The Unnamed | The Unnamed Duology Book 1

2a: the Competitions

The Runner wakes up to the sound of stomping above him. It's routine for them to run every morning before going to work, but why didn't anyone wake him up? Normally, somebody does.

He twists around and makes his way down the long ladder from the top of the bed. His feet touch the cool floor and it sends shivers through his muscle tissue.

A few stretches here and there, and he's upstairs before the other Runners can finish.

The rest are running in circles around the room and jumping over the moving treadmills. Some of the younger Runners try to leap over them, accidentally catching their foot on the tack and falling to the ground.

He remembers when he did that the first time. Someone told him to jump higher.

If he had any flaws while running, it was agility. He has the speed, the stamina, the breath control, and he knew exactly how to angle his body to get to where he needed to go as quick as he could, but not the agility.

He's more clumsy than anything, to be honest. His feet are too big and his legs are too muscular to have complete control while even walking. All he knows is put one foot in front of the other as fast as he can to get him where he needs to be.

He joins in with the group, running for a good hour or so, and they all stop. Some are breathless and some are pumped up, ready to begin the day.

The Runner heads back down to the Beds to get his jacket and change his clothes. Blue shirt, black pants, blue shoes, black jacket. The way it's always been.

One year until, if he makes at least the top ten, he will earn a name and a place in this world. If he makes it in the top five, he could be given a bigger Title, a more important title, than the Runner.

He likes the idea of being someone important, rather than just another Runner or Title.

The Runner smiles to himself. He knows he has a good chance in winning the whole thing. He's worked harder than anyone else in his category.

Shaking his head, he suppresses the feeling of pride. It's a scary trait to have now. It's frowned upon.

The Runner steps outside, the water still falling from the sky in little droplets, hitting his jacket softly. It's going to get heavier as the day passes, and the Runner knows it. It always happens.

As he sprints alongside the wall surrounding the World, he runs his hand along it. It's made of solid cement, with the toughest metal as a skeleton so it stays up. The Builders are trying to create a roof for the World to keep the weather from destroying the city.

The World is the city that lies inside of these walls. It's one of the biggest cities, and, for all the Runner knows, it's one of the last ones. There's the World, which he lives in now, the Planet, and the Base. In between those cities is a vast spanse of land, ranging from rugged and dry to rainy and tropical.

The people of the World, Planet, and Base don't live out in the open because of the weather. It became so terrible one day in the past, throwing multiple tornados, tsunamis, lightning storms, hurricanes, and any other kind of natural disaster you can think of.

The Runner just hopes that the rain doesn't bring a hurricane.

Reaching his Master's gossamer white steps to his mansion, he pulls his hood down.

Mortimer the Elite Solvers' mansion is all white, with gray colors interwoven into the marble slabs on the floor and the arches. The windows are lit up in the dim light of the morning, his other Servants and Trainee's awake and working.

The Runner opens the door and steps into the cool of the building. Elite Solver Mortimer isn't sitting at his desk; instead, he's walking up to the runner with a slight smile on his old face.

"Hello, Runner," he nods.

The Runner looks at him strangely. He never talks to him so casually like this. The Master is usually at his desk, writing or reading, and he barely even glances up at the Runner when he speaks to him.

"Hello, Master," the Runner says hesitantly. He takes the Master's speech as an opportunity to speak freely, although he knows the freedom will be cut short.

Do not speak unless you are told to. The instructions given to him and drilled into his head since he was a toddler replayed in his head. Do what you are told.

"Come," his Master says, motioning to the table he always sits at and walking to it. The Runner follows cautiously.

"Sit down, Runner," The Master says again, and when he notices the Runner's unsureness, he chuckles. "Don't worry. This isn't a test. I have a few things to discuss with you about the Competitions."

The Runner eventually sits, his eyes on the Master at all times, looking for something to tell him not to do it. He can see nothing in the old, wrinkled man's eyes. His white beard is combed neatly and it brushes his chest gently as he looks about the room. His eyes are a dull blue color, giving him a magical look to the Runner. The Master's body is old and fragile, but when he walks, he walks with such power, such grace, that it seems as if he is thirty years younger than he looks.

He stops to stand at the other end of the table.

"Runner," the Elite Solver. "As you may know, the Competitions for your age group are coming up soon. You have less than a year until it's your turn to take the risk and run against everyone that you've known your entire short life. Of course, and you know this as well, if you fail to place in the top ten, you will be Unnamed. Now, the Unnamed, no one knows what happens to them exactly. There are just some things in this world that are better left unknown.

"When I went in to choose my new Servants, after the ones I'd had went through their Competitions and either failed or succeeded, I was the first to choose. The order the Elites choose in is based on how successful their Servants did in the Competitions of that year.