The Eye of Minds by James Dashner Read Free Book Online Page B

black abyss.
    Cutter’s place was aptly named the Old Man’s Barbershop. It didn’t take a genius to know that in a simulated world a person didn’t need haircuts, but that wasn’t how most people rolled. The more lifelike, the better. And eighty percent of those in the Sleep had themselves programmed to grow hair. If you were skilled at coding and really wanted a ponytail, you could just access the code and quickly program it.
    “What do we do?” Bryson asked when they stopped a few feet from the front door. “Just barge in there and start throwing questions at the dude?”
    Michael shrugged. “I bet he gambles every chance he gets. We’ll program him a buy-in for the next poker tournament, and just like I said, he won’t shut up till we walk away.”
    “And whose head is he shaving?”
    Sarah pulled her hair back protectively. “Not mine. I’m thinking he’s not the type to cut girls’ hair, anyway.”
    “Make yourself shaggy,” Michael said to Bryson. “We’re wasting time.”
3
    It had been at least a year since Michael had last pried information out of Cutter—something about a cheat in a martial arts game—so he’d forgotten how odd-looking the man was. If ever someone had shaped their VirtNet Aura after a storybook troll, there he stood, snipping away at a stranger’s hair. Michael and his friends waited patiently until it was Bryson’s turn for the scissors.
    Cutter’s own mane was nothing but a tuft of gray combed over his spotted red scalp. He had more hairs coming out of his ears than he had up top. He was short and squat and ancient, and every word that came out of his mouth made Michael think the man would drop dead at any moment from old age. Surprisingly, the majority of people liked their VirtNet self to mirror their real self, so Michael could only imagine meeting Cutter in the Wake. A real pleasure to live with, he was sure.
    “Why are you damn kids standin’ there gawking at us like vultures at a dying rat?” His fingers worked faster than Michael would have thought possible for a man his age, snip-snipping away. Evidently, he wasn’t used to people watching him so closely.
    “Because we’re here for more than donating hair to your floor,” Sarah said, her voice as firm as Michael had ever heard it.
    “Oh really?” he rasped. Michael guessed the man had more phlegm in his throat than a sinus-infected toddler. “Well, why don’t you enlighten me, young lady.”
    Sarah looked at Michael, which was his cue. Leaning close to Cutter, he whispered, “We want information on the gamer named Kaine. Word is that he’s up to something big.” He paused, thinking too late that he should’ve shown a little more respect. “Um, sir. Please.”
    “Save your fancy talk for someone else,” Cutter replied. His breath caught Michael this time, and he had to step away before he gagged.
    He half expected Cutter to keep talking, start telling what he knew, but the old man didn’t say another word. He hadn’t slowed in the slightest with his clipping, and Bryson was starting to look downright handsome as a result.
    Sarah gave it a try. “Come on. We know every rumor in the Sleep slides its way through here at some point. Tell us what you know about Kaine and where he’s hiding his secrets.”
    “Or where we can find out,” Bryson added.
    Cutter barked a laugh. “If you’re so damn smart, then you know what it takes to get information around here. All I’ve gotten so far is a headache and a handful of virtual hair cluttering up my floor.”
    For some reason the guy’s last sentence made something in Michael snap, and he let out a small laugh before he could cut it off.
    Cutter glared. “Laugh all ya want. I’m not the one who needs something. Last I remember, that was you.”
    Sarah gave Michael her special look of reprimand—the one that only girls seemed to be able to manage. “We’re sorry, sir. Really. We obviously don’t have the slightest clue how to go about this.