by K. Weikel
The Runner wakes up, his stomach growling more than he had ever thought possible. He immediately gets up and scarfs down whatever is placed in the refrigerator in the kitchen.
After that, he showers and starts his daily warm-up. Six days until the Competitions, and he still doesn’t feel like he’s strong enough yet. He wants to beat the Elite Runner—it’s one of his top priorities, it has been since he first became a Runner. It’s one of those things that everyone strives for, no matter what Category you are in. But with everything going on in the Runner’s life, it’s like he’s hit a brick wall. He doesn’t know how to get past it. If he races the Elite Runner and wins, he could end up dead. If he doesn’t win, he would be one of the Unnamed forever.
The world outside is hot and sticky, and the scorching the air makes it hard for the Runner to breathe as he runs to his Master’s mansion, moving his legs faster than a run. He sprints.
Whether or not it’s a good idea, he weaves his way in between the buildings, sucking in deep, hot breaths. Sweat begins to drip from his face and onto the ground, the jacket covering his skin soaked.
He runs up the steps, skipping a step each time he ascends higher and higher. The doors open easily as he runs in and stops in the doorway, jogging in place. His mouth is dry and his throat stings, but he can’t stop. He needs to keep going. He can’t give up yet. He can’t stop running until Competition day.
Twelve more days.
Mortimer walks up to the Runner quickly, and tells him to stop jogging.
“I can’t,” the Runner says quietly, afraid someone might hear him talking back. “I have to keep training.”
“Which is what we’re about to go do. First, you need water and a towel. Come, come.” Mortimer the Elite Solver waves the Runner in the direction of the kitchen. The Runner follows him silently, his muscles crying out for rest.
They stop at the sink as Mortimer grabs a cup and fills it with clear water from the smaller faucet on the right hand side of the large sink. The Runner takes a few sips before he starts to stretch lightly, alternating between the two for about five quiet minutes.
A girl walks up to the old man and hands him a small paper filled with pencil marks and words the Runner can’t read from where he stands. The Elite Solver looks it over carefully, seeming to forget the world around him. He finally nods and hands the paper back to the girl.
“It’s good,” he says, nodding again. “Just make sure you have the right measurements to build it the day of the Competitions. And remember that there are going to be people around you building other things as well. Do it quick but right. You don’t want to waste the first round. It only gets harder from there.”
The girl nods, smiling. Her Builder’s jacket stands out against her ivory skin as the Runner tries to figure out what she’s building, just to keep his mind off of what is to come of his future.
“Did you get your instructions from the envelope this morning?” The Elite Solver asks her, seeming as if he had forgotten the Runner was even there.
“Yes sir,” she says timidly with a shy smile. “I’m almost done with the training. My hour for working on this sketch is almost up, and I just wanted to show you what I’d come up with so far.”
“It’s truly amazing. You’ll do great in the First Trial, just don’t let anyone get in your head, alright, Builder? Others in your Category tend to be overly cocky.”
She giggles and nods in understanding. “Okay. Thank you, Master. I’ll go finish my list now.”
“You do that. And don’t strain yourself—or hurt yourself. I’d hate to see you as an Unnamed.”
Her smile falls a little at the last word, but she nods and quickly gets it back before turning away from Mortimer and the Runner.
“List?” The Runner asks. He had never gotten a list. Or an envelope. Thinking about it makes him want one, actually, and he feels a small prickle of jealousy in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, that it was just a list in an envelope, but it makes him feel different or something.
The Elite Solver looks at him and nods with a slight smile. “Yes. Unlike you, I train the rest of my Servants through notes and envelops. Not many of them need physical training, and not many more need motivation. The ones that do are the ones that I train a few times a week, if they need it.”
“So why do you constantly train me?”
“Because you want this more than anyone, and if I’m not careful, if you’re not careful, Runner, then you could seriously injure yourself.”
“But I am being careful, Master—”
“Not careful enough. Constantly pushing your body twenty-four-seven is never a good thing. If you keep doing that, your body will break. It will give up on you when you need it the most.”
“But I know what my body can handle.”
“Runner.” Mortimer the Elite Solver’s voice slips out of his mouth with an edge to it. The Runner could get into trouble for saying what he is. His Master has that power—and apparently power to spare, according to what he had said the other day.
The Runner closes his mouth and nods, knowing that he’ll still push his body to its limits day by day until he feels as if he can go against the Elite Runner and win. The only flaw with that plan is how to get away before something bad happens to him.
+ + +
The Runner’s body is sorer than ever as he tries to jog home, still trying to push his body to the limits. Walking to him feels like giving up.
The stars overhead and the almost full moon in the sky help him see when the streetlights are spread too far apart. There’s nothing but the sound of his own two feet thumping on the broken cement and the heaving of his breaths.
He makes it to the Runner’s Building without running into anything, although he had felt like he would, and slips into the shower once again after eating some leftover ham somebody had cooked in the little spare time they had.
Suddenly, he hears banging coming from the door that leads to the Unnamed territory. The Runner feels everything inside of him jump and spin around towards the noise. It happens again, this time louder.
He stands in the doorway of the kitchen, not knowing what to do. Should he go over there and open it up? Should he leave it alone? What if they’re in danger? What if it’s the government?
Nevertheless, his feet start to move towards the gray door, banging vibrating it and making it look like it will come off its hinges at any moment. Is the door locked? Can it be locked from the outside? Or maybe it’s broken. Could something be wrong with the door?
