Marcus ran through the maze of a thousand holo memories searching for the thundering beacon that would lead him back to Reality. After what seemed like an eon Marcus finally saw the tiniest pin-prick of light in the far distance. He dashed passed the recreated Shelly's, each phantom visage furiously clinging to his heart. Tears threated to return, but his desperate need to be home dried up the bottomless well of his tear ducts. The Light grew the faster he ran until he was enveloped in the blinding white of Freedom.
Marcus jolted awake with a fierce migraine. He wiped away the crusted drool from his chin on his pillow case and propped himself up on his forearms. Someone was pounding on his front door. Loud and insistent. He didn't want to answer it, but rolled out of bed anyway. He stumbled toward the banging rhythm of some persistent stranger.
Marcus stuck his eye to the peephole, failing to see anybody standing on the other side. The pounding resumed, startling Marcus.
"Who is it?" he called to the stranger.
"S.C.P.D." they answered, flashing a bronze badge in front of the peephole, "Detective Mocroni. I'm looking for a Marcus Tyrne. "
Marcus laughed, "Yeah right, Detective Macaroni and I'm the cheesy suspect." he joked.
"Detective MO-croni." the gruff voice behind the door growled.
Marcus opened his door as far as the security chain would stretch. He peeked around the door into the hallway of his apartment building. He saw the origin of the insistent pounding and gruff voice. A tall, denim clad cowboy was standing to the left of Marcus' apartment door. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning casually against the wall.
"I'm Marcus Tyrne." Marcus revealed to Det. Mocroni.
The Cowboy gracefully pushed away from the wall with a twitch of his considerable bicep.
He covered the distance between them in one stride of his long legs, a crooked smile trying to find room on his usually scowl covered face.
"Great, then you are my cheesy suspect. I'd like to ask you a few questions about the incident you witnessed yesterday in the Malt-Stop. May I come in?" he asked Marcus.
Marcus closed the door so he could release the security chain before quickly opening the door enough to let in the Detective.
Mocroni stood in the dim hallway boots, buckle, and all. "Cheesy suspect." he greeted with a slight tip of his ten gallon hat. Marcus couldn't help but laugh.
"Detective Macaroni, please come in." Marcus moved behind the door and gestured to the detective to make entrance.
The spaghetti western sleuth sauntered over the threshold and made himself at home.