologies.  It was this Marco that was struggling to break free of his criminal ties, though it was a subsoncious thought of his oringal master who also tired of being little more than a thug.  A guy with tattoos that people cross the street to avoid.  

The real Marco... The puppetmaster pulling the strings here was sitting in bed and flipping lazily through the tv channels.  It was almost 2 in the morning there.  He would be going to sleep soon.  Usually that meant that his copies would stop moving.  They would power down like robots and stand in one place for however long it took for Marco to wake up and become mentally active.  Marco2 was going on day 2 of being awake and alive.  He was breaking away from the synaptical controls that governed his every thought.  When Megan's hand slid across his... He blushed as well.  Somewhere back in Detroit... Marco felt a hand on his.

 It made him look down and pause the show.  He was watching Three's Company on nick at night and the irony couldn't be stronger if your wrote the words third wheel on a mallet and beat him over the head with it.  He concintrated harder trying to visualize what was happening in Africa.  He closed his eyes and breathed in.  He smelled the hot desert.  He could feel the burning dry air and he could taste grainy dirt on his tongue.  It crunched when his grinded his teeth together.  He tuned into the the presence of his copy and realized that he was falling in love.  He opened his eyes and staired at the tv.  "It's hers and hers and his three's compnay too!" The tv joyfully announced.  

Marco realized... He too was in love with this girl.  This girl he had met for only a few minutes and only seen once.  He was head over heals for.  Licking his lips he felt a rising worry in the pit of his stomach.  He willfully thought about his copy and what he wanted him to do.  Marco2 had independent thoughts and ideas sure, but he was still governed and ruled by the creator unless Marco tuned out to say, watch tv.  Then Marco2 was free to make his own actions as Marco's subconsious deligated the task.  Now there was more riding on this.  She asked him a question.  "Waaa..." Marco2 blurted out.  It was as if he couldn't understand why she was even asking.

Marco sat up in his bed.  Thousands of miles away on the other side of the world.  He stared at the wall in front of him, but he was seeing her.  Seeing her.  Her face, the outlines and edges and all the perfect little creases that ran between them.  The deep rich pools of blue that were her eyes and the titled smile that boarderlined on the curious.  She honestly wanted to know why he chose the life he did.  He didn't choose anything.  It was chosen for him.  No more than he chose to be a mutant.

 "You wouldn't understand." Marco said shyly and turned away.  He didn't want to close her out.  He wanted to let her in!  Marco2 turned back slowly.... He licked his lips again preparing for the painful rejection he sense rising over the horizon.  " I had nothing.  I was... Nothing... I would have died if it wasn't for this club.  They brought me in.  Fed me.  Propped me up when i was little more tha na shitstain on the sidewalk.  They taught me about family, brotherhood and what it meant to never truly be alone.  I guess i stayed out of loyalty." It sounded kind of stupid out loud.  It wasn't the life he ever wanted.  It wasn't something he actively persued.  "I guess i don't know what I want.  I just know how hard it is trying to do it alone."  He said, boldy reaching back over and grabbing her hand once more he gave it a light squeeze.

Marco2  stood in front of the door and watched her.  He said nothing of her words of faith or god.  He honestly didn't know what to say to that.  He had never thought about god.  Never cared to get to know someone he thought had forsaken him since birth.  It was god that made him different.  It was god that made him a mutant and gave him these struggles and put these obsticles in front of him.  He didn't see god as the answer to any of his problesm.  Only the creator of his problems.  Still, it was important to her.  He didn't rip that security blanket away from here.  Though, he wanted to yell at her.  To scream that it was god's fault in the first place.  Somehow he held onto those thoughts and kept them private.  Marco2 watched as the door opened to Paris.

"I... I can't.."  He lied.  It hurt him to actually lie to her, but it wasn't his choice.  He was still a puppet.  A strong willed puppet, but a puppet none the less.  Marco was pulling the strings back in Detroit.  Slowly, gradually he began to break apart.  Slowly at first. Lines and cracks formed in his face.  "I can't exist anymore."  He said with a sorrowful voice.  Marco wasn't going to allow his copy to go to Paris with her in his place.  It should be him.  It would be him.  The copy was nothing more than an extension of hiself.  It wasn't real.  It was only his subcionous mind in an empty vessel.  Sure, he was gradually getting more independant and having his own original thoughts, but that didn't mean he was a living breathing human being.  

"Open a door to where you found me.  I'll be waiting...."  The words tasted bitter on the copies tongue, but Marco was in truth getting weaker every minute that his copy existed.  The more it grew and adapted and became more real in this world the less and less he became tangible.  It was like, the more indepdance and self aware his copy became, the less he felt like himself.  Soon it would be his copy that was the true Marco and he would be the copy.  If it continued past a certain point the copy would even gain the ability to reabsorb the orginal Marco.  A slight breeze begain to blow and it accelerated the process.

 Marco started to blow away in the wind.  "Megan.... I need you."  He whispered before the wind blew him away like particles of dust on a high wind.  Marco2 was gone.  Back in Detroit Marco was sweating.  He was tired.  He was pale.  He didn't realize how much his copy being so far away would take a toll on his body.  But then again... He never let his copies just go site seeing in other parts of the world.  If Marco2 would have gone through that door to Paris then he would have likely collapsed.

 He was just glad he still had enough power to stop him.  Love was a powerful motivator.  Marco2 was in love.  He was experiencing life and reality for the first time.  A brand new copy made only a few days ago.  He had all of Marco's memories and thoughts, life experiences, but yet everything had been so new to him.  Everything was just that much better because he was experiencing it all for the first time himself.  The touch of a pretty girls hand.  The warmth of her smile... The realization that he didn't have to be what he had always been for his entire life.  There were other choices.  Marco2 left the big bag of money behind.  

He didn't care about that anymore.  Neither did the actual host Marco in Detroit.  Fuck the Fools.  He wanted nothing more than to run off to Paris with her and get to know her better.  This wasn't some random bar chick, this was different.  He felt like she could change his life, for the better.  He had that weird fluttery butterfly feeling in his stomach.  Marco sat there at the edge of his bed.  Alone.  In a dingy club bar that Megan wouldn't consider home in a million years.  He looked around at the stained walls and the nudey posters hanging on his wall.  The clothes on the floor and broken bits of beer bottle lying around in the corners of the room.

 She could never accept a life like this.  She could never love a guy like him.  He licked his lips and wondered if she had given up on him.  He looked around the room anxiously, praying, hoping that a door would appear out of nowhere.  That she would come back for him.  The club was falling apart anyways.  Bastina had shown up and tried to take control.  Everyone was fighting for power and choosing sides it was awful.  Marco wanted nothing more than a fresh start.

 He hopped off his bed and pulled his fool's jacket off.  He tossed it in the floor.  The ultimate sign of disrepect.  A Fool's jacket should never touch the floor unless you were a fallen soldier.  He threw it there on purpose.  He was done.  He was getting out of the life for good.  "Please don't leave me hanging."  He whispered to himself as he waited anxiously looking around for a magic door.  A door that would change his life forever.