The Runner looks around before reaching the door. No one else is down here, and, from the looks of it, no one is above either.
He reaches for the silver knob and slowly twists it. It’s hard to pull the cement slab open, as if it had been stuck together with incredibly strong glue.
A man comes stumbling out with a girl’s arm gripped tightly in his right hand.
The girl that had shown the Runner around the Unnamed’s village.
The man sizes the Runner up with a scowl plastered on his face. “Oh, it’s you,” he growls, his voice deep and gruff. “Just lock that door behind me, would you?”
The words are kind but his tone is not.
The girl flashes the Runner a sideways glance as she tries to break away from the man’s strong grip.
“Where are you taking her?” The Runner asks as he begins to pull her away. She almost trips over her own feet and the Runner wants to help her get away suddenly. “Where are you going?”
“That’s none of you business, kid,” the man snaps, and turns to go up the stairs to the upper level.
“I just want—”
“Kid, let me do my job.”
He starts to climb up the stairs and the Runner follows him, asking questions and ignoring the threat of punishment for talking back.
“What did she do?”
“She’s one of the Unnamed, and she needs to be punished.” The man pushes his way out of the f
ront doors and into the moonlight. The Runner follows him out, feeling as if he needs to save her. He doesn’t know where this sudden burst of courage comes from, but it makes his heart pound with nervousness about what might happen to him.
“But she’s a Runner. She can’t be one of the Unnamed,” the Runner says, trying to act as if he knows nothing.
“Really kid? You’re going to play stupid?” The man asks, almost humorously. “Alright, fine. I’m taking her to be tried in court. It’s either thirty lashes across the back with a whip or death. And I suggest that unless you want to take that punishment upon yourself, you shut your trap and go back to what you were doing.”
The Runner doesn’t know what else to do. Obviously, this man knows more about the Runner than he thought. But the Runner doesn’t know what else to do besides act like he doesn’t understand or know what is going on.
“I think you have the wrong girl.”
The man laughs incredulously, running his left hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Oh my—wow.”
“And I want you to let her go.”
At this, the girl stops struggling and the man bursts out laughing, a loud, throaty laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. She isn’t one of the Unnamed.”
“Uh-huh,” the man laughs in disbelief at what is happening. “So what I’m hearing is you want to take the place for her punishment.”
“I don’t want anything to happen but for you to let go of her right now.”
The man’s face grows red with anger, but the Runner presses on, his brain working on overtime and unable to think of the consequences of what his vocal cords let past his lips.
“Or you’ll do what?” The man asks, his voice seeming to get lower with each word. “Kill me? Tell on me? I’m pretty sure I have more dirt on you than anyone else you know.”
“And I’m sure you don’t,” the Runner challenges. “Now let her go.”
The man stands looking at the Runner for a moment.
And then he lets go.
There’s a moment of breathing, a moment of relief.
“Okay. Fine, you win, Runner,” he smiles a cruel smile.
He leaps forward, sending the Runner crashing into the ground, spots all over his vision. He tries to catch his breath, but the man has one fist after another on the Runner’s face.
The man pulls him back up onto his feet, the Runner’s legs crying out from underneath the sudden weight.
“Walk!” He yells in the Runner’s ear. He can feel blood dripping from his nose and his eye swelling up. What had he gotten himself into?
He finds his feet. His tired, numb feet. His muscles are sore, his body is tired.
“Go!” The man screams at the girl, and she starts to walk away, her eyes stuck on the Runner in confusion, in disbelief.
They walk past her, the man’s arm pushing and pulling the Runner in every which way. He jerks his arm forward and backwards, making the sockets even worse than before.
They make it to the Elite Leader’s mansion, the red and black blending in with the darkening night. The pillars and rivets on the house seem to cast eerie glows in the growing sunlight as they walk up and the man shoves his way through the door with the Runner in tow.
The Elite Leader is at the foot of the stairs, confused, as the man throws the Runner on the ground, the tile hitting the side of his face. A headache crushes through his skull, and he tries to sit up. He’s so tired… So sore…
Master was right, he thinks to himself.
“Why did you bring me the Runner?” The Elite Leader asks, the shock evident in his words. “I thought you were bringing the girl that was beneath the city.”
“He decided to take the punishment in her place,” the man says, stepping on the Runner’s back and making it harder for him to breathe.
“How noble,” the Elite coos as he squats down beside the fallen Runner. “But nobility won’t get you anywhere inside this city, boy, especially when you’re trying to defend the Unnamed. You’re supposed to be against them, remember?”
The Runner sucks in a deep breath, thinking of his response. He finally finds it.
“The Unnamed is all based on trust,” he starts. “Well, how to get in is—could you please get off of me?” He twists around painfully and looks up at the man above him. He sighs and removes his foot, the Runner’s body able to move freely as he sits up.
“I’ve earned their trust. Now I’m just trying to get answers. And killing that girl or torturing her would just fire them up and shut them off even more than they already are. If you did that, I couldn’t supply you with any inside knowledge. They’re staying low. They’re waiting to train all of their new recruits until the week before—until tomorrow morning.” The sudden realization of how close the Competitions are sends a wave of nausea through the Runner’s body.
“So do you have anything for me then? Besides the Competition? Where are you meeting? How many of them are there? When can we strike?”
