“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. We’ve never done anything like this before.”
Michael winced at that—the man might’ve been old, but surely he remembered them. Michael jumped in to make up for the lie. “We can give you something for the information. Full buy-in for the Casino poker tournament this weekend.” He just had to hope his parents wouldn’t notice the money missing from their bank account.
Cutter’s eyes locked on his; there was a depth of clarity in the old man’s gaze that Michael had never seen, and he knew they’d won.
“Plus drinks,” the old man said. “Bottomless cup, mind you.”
“Fine,” Michael answered. “Now spill the beans.”
“You may not like what I got, but it’s the best I got. And you’re gonna have to trust me that I’m setting them feet of yours on the right road to findin’ what you’re seekin’.”
“Okay,” Sarah responded. “Let’s hear it.”
Cutter had stopped cutting Bryson’s hair, though Michael couldn’t recall when he’d done so. He wiped the back of the cape his friend was wearing, then took it off him. Bryson said a quick thanks and stood to join his friends, looking as excited as Michael to hear what the barber had to say.
“I’ve heard a lot of gossip come through this joint over the years,” the old man said. “But you’re asking about the scariest information I’ve heard yet in my eight decades.”
This only got Michael more excited. “And?”
“Plenty of news about this Kaine chap goin’ round, that’s for sure. He’s up to no good. Kidnappings, lobotomies… Word is that there’s a place he’s hiding something, too. Don’t know what he’s hiding or where. Just that it’s big.”
“We already know all that,” Sarah pointed out. “How can we find him or this place? Where do we start?”
Cutter’s mouth curled in what might’ve been a smile, but Michael wasn’t sure. It looked more like a grimace. “That poker night better pay off, kids, ’cause I’ve told less people about the place I’m about to reveal to you than I’ve got toes on my right foot. And I lost one of those to a rabid canine in Des Moines.”
“Where do we go?” Michael pressed, impatience straining his every muscle.
Cutter leaned in toward them, the foul stench of his breath wafting out even before he began talking again. “You need to go to the Black and Blue Club. Find Ronika. That old witch is the only one who can tell you how to find… it.”
“Find what?” all three of them replied in unison.
“The thing that’ll lead you to Kaine.” Cutter made that mysterious smile-grimace again, then spoke in a harsh whisper. “The Path.”
Michael frowned. Two simple words—but the way the man said them turned his insides cold.
CHAPTER 6
THROUGH THE FLOOR
1
Michael had heard of the club. Everybody inside the VirtNet had heard of the Black and Blue. But he’d never met anyone who’d actually been there, because it was impossible to get into—unless you were extremely rich, famous, or high up on the criminal chain. Or, of course, a politician, which would make you all of the above.
Michael and his friends were none of those, and to make matters worse, they were teenagers. Their coding skills were advanced enough that they could make themselves look older, and they could conjure up fake ID docs quicker than Helga could make waffles. But everyone tried to fool the Black and Blue, and the club was far too good at seeing through the trickery.
Michael, Bryson, and Sarah stood across the street from the entrance, gawking at the people waiting in line. Michael figured more money had been spent on their jewelry and designer clothing than most people made in a year. Lifeblood was the one place in the VirtNet where not just anyone could look however they wanted. To have fancy things, you had to be rich enough to afford fancy things in the real world or know how to schmooze, flirt, or con your way into getting what you desired. Or be really good at coding and hacking.
“What’s the plan?” Bryson asked. “I can barely sneak my way into Jackie Suede’s Shake-Your-Booty Bar, much less the Black and Blue.”
Michael was racking his brain. “This Ronika person can’t live in there twenty-four hours a day. What if we just wait for her to come out and then follow her home?”
Sarah responded with something like a groan. “Sounds slightly creepy—not to mention we don’t know what she looks like. Plus, you’re forgetting this isn’t the real world. That could very well be the only place she ever goes in the Sleep—she may Sink and Lift directly to a Portal in t
he back room for all we know. Especially if she’s as famous as Cutter made her out to be. And I doubt she’s a Tangent, being in that kind of position. Managerial types are always human.”
