"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 Master looks at him, amused.
"Yes, Runner. A beverage you can sip because it comes in the form of a liquid. Which kind would you like?" he chuckles, opening the white fridge and bending down to peer inside. "I have orange, apple—but I don't think you'll like those. Oh, don't look at me like that. I can be hospitable. It just so happens I don't have any Servants today, and no one wanted to watch the Competitions with me." He brings out a glass filled with orange liquid. "Orange juice it is. Come here, Runner. Don't be shy."
The Runner does as he's told and stands before the old man, watching as he pours the juice into two clear glass cups and take a sip from one.
"Come on. Take that one," he says, motioning to the other cup.
The Runner hesitantly reaches out and wraps his hand around the cup, lifting it up to his nose to sniff it.
"It's orange juice, Runner." The Master shakes his head and chuckles to himself. "Thought you'd like something other than water for a change."
The Runner nods and looks at the bubbles forming on the sides of the circle of water on top.
"Well, drink up!" The Elite Solver laughs and walks around the island counter, heading back to the couch. He sits down and looks back at the Runner. "Come sit."
The Runner takes a sip and the acidic taste dances on his tongue. He decides he likes orange juice, though he'll probably never taste it again.
He makes his way over to the couch and sits at the opposite end of the Master.
"Who do you think will get first?" he asks, flipping the television channels and landing on a pair of Actors performing on a black stage. "I think it'll be that boy, Gerold. He seemed pretty strong in his performance."
The Runner nods and takes another sip of the juice.
"Oh, for goodness sake, boy! You can talk!" He laughs out loud and smiles at the Runner. "I'm allowing you to."
The Runner looks at Mortimer the Elite Solver carefully and eventually decides to believes him. He's too jolly to be mean. Always has been, but it seems like today, he's taken a stop up on the happy stairs.
"Rachel," the Runner says, his voice quieter than he intended. He clears his throat. "Rachel. The first girl that went."
"Ah," The Elite Solver nods his head and looks at the screen. "She was strong as well. Her course was rather short. I think she might come in second." He takes a drink. "What about that Stark boy?"
The Runner shakes his head and looks up at his Master, alarmed that maybe he wasn't supposed to respond to that question, but the old man just nods, waiting for his answer.
"He hesitated," the Runner says. "And then he..."
"Yes," Mortimer the Elite Solver says, finishing off his drink. His voice goes down to the level just above a whisper. "One day I might tell you about it, Runner. But not today. Not this moment. One day though. One day..."