The Runner shakes his head. A fire ignites behind the Elite Leader’s eyes, and he grabs the front of the Runner’s shirt as he speaks, his voice low and threatening.
“Do you know what this could do to us, boy? Do you know what people are going through just for this? You weren’t assigned to this to keep the Elites in the dark.”
“But I have to,” the Runner says, his body suddenly cold from the absence of his jacket. “Once I beat the Elite Runner, I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Just give me time.”
“Once you—boy, you’re aiming high.”
“You’re the one that had so much belief in me in the beginning,” the Runner says, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just let me do this my way. I can’t be controlled by anyone to do this how I am. It won’t work that way. I have to have my own reasons and motivation. I promise you’ll be out of the dark soon.”
“Then it’s a deal,” the Leader says, holding out his hand for the Runner to shake. “But under one condition. It’s more like a bet, really, but… I’d say it’s more of a condition because I say it is.”
“And what is that?” The Runner asks, hesitating before taking his hand and shaking it back.
“If you don’t beat the Elite Leader, you won’t make it off of that track alive.”
17: Push
The Runner stumbles out the door as the man shoves him out the door. He stops himself before he tumbles down the stairs. The Elite Leader steps into the doorway and nods to the Runner.
“We have a deal, Runner. Don’t break it. I’ll be watching you.”
The Runner nods in response. The door shuts with a loud bang, cutting the Runner off from their threatening eyes. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, making his limbs shake. He needs to run, he doesn’t care about how sore his body is, how tired his brain is.
He starts to sprint. The walls of the World flash by him as he makes his way around. He blocks out all sounds and all sights. He tries to clear his mind, to do away with the growing guilt inside of him. He knows these people now. The girl, One, Two, Three… there are children in the Unnamed. Surely the government won’t rid of everyone involved—right? They wouldn’t—would they?
The Runner shuts his eyes. He needs to calm down. These things can be thought about later. If anything comes up, maybe he can negotiate—or not.
Don’t speak unless spoken to… he reminds himself.
“Hey!” The Runner hears. He shakes his head and moves faster, his body crying out for him to stop. He tries to shut out the voice that follows him along the wall.
“Hey.”
The voice is right beside him, angry, confused. He turns to look at where it’s coming from. It’s the girl he had saved.
“What?” He growls, wishing she would just go away and leave him alone. He doesn’t want to talk.
“What was that about back there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Runner says quietly,
trying to run faster than her. It’s working, and she’s struggling to keep up with him.
“That man. He seemed to know you. Who is he?”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him,” the Runner admits.
“You’re a sweatin’ liar,” she spits between breaths. “He was so casual to you… he would have shot your head off for talking to him like that if you weren’t important or something. If the Unnamed finds out you’re in cahoots with—”
“But I’m not!” The Runner shouts in frustration. He pulls forward and leaves her in the dust, letting the lie settle upon her shoulders as she breathes in the air around her.
“I’m going to find out your secret, Runner,” she says aloud, but the Runner is too far gone to hear. “The time for lies is over.”
+ + +
The Runner’s eyes open. The plain ceiling above the top bunk stares back at him, too close for comfort. He feels so drowsy, so tired. He’s never wanted to go back to sleep this bad.
But he sits up anyway and makes his way to the floor. He finds some eggs in the kitchen’s fridge and scrambles them as he fries up some bacon. He finishes it off and makes his way upstairs, the smell of food and soap from his shower the night before mixing as he stops at the top.
Watching all of the Runners stretching in the upper part of the building, the threat the Elite Leader had given him weighs on him heavier and heavier as he realizes he has to beat all of them too. The people he grew up with.
Another reminder strikes his heart.
Today is the day training starts. Especially for the Unnamed.
“Alright,” a voice overpowers all the rest, making it fall silent. The Runner looks across the room.
Blaise the Elite Runner.
His tan skin seems to glow in the dim lighting and his hair has grown out blonde. It almost reaches down to his shoulders now.
“I’ve come to give you advice and an option,” he says as the Runners seventeen and under are shooed out of the room to do their training outside or to go ahead and head to their Master’s mansions.
The room falls silent as the fifty-something Runners in this Runner’s Building look at him, ready to soak up knowledge. A few girls giggle, the ones that have crushes on Blaise, and he smirks, ready to give his speech.
“As you know, there are multiple Runner Buildings here in this world. With fifty or more Runners in each building, you have more competition than with the family around you. Beat them all, and you could take my seat.” Something flashes in his eyes, and the Runner is taken aback for a moment. “Or you can lose and become an Unnamed.”
Whispers buzz through the crowd like flies, but the Runner stares at Blaise, his brain trying to push away self-doubt, the one thing that could get him in trouble in the races.
Blaise looks over the crowd, his eyes falling upon the Runner. Something inside of them makes the Runner feel a bit scared of the guy, something threatening.
The Elite Runner starts talking again. “So, today, you can either choose to train with your Masters, or go to the track with a few others. I might just stop by and check on your progress.”
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?” The Runner hears from his right. Another boy is standing and watching him, unafraid to ask the questions everyone else thinks.
The Elite Runner chuckles and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It’d be cheating if I tried to hinder you from behind able to run the races though.”
The boy nods, probably wondering if the last statement was a threat or not.
“I’ll take your choices as you walk out the door so we can keep tabs on you and make sure you’re doing what you need to be doing. There are pens and papers over there on that table,” he points to his left to a table that hadn’t been there before he showed up, “for you to write down your choice. Once you do that, hand me the paper and you are free to go.”