Bryson let out an exaggerated sigh. “If only I could have five minutes with her. She’d be so bamboozled by the charm, we’d have our info before she knew what hit her.”
“Um, no comment on that one,” Michael said.
Sarah really groaned this time. “How did I become friends with you two, again?”
Michael quickly moved on. “Listen, I hate to say it, but we’ve only got one choice.”
Bryson and Sarah gave him a puzzled look, but he knew very well that they were thinking the same thing. Doing something blatantly illegal is always the last resort.
With a mischievous smile, he said, “We have to cut our way in.”
2
Michael had always thought of hacking into a simulated location within the VirtNet as much like breaking into a building in the Wake. It took planning and smarts. And like in the real world, if you made one wrong move, your butt could end up in jail if the VNS caught you.
“Everyone put on your I’m-not-suspicious face,” he said. “And follow me.”
“Dude, why’d you say that?” Bryson complained. “Now I’m gonna look guiltier than ever.”
They took an indirect route to get to the back side of the club. They went several blocks out of their way, hoping that anyone watching wouldn’t guess what they were up to. As they walked, they grew quiet, and Michael tried to start a new conversation; the goal was to look like a normal group of friends out for a stroll.
“No offense, but I’m kinda sick of talking about your nanny’s cooking,” Bryson finally said as they turned the last corner, the club just a hundred feet ahead. “Especially since I’ve never met her and probably never will.”
Sarah had taken the lead as they moved along, and Michael hoped that meant she was feeling confident about the job they were about to do. “Maybe we should meet up on the outside, at Michael’s place,” Sarah said. “Then Helga can whip up one of these things you keep bragging about.”
“Is Helga hot?” Bryson asked.
Michael shivered at the thought. “She’s at least sixty, man. Maybe seventy.”
“So? You didn’t answer my question.”
Sarah stopped and Michael almost ran into her. It was just a couple of buildings away now. A small black door was the only thing marking the back of the club. Even without a sign, there was a reason Michael had no doubt it was the Black and Blue: two enormous men, heads as big as their chests—and no necks in between—stood outside of it, eyeing every passerby as if they hadn’t eaten in days and loved the smell of raw human meat. Every club had bouncers, but these guys looked monstrous.
“This should be easy,” Bryson murmured.
Sarah spun around and whispered that they should stop looking in the direction of the club.
Something on her face told Michael to listen. “What are you scheming?”
“I can’t imagine what kind of firewalls this place has built around it. Could we hack them? Sure. But something hit me when we turned onto this street.” She risked a quick glance at the guards. “I think we can get inside without cutting our way in.”
Bryson’s expression showed exactly what Michael felt: total bewilderment. “Really?” he asked. “And how do you plan on walking past those nice serial killers down there?”
Sarah just rolled her eyes. “I’m serious about this. We don’t have to hack into the club, we just need to hack into the bouncers. Into their personal files. And then we waltz right through those doors.”
She went on to explain the specifics, and Michael remembered why he liked her so much. She had to be the smartest girl ever born.
3
It took forty-three minutes.
The three of them sat with their backs against the wall and linked up to examine the programming. Michael loved the process: closing his eyes and focusing his consciousness back to the Coffin and accessing the crude elements of the VirtNet itself, the core code of what he’d been seeing all around him. It took instinct and a lot of experience to work on it with others, but he and his friends were really good at it. It was another reason they got along so well.
Once they’d isolated the coding for the two bouncers, they broke in and downloaded a few of the men’s personal files into their own systems, then Sank back fully into their own VirtNet Auras. What they had planned was a huge bluff—but bluffing seemed a quicker option than trying to break through all the club’s firewalls, of which there had to be many. When Michael opened his eyes again, he could feel the sweat trickling down his simulated face. They had stepped well past the legal limits of manipulating code, and they were about to get in deeper. With such little planning, he knew the risk of getting caught was way too high for comfort.
Sarah jumped to her feet. “Let’s hurry before they notice we did anything.”
Michael and Bryson scrambled to follow her, and as they approached the behemoths guarding the back door of the Black and Blue Club, Michael had a small but comforting thought: The VNS had asked them to do this. Maybe they’d be given some leeway on things that were “technically” against the law.
