Chapter 8: Whispers and Wires
Adam walked out of the convention center that evening, the city bathed in a golden sunset. The hum of downtown Los Angeles in 1990 was unlike anything he remembered from the future—no incessant smartphone notifications or digital billboards, just the analog pulse of a city alive with promise and grit.
The payphones on every corner, the occasional tape deck blaring out of car windows, and the warm glow of neon signs reminded him just how different this era was. He breathed it in, a strange mix of nostalgia and disorientation settling over him.
A diner across the street caught his eye. The sign read "Marge's Diner," its flickering neon letters struggling to stay lit. The scent of greasy burgers wafted through the air. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
Inside, the diner was a slice of Americana: red vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a jukebox softly playing a Bonnie Raitt song. Adam slid into a booth by the window and picked up a laminated menu.
A waitress in her mid-fifties, with a name tag that read "Dottie," approached with a warm smile. "What'll it be, hon?"
"Burger and fries," Adam said. "And a coffee, please."
She scribbled on her notepad. "Coming right up."
As Dottie walked away, Adam pulled out his phone. The glow of the screen felt out of place in the retro setting.
He chuckled. "You could say that. It's like stepping into a movie."
Adam sighed, resting his head against the booth. "Do you ever relax?"
"Fine," Adam said. "What's the game plan?"
"Agreed. But how do I do that without spooking him?"
Adam nodded. "Good point. And what about the shared-universe concept? How do I build it without the tech we'll have in a decade?"
Before Adam could respond, Dottie returned with his order. The burger was massive, oozing with melted cheese, and the fries were crisp and golden.
"Here you go, sweetie," Dottie said, placing the plate in front of him.
"Thanks," Adam said, offering her a smile.
As he ate, a man sitting at the counter caught his attention. He was older, wearing a rumpled trench coat, and nursing a cup of coffee like it was his last lifeline. Every so often, the man glanced around the diner, his gaze sharp and alert.
Adam's phone buzzed again.
He glanced down. "You mean Trench Coat Guy?"
Adam stiffened, casually taking another bite of his burger while keeping an eye on the man.
"What do you think he wants?" Adam whispered.
Adam's mind raced. Could Chambers have sent someone to tail him? Or was this just a coincidence?
As Trench Coat Guy stood to leave, he made brief eye contact with Adam, then slipped a small folded note onto the edge of Adam's booth. Without a word, he walked out of the diner, disappearing into the evening crowd.
Adam's pulse quickened as he reached for the note.
"What's that?" Dottie asked, stopping by with a coffee refill.
"Just... something I dropped earlier," Adam lied, quickly pocketing the paper.
Once she left, Adam unfolded the note. Scrawled in messy handwriting, it read:
"You're being watched. Be careful who you trust."
Adam's grip tightened on the note.
"This keeps getting better and better," Adam muttered.
Adam slid the note into his pocket, paid his bill, and stepped outside. The cool evening air hit him like a wake-up call. Whoever Trench Coat Guy was, he clearly knew something Adam didn't.
As he walked back toward his motel, his phone buzzed again.
Adam glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the sparse foot traffic.
"Yeah, because that won't be a suspicious conversation," Adam muttered.
Adam sighed. "Fair point. I'll talk to her tomorrow."
For now, he needed to lie low, gather his thoughts, and figure out how to navigate the tangled web he'd just stepped into.
As he entered his motel room and locked the door, Adam couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing a game far more dangerous than the one he'd designed. And this time, the stakes were real.
End of Chapter 8