The Runners take that as a dismissal and they all make their way over to the table. The Runner grabs his and writes down TRACK in bold letters. He makes his way over to Blaise and hands him the paper. Blaise stares at him hard for a moment, as if trying to pinpoint who he is.
“Do I know you, Runner?” The Elite Runner asks, attitude snapping each word like a whip. The Runner shakes his head and starts to walk out the door. Blaise chuckles to himself. “It’s not good to lie, Runner.”
The Runner is out the door before he can finish his sentence.
He makes his way to the track, sprinting as fast as he can. Waiting there are the other Unnamed Runners. The Runner’s eyes fall upon Three, who stands with his arms crossed and facing him. He jogs up to the boy and Three nods.
“You ready for today, Runner?”
The Runner nods. “I guess I won’t get any readier.”
“That’s my guy,” Three laughs and slaps the Runner on the back. “You know, I wanna give you a Name. Of course, you probably wouldn’t want that. I’d call you Foot or something,” he laughs.
“What?” The Runner asks, not getting the joke.
“You know—cuz… cuz you use your feet to—to run? No? Okay, okay fine. But that’s what I’d call ya.”
“Hey Three,” a voice says. The girl.
She walks up, her eyes looking ready to pry and seeming to question what she sees of the Runner as she watches him.
“Guess what happened last night?” She says, her tone flat and accusational. “I headed down into the tunnels like One said I should, to make sure everything is how it should be, and then one of the Elite Leader’s goons showed up and was just about ready to cut my head off.”
“Great. That means they’re still down there.” Three shakes his head.
“Yeah, but do you know why I’m alive?” She talks before he can answer. “This shmuck right here got in the crossfire. ‘Course I only lived because the goon recognized him or something.”
Three looks at him questioningly. “Is that true? He recognized you?”
“Yeah. It’s like they were best buddies or something.”
Three takes a step back from him and the Runner shakes his head. “I didn’t know who he was. I still don’t even know who he is.” The Runner is glad he doesn’t have to lie about that. The man’s name is still a mystery to him, and he’s kind of glad about it. Any more lies and he’s sure he’ll go insane. “He just has me mistaken for someone else, I guess.”
“Uh-huh,” Three says. “Well, if you say he doesn’t know you, then I guess he doesn’t know you. I’ll take your word on it. But so-help-me,” he growls. “If you’re lyin’, you won’t make it out of that race alive.”
Great, the Runner thinks. More people that want to kill me.
He nods his head slowly. “So how are we going to do this?”
“We’re going to run,” Three smiles and laughs. “Nah, but we’re gonna get into a group, all of us, and we’re going tor train on one side of the track while the other team is on the other side.
“But we only have—what—two… three Runners left, you said?” The Runner asks, looking around in case someone is eavesdropping.
Three seems to be reminded of this fact and his face falls. “Yeah. Well, fine. We’re gonna be split into groups anyway, because that’s how these things work, and we’ll just have to find time away from it to work on what we need to work on.”
The Runner nods, and the girl watches the Runner doubtfully. “Can I talk to you for a sec, Three?” She asks.
They walk to the side, leaving the Runner behind. The crowd swells in front of him and seems to be splitting up already.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there watching them, but he begins to stretch, and the two Unnamed Runners jog back over.
“Alright,” Three says, looking at the girl with a sarcastic facial expression. “We go in Group Two. Just try and run as many times as you can. Don’t go full speed. Then people will start learning your actual patterns and will start trying to figure out how to beat you. They’ll be running at t
heir full potential. Try out some of their techniques, it might just help you in the long run.”
He laughs again. “No? You don’t get the joke? Alright, y’all suck. Let’s go.”
They walk over to Group Two and slide themselves into the crowd. The two groups finally separate, Group One walking to the other side of the track.
The Runner’s group splits up on either side of the track and lines up on both sides.
“Who’s first?” A boy calls out, leaning forward to look down his row.
“I’ll go!” Three calls. He looks up at the Runner and nods, as if to make him run with him.
“Me too!” The girl calls from farther up the row.
The Runner takes a deep breath and shakes his head as he watches them leave the row opposite of him and walk to the starting line.
“I’ll go too,” the Runner says, and follows them.
They all line up, four more spots to the left of the Runner open. They fill up quickly as another girl and three more guys line up.
“Go!” The boy that had spoken up first shouts.
They all break out into a sprint, the Runner pulling ahead easily. He reminds himself to slow down, and his legs pump a little slower. The girl directly to his left sprints past him only by an inch or two. He fights the urge to pass her.
Save it for the race, he reminds himself.
He settles for second place, and the girl shouts and laughs.
Another loud laugh booms. It doesn’t belong to the crowd around the Runner.
People turn around to look, and there stands the Elite Runner. “You all just got beat by a girl!” He holds his sides as he laughs.
The Runner feels anger splinter inside of him at the Elite Runner’s laughter.
“I’m going again,” the Runner growls. Three’s hand is on him before he can head back to the starting line.
“Watch it, Runner,” he warns. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Under all of our skin.”
The Runner shakes his head. “I’m running again. I have to win once.”
Three sighs and nods. “Alright. Once.”
The Runner nods and jogs back to the starting line, every one but the last runway filled. He steps on the number seven and crouches down.
“Go!” The same boy shouts.