The bouncer on the left noticed them first, and he looked at the three approaching teenagers with pure amusement. He could tell they had their sights on him, and he probably relished the prospect of denying another lame attempt at getting inside. He cracked his knuckles and let out a low rumble of boorish laughter, nudging his partner.
“You do it,” Michael whispered to Sarah, suddenly losing his nerve. “It was your idea.”
“Amen,” Bryson added.
They stopped just a few feet in front of the bouncers. The one on the right had joined his companion in staring them down.
“Let me guess,” the one on the left said. Michael realized that the two men were practically twins. “You wanna offer us a lollipop so we’ll let you in to play? Maybe some sugar bunnies?”
His partner chuckled, the sound like cracks of thunder. “Don’t waste our time, kids. Go to the arcade and kill some aliens. Or go to that teenybopper club up the street. Just get out of our faces.”
Michael couldn’t believe how nervous he was. They’d done millions of crazy stunts, but now that so much was on the line, his knees were a little weak. Sarah, however, seemed in her element.
“We stole your code,” she said, her voice so calm it scared Michael a little. “I’m sending over proof now.” She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments as she sent the few files they’d stolen, then gave the bouncers a nasty glare. The bluff was on.
The man on the left froze and his eyes shot wide; his partner reeled back, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “They’ll throw your butts in jail for this,” he growled. “I bet someone’s breaking down your door as we speak.”
“I guess that’s our problem to worry about,” Sarah said. “Now, I’m going to start counting. When I get to five, I’m sending out some little… tidbits we dug up in the filth that’s your memory bank to all the people on your contact list. If I reach ten, we start… erasing things you wouldn’t want erased.”
“You’re lying,” the man on the right countered. “And I think I just might start counting myself. When I reach two, I start pounding you senseless. Or maybe do some of my own hacking.”
“One,” Sarah said softly. “Two.”
The bouncer on the left was getting more and more agitated. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t mess with our personal information!”
“Three. Four.” She turned to Michael—he was quiet, actually enjoying the show. “Get the distribution list ready.”
“Got it,” he said, trying hard not to smile.
Sarah faced the giants again. “Fi—”
“Wait!” the man on the right yelled. “Just stop!”
“We’ll let you in,” his partner said. “Who gives a crap? Just make yourselves look a little older so we don
’t get in trouble.”
“Fair enough,” Sarah replied. “Come on, guys.”
“Dude,” Bryson said to one of the men as they passed him. “After what I just saw in your files, I hope you never have kids.”
4
The Black and Blue Club was mostly how Michael imagined it would be, just a little louder, a little more sweaty, and filled with so much human beauty he knew he’d never see it replicated back in the real world. Skull-pounding music thumped and bellowed from the massive speakers hung on the ceiling, and strobe lights flashed and dazzled. A red glow permeated everything else, cast over the people dancing and gyrating and jumping out on the floor. Body heat filled the space, warm and sultry. Everywhere Michael looked, he saw perfection. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect muscles, perfect legs.
Not my cup of tea, he thought with a smile. He preferred dorky girls with messy hair and potato chip crumbs on their shirts.
“Let’s walk around, find that woman!” he yelled at the other two. He wondered if lipreading was a popular download of those who frequented the place—he couldn’t even hear himself speak.
Bryson and Sarah just nodded. They started winding their way through the herds of beautiful patrons.
The pounding beat of the bass felt like a blacksmith’s anvil in Michael’s head, hammer blow after hammer blow. He couldn’t remember if he’d had a headache before they weaseled their way past the bouncers, but he sure had one now. It was impossible to move without bumping into people, sweaty arms slicking against his. He found himself involuntarily dancing as he walked, and Sarah looked mortified at his lack of talent.
She mouthed the words You’re cute, but she rolled her eyes as she said it.
A sea of people. Pure, unbreakable noise. Disorienting lights. And that unending beat. Michael was already sick of it. But they needed to find a person named Ronika, who supposedly knew everything about everything. How were you supposed to find anyone in a place like this?
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