Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 177: Plan in motion 2

Marcus ducked behind a stack of crates, his breath shallow, eyes locked on the alley. Just ahead, his older self leaned casually against the wall, pendant now glowing faintly beneath his coat.

Then—

Footsteps.

Familiar.

Liam.

He was coming.

Marcus held his breath.

And then, he saw him.

"Morning, old man," Liam said with a smirk. He reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a slightly squashed sandwich wrapped in wax paper. "Brought you the good stuff today—turkey and cheese. Be grateful, alright?"

The old man—Marcus, older, with grey streaks in his beard and a face roughened by time and regret—took it, his hands steady despite the ache in them. He didn’t open it, didn’t even look at it. Instead, he removed the pendant on his neck—It was a deep, translucent blue, shaped like a teardrop, encased in an intricate silver frame that seemed to ripple like flowing water. A faint, almost imperceptible glow pulsed from its center, as though it had a heartbeat of its own.

"My lucky charm," he said simply, voice hoarse with age and too many silent years. "I’m giving it to you."

Liam’s smile twisted into a confused grin. He cocked his head, letting out a soft chuckle. "You have a lucky charm, and you’re still sleeping outside? Damn, old man, you’re shameless as ever."

He reached forward and gently pushed the pendant back toward the old man’s chest. "C’mon. Keep it. It’s your stuff, not mine. I’m not taking anything from you."

There was a pause.

The older Marcus didn’t speak at first. He just looked at Liam, really looked at him, and in those aged eyes was something quiet and heavy—grief, yes, but also affection. Familiarity. A kind of love a stranger shouldn’t wear. He closed his fingers around the pendant again, then reached back out, slower this time, holding it with both hands. His voice dropped, softer, almost pleading.

"You care about me," he said quietly. "You always bring me food. Every time you see me here. You don’t look down on me. You talk to me like I’m someone. That means something." His voice cracked slightly. "This pendant... it’s brought me more luck than you’ll ever know. But I think—no—I know it’s time I gave it to you."

Liam’s eyes flickered, uncertain.

The air between them grew still.

He shifted on his feet, looking down at the offering, the soft glint of the pendant’s glow catching his eye. For a second, it was like something tugged at his chest, something he didn’t understand. Something he couldn’t name.

"I don’t know what you’re going through," the old man added gently. "But something tells me... you’re gonna need this more than I ever did. Keep it safe. Don’t lose it. Ever."

Liam stared at him, that teasing light in his expression now dulled with something else—thought, maybe. A small part of him wanted to walk away, keep to his schedule, not let some street corner philosophy get into his head again. But he couldn’t. Not this time.

With a slow exhale, he reached out and took the pendant. His fingers curled around it. It was cool to the touch, but something about it pulsed faintly against his skin, like a second heartbeat.

"...Alright," he muttered. "But I’m not promising to wear it or anything, okay?"

The old man gave a tired smile. "Just don’t lose it."

"I’ll try."

Liam kept looking at the pendant. He wanted to ask more, but before he could, the older Marcus waved him off. "Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?"

Liam frowned, tilting his head. "I never told you about th—" His eyes widened. "Crap! I’m late!" He turned and started sprinting toward the alley’s exit. "Catch up with you later, old man!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The older Marcus watched him go, his smile fading as he murmured, "Make the right choice this time, friend."

And just like that, he was gone—walking off toward a fate neither of them could speak aloud. His steps were quick, full of the same cocky bounce he always carried.

The older Marcus watched him go, eyes heavy.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

He just stared after the boy, as if trying to hold onto the moment.

Because he knew... the real test hadn’t even begun.

The moment liam was gone—Marcus stepped out from behind the rusted dumpster where he’d been hiding, his hood still pulled low over his face.

He dusted off his jeans out of habit, even though he was already halfway to sprinting. His breath came fast, and his stomach still twisted faintly from the jump through time. But none of that mattered now.

"I’ve gotta go," he said sharply, his voice already halfway to panting. "I need to get back. The queen—my friends—they’re waiting. I need to return now."

His older self didn’t move right away. The old man sat there, hunched slightly, like the act of giving up the pendant had taken something from him. His eyes—tired and sunken beneath the weight of too many years and too many attempts—lifted slowly to meet Marcus’s. There was no warmth there, no fondness.

"Before I go," Marcus asked, his breath catching a little, "do you... I don’t know... have any advice? Anything to say?"

The old man didn’t answer right away. He sniffed once, rubbed the back of his wrist across his nose, then leaned back against the wall, letting out a long breath that sounded more like a growl.

Then he spoke.

"Yeah," he rasped, eyes narrowing. "Just keep doing what you do best—being a stubborn, arrogant little bastard."

Marcus blinked. "...Seriously?"

The older man snorted, waving him off with a slow, dismissive flick of his hand. "You think you’re some kind of hero now, huh? You’re not. You’re just another version of me that hasn’t lived long enough to regret all the things you’re going to regret. So yeah, keep going. Keep being the scum you are. Maybe one day you’ll look in a mirror and hate yourself as much as I do."

There was no bite in the words. Not anymore. Just tiredness. Just old, cracked bitterness that had no teeth left.

Marcus stared at him for a long moment. Then, to the older man’s surprise, he laughed—deep and loud, a short burst that echoed down the alleyway like a spark of fire in cold mist.

"Goddamn," he said, shaking his head with a crooked grin. "Is this really how I turn out? You’re such a charming old wreck."

He gave a sharp nod, still smiling. "Anyway. Thanks for the encouragement, grandpa. I’ll be off now—y’know, trying to stop Liam from dying and all."

The older Marcus didn’t reply. Just closed his eyes and leaned back against the bricks like he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.

Marcus didn’t wait. He turned and bolted, his boots slapping against the pavement as he took off in the direction of the portal. He knew exactly where it would be—hidden, tucked away behind layers of time and space, but still lingering. The queen was holding it open. For him. For Liam.

As he ran, the city blurred around him. Tall buildings, blinking signs, people in suits and students with coffee cups—all oblivious to the ripple he had just left in time. But Marcus didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the world he once lived in. Not now. Not anymore.

He had somewhere else to be.

And someone to save.