The Runner takes off full speed, leaving everyone else in the dust. He’s across the finish line well before anyone else, granted it being only short distance. He looks over at Blaise as soon as he stops, hoping his gaze isn’t threatening at all.
The Elite Runner wears his cocky smirk and his arms across his chest. He walks up to the Runner, reaching him as soon as everyone else crosses the finish line on the straightaway. Everyone seems to look at the two of them nervously.
“I’d like to see you do that in long distance,” Blaise says, his smile amused and his eyes filled with a challenge.
“Come back in about thirty minutes and you will,” the boy who keeps calling out ‘go’ says as he runs up to the Elite Runner. He seems star-struck. “You can watch all of us do that.”
“Sounds good,” the Elite Runner says, not taking his eyes from the Runner. “I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Runner.”
With that, he turns and walks away.
The Runner and the girl and Three run as many times as they can before they switch to long distance, where they will each go once around the four-mile long track. Every time they hit the round of the track, another seven will go. Both groups will be going at the same time, and there will be at least twelve people running at once.
It’s about to get hectic out there.
“Go!”
The Runner is in the first group of seven. He tries to stay neutral and not pull forward, but it’s hard. He doesn’t want his muscles getting used to this pace.
So he pulls forward.
He almost catches up to the group in front of him as he reaches the end of his turn. He goes three more times, getting closer and closer to the seven in front of him.
And then Blaise shows up.
His head is shaved and he wears the Elite Runner Jacket. It’s bright gold with the blue emblem on the back. He smirks as the Runner’s eyes meet his.
The Elite Runner walks up to Group Two and stops just before them, all of their Runners halting to listen. Group One keeps running, hoping the Elite would go over and talk to them next.
“Hello again, fellow Runners,” he laughs. “I’m here to race. I want to choose my competition, so everyone off the track. Even them.” He points to Group One.
Someone calls for them to get off the track, and they eventually obey.
“Good.”
The Elite Runner sets the gold bag he holds down onto the brown grass and strides over to the track, his cleats digging into it.
“This track is four miles long. I’m surprised everyone’s still holding up,” he smiles and steps into the middle lane, number four.
“You.” He points to a girl. “And you.” A guy. “You.” Girl. “You.” Guy. “You.” Another guy. “You.” One more girl. “And you.”
His finger lands on the Runner, and a smirk brings one corner of his mouth upwards.
The Runner steps forward, his heart pounding. His body is growing tired, but he can beat the Elite Runner. He knows he can.
He glances at Three, who shakes his head. The boys’ eyes are hard and he glares at the Elite with hatred.
The Runner takes his place right next to the Elite and crouches down, ready to take him head-on.
“Get ready, Runner,” the Elite Runner says quietly and only to the Runner. “You’re about to experience what losing feels like.”
The Runner doesn’t respond. He clears his head. He can do this. Show the Elite what he’s made of, and maybe he can knock the pride out of him.
“Go!”
They all take off, their cleats helping them push forward. The Runner starts to catch up to the Elite, leaving the other five Runners behind. He’s in the middle of the gap the Elite Runner has left between him and the rest of the Runners as they round the first curve.
One mile down. Three to go.
The Runner controls his breathing, letting the pounding of his feet create a rhythm in his head. He doesn’t seem to move from his spot except maybe a little as the five Runners behind him seem to get farther away. If this is anything like the competitions—
But it’s not, he reminds himself.
He pushes harder. His body is ready for this.
The distance begins to slowly close as he makes his way to the Elite. The gold jacket almost seems to be blinding in the hot sunlight of the day. The Runner’s jacket sticks to his skin, but the wind from running is like a miracle to the heat around him.
Two miles down.
He can hardly hear the cheering as he races by Group One. He’s so close to the Elite. He could reach forward and grab his hoodie if he wanted to.
Before he knows it, there’s only one mile left.
He pushes harder than he’s ever pushed before. The distance closes faster than he thought, and he passes the Elite.
Blaise cries out in shock, but picks up his pace immediately. They’re side by side, the finish line in sight. Blaise laughs as he pulls ahead.
The Runner finds the rest of his energy, and, at the last moment, crosses the finish line before the Elite Runner.
18: Sleep
The entire track falls silent. The Elite Runner breathes hard, not from fatigue, but from anger. His face is red, not from running, but from fury.
The Runner stares at him, unable to find words. He had made a big mistake. If the Runner had a chance on the day of the Competitions, he definitely won’t now. Mortimer the Elite Solver’s warnings echo in his mind, telling him about the power the Elites hold and about how Blaise won’t play fair.
“You’re a cheat,” the Elite growls under his breath as he tries to calm himself down. “That’s the only reason why you beat me
.”
The Runner says nothing, afraid that, if he does, he’d be killed right then and there by the hands of the Elite Runner. He keeps his mouth shut and his jaw taught, just as he’d been raised to do from such a young age.
Blaise’s scowl suddenly breaks out in a white-toothed grin, sending the Runner’s adrenaline pumping a whole new wave through his veins. He knows what’s about to come next isn’t good.
“Race me again,” the Elite says quietly. “Race me again, Runner. See if you can beat me for a second time.”
The Runner looks around. His eyes stop on Three, who shakes his head slightly, fear raging in his eyes.
“No,” The Runner says and turns around, starting to walk away, back to the Runner’s Building. He wants to be alone. He wants to be away from all these people, away from the Elite surging with power and overconfidence standing before him.
