Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 175: Let’s get to work.

Marcus stumbled into the alleyway with a hard gasp, his boots slapping against the wet pavement. The world around him spun like a carousel caught in a storm. Colors blurred at the edges, and the sky above—so familiar, yet so distant—pressed down like a weight.

His stomach turned violently.

He doubled over near a row of dented trash bins, one hand braced against a rusted wall, and vomited. The sound echoed faintly, hidden beneath the dull hum of the city beyond. A sour taste clawed at the back of his throat. His chest heaved. For a moment, all he could do was breathe — shallow and quick — trying to remember what air was supposed to feel like when it wasn’t threaded with memory and time.

Downtown.

He looked up, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His eyes darted left, then right. Narrow streets. Cracked sidewalks. Faded billboards. This was home. This was where he’d spent his early years — broke, reckless, always running from something.

He knew this part of the city like he knew the scars on his own knuckles.

But this wasn’t a time for nostalgia.

"Focus," he muttered, voice hoarse.

He moved quickly, ducking behind dumpsters and skirting corners. There were people out, but not many. Mostly early commuters and shopkeepers unlocking shutters. He could see their faces—calm, unaware. None of them knew what would happen tomorrow. Or the day after.

They thought their world was stable.

He envied them.

As he passed a clothesline stretched between two buildings, something caught his eye — a dark gray hoodie, hanging limp in the morning breeze. Without hesitation, Marcus reached up, yanked it free, and slipped it on. It smelled like detergent and dust. It fit well enough.

He tugged the hood low over his face and stuffed his hands in the pockets.

He couldn’t afford to be recognized. Not by himself. Not now.

Not when the timeline hung by a thread.

The queen’s warning echoed inside his skull like a hammer:

"Don’t speak to your younger self. Don’t speak to the others. Don’t try to alter what has already unfolded. You’re not here to rewrite fate. You’re here to sew one stitch — and nothing more."

But gods, it was tempting.

The thought clawed at him as he moved down the street toward Nexus Corp’s looming tower. He could see it now — glass and steel, clean and pristine, with that silver logo glinting like a promise. So many lives destroyed behind that corporate smile.

What would happen if he warned them?

What if he dragged his younger self and Liam and Sophia and Jason and the rest out of that lobby? What if he told them the truth before they ever stepped into that testing chamber?

Before they were ever pulled into that cursed world?

He stopped walking.

The thought rooted in him like a weed.

He could save them from the torment.

Marcus clenched his fists in the pockets of the hoodie. His jaw locked.

One.

He kept walking.

Nexus Corp tower drew closer. The morning sun reflected off the windows, blinding at certain angles. People filed in and out of the revolving doors at the base. Employees. Clients. None of them had any clue what their company was really doing beneath the surface.

Marcus moved to a nearby alley and crouched low, watching.

He remembered the queen’s dive into his memories. He remembered the other Marcus. The older one — the one who didn’t belong here — who had been walking these streets in secret long before the others ever arrived for testing.

And now... he had to find him.

Because whatever the queen had seen, whatever this older Marcus had planned — it was tied to Liam’s survival. Tied to that bead-sized life essence hidden in him.

He crouched lower behind a dumpster, eyes sweeping the passing crowd.

He just needed one glimpse.

One moment.

Because time was already running out. And if he failed — Liam would die for a sister who was already gone.

And none of them would make it back.

Marcus spotted him.

A tall figure leaned against the graffitied brick wall at the far end of a narrow alleyway, half-shrouded in shadows, arms folded, head bowed. The coat he wore was heavier, darker than anything Marcus had seen him in before — almost like he was trying to melt into the city itself. The man hadn’t moved since Marcus entered the alley, but Marcus knew.

He could feel it.

That was him.

His older self.

Marcus swallowed hard and stepped forward, the echo of his boots bouncing softly off the alley walls. The closer he got, the clearer the face became — weathered, gaunter around the cheeks, with lines carved beneath the eyes and across the brow. His hair had lost some of its wild volume, trimmed tighter at the sides. He looked... tired. Older, yes, but more than that. He looked like someone who had been carrying weight too long.

When Marcus stopped a few feet away, the man lifted his head.

His eyes were the same. That cold, stormy steel.

And they narrowed instantly.

"Goddamn it," the older Marcus hissed, his voice a low snarl. "I told her not to—You shouldn’t be here." He pushed off the wall, stepping forward with restrained fury. "You’re not supposed to be here, you little shit. Do you even understand what you’ve done?"

"Wow," Marcus muttered, eyebrows rising as he looked his older self up and down. "Is this what I’m gonna look like when I get old? Damn. No offense, but... you look like you haven’t slept since the dinosaurs died out."

"Don’t play smart with me." The older version jabbed a finger at him. "You think this is a joke? You think time travel is some fantasy mission? You showing up here could screw everything up. I’ve been working this setup for years."

"I’m aware," Marcus replied coolly, pulling the hood further down to shield his face. "But looks like your big plan’s not enough. Liam’s in danger. Real danger. The queen sent me."

"I know who sent you. And she’s a damn fool."

Marcus blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The older man took another step, practically toe-to-toe now. "She’s playing with forces she doesn’t understand. You think throwing a life essence into Liam’s path is gonna fix things? What happens when the universe decides it’s tired of us moving the pieces around?"

"We’re not moving the pieces. We’re saving Liam’s life."

"You don’t think I already tried that?" the older Marcus snapped. "I’ve done everything except scream in his face. You think I haven’t wanted to tear this all down and start over? But I didn’t. Because I knew the cost."

"And what cost is greater than his life?"

The older Marcus didn’t answer right away. He just stared, jaw clenching. There was something behind his eyes — guilt, maybe. Or memory.

"I can’t let you interfere," he said finally, softer now. "I built this path. You showing up throws the whole structure off."

"Then help me fix it," Marcus said. "Let me do what you can’t."

The older man shook his head, turning away for a moment as if to cool off. "You’re such a cocky little bastard. Always were."

Marcus cracked a smile. "Yeah, well, I get it from you. Old and ugly. That’s a lethal combo."

"Keep talking, kid," his older self muttered, half-laughing despite himself. "See where it gets you."

Marcus sighed and looked past him, toward the mouth of the alley. "Liam’ll be here soon, won’t he?"

"Yeah," the older man said. "Probably in an hour. He always took the backstreet to avoid the downtown traffic. Said he liked the quiet."

There was a silence between them then — not tense, but heavy. Two versions of the same man, split by years, regrets, and the ticking hand of time. One desperate to set things right, the other haunted by how much had already gone wrong.

The older Marcus finally turned around.

"You really think that orb will stop him from giving up his life for her?" he asked.

"I don’t think," Marcus said. "I know. Because it’s not just the orb. It’s him feeling something he didn’t before. Something that tips the scales... even just slightly."

"And you’re willing to risk the whole mission for that?"

"I’m not risking the mission. I’m saving the one person who makes the mission worth finishing."

His older self stared at him, eyes scanning, measuring, judging.

Finally, he gave a slow nod.

"Alright then, you little shit. Let’s get to work."