"I am Unnamed. My title is dead."
In the World, the Planet, and the Base, it's either be number one or die.
The alternative to dying, however, is to become an Unnamed. Turning eighteen means that you will compete for your name. Come out on top, you...
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The Runner stares at One through the darkness. The feelings inside him swarm, making his stomach churn. His skin suddenly is rigid with goose bumps and his throat can't function correctly.
Kill Blaise?
"Am I right, Runner?" One says, trying to pry an answer out of him. "Because if I'm not, if you can't kill him, we might just make you drop first, am I clear?"
"So kill or be killed?" the Runner asks, his voice shaking with fear, with anger, with growing hatred for the Unnamed and its people. "That's what you're telling me to do?"
"Pretty much," One says, smiling through the darkness. "I mean, unless you beat him in the race..."
"Which I will," the Runner stresses. "I've already done it once."
"Beginner's luck," she says, her silhouette shifting her stance and poking her hip out. "He won't play fair now. You should have listened to Three, Runner. You should have kept your talent to yourself, because we're about ready to dispose of you."
"What are you talking about?" the Runner asks. "You only have one other runner."
"Yes, but she's willing to kill him because she knows she won't win. So if you don't, she will. And she will kill you both."
The Runner feels himself start to glare at One, and then he stops himself. He'll have to do what they want him to. He'll just have to win again to do it his way.
He swears it's the last thing he will do for the Unnamed. After that, there will be no more killing and no more rebellion. Everything will be back to normal and everyone can live normal lives again.
"Fine," the Runner says, his voice tight. He wants to say something else, but he saves it for another time.
"Good," One says and smiles. "Lights."
The Runner is once again in darkness, the sounds of shuffling feet all around him. He turns around and begins to head back to the World, to his home.
+ + +
The Runner stops just before the gates to the outer world, the Unnamed territory. It seems like just last year he didn't have the weight of the world weighing on his shoulders. The full moon sends down a spotlight of pale light onto his body and onto his jacket. His hands find their way up to the top of the zipper, the metal cold. Slowly, he moves the piece of metal down the front, splitting the material into two. He pulls off the long-sleeved article of clothing, the wind cool against the sweat gathered on his arms from running around the World.
He pulls the jacket around to the front of him and runs his fingers over the red wing on one of the sleeves. He can feel mourning for his lost Master bubble up inside of him. He could have never had a better Elite watching over him.
"I'm sorry, Master," the Runner whispers, wishing Mortimer the Elite Solver is somewhere up above or around him to hear. "I've failed you."
He drops his jacket to the ground, a tear slowly dripping from his right eye. He made a promise to himself to keep his Master alive... but things happened so fast... he couldn't do anything to stop it, no matter how much he wishes he could.