He doesn’t get three steps before Blaise the Elite Runner opens his mouth once again.
“Are you presenting yourself as a coward, Runner?”
The Runner stops in his tracks, clenching his fists and relaxing them, breathing in and out slowly. He feels the sting of his words bruise his pride, but he can’t do this. If he races again, everyone will be watching him, evaluating him. He can’t risk another race and have his competition learning what he’s doing wrong before the Competitions even begin. He has to walk away. There’s no other choice.
“And this is why you’ll never be an Elite,” Blaise continues. “This is why, come Competition day, you’ll be one of the Unnamed. You’ll. Be. Dead.”
He lets out a laugh as the Runner continues to breathe in and out slowly, trying to control his temper.
“Unnamed. A loser for the rest of your life.”
The Runner starts to bounce on the balls of his feet and starts to walk again. He needs to get away. Needs to escape these words before…
“Just like that girl, Rachel, the one that died.”
The Runner whips around and strides up to the Elite. Before Blaise can move from his spot, the Runner strikes him down with his fist, blood flying from The Elite’s mouth.
The Elite Runner falls to the ground and wipes the blood from his chin. He chuckles, the sound seeming out of place.
The Runner stands above him, huffing. He realizes what he just did and turns back around, mortified. What could this do to him? What would the other Elites do once they find out what he did to the Elite Runner?
He begins to jog away.
“Hey, Runner!” The fallen Elite calls as the Runner gets farther and farther away. “You can hide all you want from me, but you can’t run. I’ll get you back for this Runner, if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll break you and your cheetah-legs. Don’t be surprised if you wake up and they’re missing.”
The Runner stumbles a bit at that threat, and then picks up his speed, his heart racing faster than he ever has himself. Could the Elite Runner really take his legs? Is that possible?
The Runner doesn’t know, doesn’t want to care right now. He just keeps running.
+ + +
The Runner, after showering, lies in his bed and stares at the blank grayness above him that makes up the ceiling, his mind wandering to places it shouldn’t be.
He jumps at every sound that echoes through the room, paranoid it’s the Elite Runner ready to attack him, to kill him. Needless to say, he doesn’t get any sleep that night.
He drags his feet as he runs this morning, the sun just breaking and sending its waves of heat crushing down on the Runner’s lungs. When he reaches the mansion of his Master, he pushes them open tiredly and walks in. Mortimer the Elite Solver greets him immediately, and his face twists into a look of concern.
“Are you okay, Runner?” He asks, placing his hands on the Runner’s shoulders. The extra weight makes the Runner almost fall over. He hadn’t realized just how tired he was until now, now that he’s standing still.
“Come, sit,” the Elite says as he starts to pull the Runner to the couch. The Runner refuses, shakes his head.
“I can’t. I have to train… I have to…”
A big yawn escapes from his mouth and he shakes his head, blinks his eyes. He needs to wake up. His stomach growls.
“No, you are going to sit down. Come on.”
Mortimer the Elite Solver leads the Runner to the kitchen and sits him at the small island in the center of it. The Runner places his head on his arms and closes his eyes, even though he tells himself to stay awake. He’s just so tired…
Mortimer sets a glass of orange juice on the counter in front of the Runner, and his eyes open slightly. They adjust to the lighting and focus on the glass. He tells himself to sit up, but he can’t. Exhaustion has fallen onto his shoulders, and he can’t get rid of it.
“Drink up.”
The Runner tries to sit up, and when he does, his head moves to the side and he leans it on his fist to keep it upright.
“How much sleep did you get?” Mortimer asks as more of his Servants come in, ready to start their training.
“None,” the Runner slurs.
The Elite Solver scoffs amusingly. “You know better, Runner.”
“I know…” the Runner says, picking up the cold glass. “I just… the Elite Runner came to the track and wanted to race me…”
“What happened?” The old man asks, curiosity and worry filling his eyes.
“I beat him.”
They were silent for a few moments. Mortimer stares at the Runner as he twists the glass around on the countertop. Sleep sloshes around in the Runner’s head, thinning his worry about the Competitions, and, for a moment, he forgets about it as he watches the juice in the glass slosh around.
“Runner, don’t go back to that track. Don’t leave this house,” Mortimer says suddenly, pushing himself from the island.
“What—why?” The Runner asks, his brain suddenly working a bit better as adrenaline starts to make its way to the rest of him.
“Because. You’ll be at a disadvantage now that everyone has seen you run.”
“Not everyone—”
“Most everyone. They’ll pinpoint your weaknesses and strengths easier now that they’ve seen you run. Don’t leave and definitely don’t go to that track. I can protect you from Blaise here, but I can’t protect you if you go there.”
The Runner looks down at the counter, guilt outweighing the sleepiness pulling down on every part of him. Did he put Mortimer the Elite Solver in danger? Would the Elite Runner even do anything? By the way Mortimer is acting, it seems as if he would, but what if he’s just bluffing?
“Go get some rest. We can train later. Just go sleep.”
The Runner nods, unable to argue as hunger blossoms slightly inside of him as well.
The Elite Solver tells the Runner where to lay down, which is in a small room to the side of the kitchen so he can make sure the Runner is safe. Once the Runner touches the mattress, he closes his eyes, and he is fast asleep.
There’s a loud thumping coming from the window in the room.
The Runner jerks awake and looks over. How long had he been out?
