"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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"Runner," he hears. "Come here. I have another message for you to take."
The boy, the age of seventeen, sprints from his post at the table, where he had been taking a break from training, his skin still glistening with sweat. He's tall and has incredibly dark skin, and his hair hangs down to his shoulders in long dreads. Not ideal for his Category, but it doesn't slow him down.
The old man of fifty-seven folds a paper and slides it into an envelope, sealing it.
"I don't want anybody seeing this, you understand? It needs to go to the Elite Leader. You know where he is."
"Yes, Master," the Runner says politely, nodding his head. "Is there anything you want me to tell him?"
"Yes. Tell him that this is urgent, and I need his response right away," the old man says in his deep, raspy voice. "I want you to stay in the building with him as he writes his letter back. If he asks why you have not left, tell him it really is extremely urgent."
"Yes, Master."
The Master hands the white envelope to the Runner and watches as he runs out the door.
"One more year until that boy earns his name. He deserves it."
The Runner sprints out of the building, and splashes into a puddle that swallows his foot whole. It's raining outside.
Rain is never a good thing.
The Runner pulls his black hooded jacket up over his head to block the falling water and slides the envelope between the Runner's regulatory jacket and his blue shirt.
Black and blue for the Runners—it's mandatory.
The rain only gets heavier as his legs take him farther from the white mansion and to the big red one on the other side of the city. It's a five-story building with a big arch in the front. Columns run along under the roof that hangs over the outer walls like a hat. The doors are grand and black underneath the main red arch of the building. Red roses line the perimeter and every window give away that all of the lights are on inside.
The Runner jogs up the narrow steps to the front door, skipping every other step. He takes off his jacket and shakes it out, all of the water falling off of it easily, thanks to the water-resistant material. In his hand he holds the envelope, careful not to crease it as he slides the jacket back on. Without this jacket, he wouldn't be allowed to receive his name when he turned eighteen next year, and that is something he definitely looks forward to.
He opens the big, black door and steps into the beautiful room that lies behind it. An elephantine chandelier hangs from the ceiling above the center of the room three stories up and two white marble staircases wind their way to the second floor. A red carpet is draped like a runway over each step, and the rug on the floor looks like the rare red velvet the Runner has only heard about. He knows it's not real velvet, though. The Elite Leader had told him it wasn't on one of his runs.