He wipes the sleep from his eyes as another set of banging rattles the window. When he looks up, there is nothing there.
He stands up and walks over.
There’s nothing at the window.
Suddenly, glass shatters everywhere. Blood drains from the Runner’s shoulder, and he cries out. Mortimer the Elite Solver is by his side in an instant. He had heard the banging and came to investigate.
Mortimer leans over the Runner and glances out the window once. With a scowl, he turns to the bedside table and pulls open a drawer. He grabs something inside and holds it out at arms-length through the window.
The Runner looks up to see him holding a gun.
He pulls the trigger and a big bang echoes through the air. There’s a cry of agony, and Mortimer the Elite Solver kneels beside the Runner for a moment.
&nb
sp; “Stay here,” he says quietly, and then heads out the door.
The Runner tries to sit up, his shoulder on fire. He tries to breathe normally, finding it hard to even do that.
The Elite Solver reappears with the gun and places it back into the drawer he had pulled it from. He turns back around to face the Runner.
“This is going to hurt,” he says.
Before the Runner can ask anything, the Elite Solver starts to dig for the bullet. The Runner cries out and pulls away, but is unable to. The Elite Solver has his grip on him.
The Runner doesn’t feel the bullet leave his shoulder, but he feels the sting from the Elite Solver’s fingers. The Runner lies on his back and breathes, the pain spreading to every inch of his body. The adrenaline pumping through him is keeping him wide-awake now.
“Okay,” the Elite Solver says, standing up and wiping his hands on a towel. “That was one of Blaise’s henchmen.” He spits the word as he looks out the window and then back at the Runner. “The Elite Runner, any Elite for that matter, get antsy and paranoid around this time of year. It’s why we’re so inclined to watch the Competitions. We don’t want to lose our spots as Elites. Because after being an Elite, there is death. No Unnamed. No Named. Just death waiting for us around the corner.”
The Elite Solver looks down at the towel as he sets it aside.
“I’m old enough to die, Runner,” he says sadly, and the Runner takes a deep breath. He sits up on the floor with a grunt. “Someone might take my place this year, and it might just be one of the Unnamed.”
“I won’t… I won’t let that happen,” the Runner breathes.
Mortimer chuckles. “You’re in the wrong category to make sure, Runner.” He looks out the window once again and then continues talking. “There are Solvers with new ideas and different approaches to problems we’re facing. The simulation we go into will determine which idea works best… Last year I was almost beaten. The boy only had one hundred less deaths than I did. Of course, you have no idea what I’m talking about because you’re a Runner and not a Solver… Just… be careful, Runner. I won’t be around forever to protect you.”
The Runner looks at the old man for a moment. The day Mortimer dies, the day he’s not an Elite anymore… that’s a day the Runner doesn’t want to see.
The Elite Solver reaches down to help the Runner stand up. He stifles a scream as he finds his feet and leans against the wall. He covers his right shoulder with his left hand, pressing against it to stop the bleeding. The Elite Solver puts his arm around the boy and helps him walk out of the room and into the kitchen, where he will tend his wounds.
The Runner promises himself something. If Mortimer the Elite solver, his Master, if he doesn’t make it past the last stage in the Competitions, if he comes in second, he will find a way to keep him alive. He will keep him inside of the city, no matter the cost. This man is too kind, too gentle to die. He doesn’t deserve it.
And the Runner knows it.
He just simply won’t let it happen.
19: Hatred
Mortimer the Elite Solver walks into the room the Runner sleeps in to wake him up. A light layer of sweat has formed on his forehead as he tosses and turns beneath the sheets. The Elite reaches down to gently shake him, when he hears the click of a gun.
“Don’t move,” he hears.
The old man looks up to see a girl standing before him, aiming the gun at his chest.
“What are you doing?” Mortimer croaks, moving his hands up to show he’s not a threat. The girl keeps the gun trained on him, her other hand hidden behind her back.
“Why didn’t he come back to the Runner’s Building last night?” She asks, her voice razor sharp. “And why did that man know his name, the one working for the Elite Leader?”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” the Elite Solver tells her.
“Bull,” she spits quietly. Her hand is pulled out from behind her back. It holds another gun, and she points it at the sleeping Runner. “Talk or one of you dies.”
Mortimer takes a step forward to try and justify with her, try and persuade her to set the gun down, but she smirks and shakes her head.
“Don’t even think about it, old man. I was taught well how to use these weapons.”
The old man stops moving and swallows the saliva in his dry mouth. How would she know how to use a gun? No one aside from Elites have learned, unless…
“You’re a part of the Unnamed,” the Elite Solver concludes.
“Right-on,” she smirks again. “We can cut right to the chase then. Talk.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” The Elite Solver pleads.
“Don’t play stupid with me, Solver,” the girl snarls, waving the gun around. “Why did that man know him? And why was he acting like he knew him?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
Bang!
Blood seeps from the white fabric beneath the jacket with the Solver’s symbol on it. The Runner jerks awake, adrenaline pumping through his body. He sees the old man fall to his knees and watches as his face drains of blood and he falls to the floor.
The Runner is awake and on his feet, and he kneels over the man, watching, waiting for the rise of his chest, for the intake of air through his mouth, through his nose, but neither come. He lay still on the wooden floor, eyes wide open and glossed over.
The Runner feels his heart ache and a sad, confused cry escapes his mouth. He just promised he wouldn’t let this happen—and then it happens.
He turns to the person with a problem too big to handle without violence. The girl. The girl he had saved. She stands with one gun down at her side and the other one pointed at the Runner.
He has no words for her. He has no thought. She asks who he really is. What he’s doing here. How the man knew who he was. What happened after he took the Runner away. He says nothing and she finally turns to leave, irritated and edgy. She glances once more back at the Runner, her eyes locking onto his for a moment. Something inside of them glimmers, catching the Runner off guard.
She tears her eyes away and heads off, leaving the Runner standing over Mortimer the Elite Solver’s dead body as if to protect it.
He counts to thirty. Once he’s sure she’s long gone, he turns back around and kneels back down over the Solver. Gently, he closes the old man’s eyes and feels a tear or two trickle down his cheek. He hates them. He hates the Unnamed, no matter how good their intentions are. And he will bring them down. He will get rid of them. Even if that means betraying them.
He trains. Harder than anyone else, harder than his Master would ever push him to. He’s doing it for him, for the old man that raised him and taught him how to be a Runner. He needs to beat Blaise again. He feels it in every fiber of his being, in every sore muscle and every aching bone as the day approaches. Competition day.
The Unnamed leaves him alone. Or they try to. One day Three tries to come into Mortimer the Elite Solver’s building, No one knows of his death yet. His body still lies on the mattress where the Runner had placed him. Everyone will know soon though, as soon as the day rolls around. The Runner has made plans to inform the Elite Leader about the death. He’ll even tell him that the fault and the blame falls upon the Unnamed, that it was their fault. They’re the reason why he’s dead. He doesn’t know how the Solvers will compete now, if they’ll do it as they normally have without the pressure between the top spot and the Elite or if they’ll do something entirely different.
The Runner counts his steps as he runs on the treadmill. Thirty three, thirty four, thirty five, thirty six… He goes on and on until his body starts to hurt. He steps off of the machine and onto the tile floor beneath it. The towel hanging around his neck is used to wipe the sweat dripping from his brow, and his jacket and shirt hanging on the handle of the treadmill is slipped on over his arms, bringing a sensation of warmth over the Runner. Outside, night is falling. Tomorrow is the day before the Competit
ions. Tomorrow he will tell the Elite Leader all about what happened what seems like so many days ago now.
The Runner makes his way to the front door and swings it open. He steps out into the warm night, his foot making a crunching sound as something is crushed beneath it. He looks down to see a small envelope, glowing white in the moonlight. Picking it up, he brings it to his face and sees that it is addressed to him. It says, To the Runner, the one that beat Blaise.
He rips it open carefully and glances at his surroundings. Inside, there is a single paper. He pulls it out and unfolds it, the paper loud against the quiet sounds of night.
Dear Runner,
Our apologies for your Master. We had no choice. There are certain suspicions about you that are just now showing up. Come to the tunnel at the Runner’s Building to confirm that you are who you say you are, and that you are not a spy from the government or a blabbermouth telling important people what’s going on down here. If you don’t arrive, we will assume you are one of these and we will kill you. See you after sunset.
One.
The Runner looks up from the note, searching the street for whoever left it there for him to read. His heart beats nervously in his chest, but he concludes he will go. He can’t get revenge if he dies by the hands of the ones he’s trying to get back at.
Over the cracked pavement he jogs, finding his way to the Runner’s Building in the dark, not wanting to waste any time. He’s going to have to put his poker face on for this and act like he knows nothing. The Runner isn’t a good liar, but he’s gotten better trying to take down the Unnamed from the inside for the government. He just has to try not to trip over himself or change his story any.
The Runner takes a breath and tries to get his story straight as he reaches the door of the building. This is the tipping point for him. This determines if he can carry through with what he’s been assigned to do by his Master and the government.
He heaves the door open, several Runners training or resting in the large upper room. Some turn and wave slightly at the Runner, smiling sheepishly.
The Runner walks in and down the stairs, where more Runners clean themselves up or eat. Some of them are just dozing off to sleep for the night.
The Runner makes his way to the door that hides the way to the Unnamed Territory and opens it up.
“What are you doing?” Someone asks him, but he doesn’t turn around to answer. He just walks through and shuts the door behind him, the darkness of the tunnel falling over him like a wave. He walks down the blackened hallway, glad he remembers where he is and where to go.
He continues to walk as far as he can, until he hears voices talking amongst themselves. He takes a deep, shaky breath.
“Hello?” He calls, and everything goes silent. He hears the shuffling of feet. There’s a small click as a light blinds the Runner. He stares past it, hoping he can see something, someone.
His eyes adjust and he makes out a silhouette standing beside the beam of light.
“Hello, Runner.”
One.
The Runner shields his eyes to see the figure to the side of the light. All he can see is the outline of her.
“Hello, One,” he says, his heart racing at the thought of lying to these people. They killed people without a second thought. They killed his Master.
A single flame ignites in him and he tries to suppress it, to keep from opening his mouth.
“I assume you’ve read the note?” She asks.
“You’ve assumed correctly,” the Runner says, trying to keep an acidic tone from exiting his mouth. “You think I’m a spy?”
In the terrible lighting, he sees One’s shoulders rise and fall once. “I never said that I thought you were. But other people are starting to talk. One of the Runners, well the one that is left aside from Three, she said the guy who was going to punish her recognized you.”
The Runner shrugs. “I deliver messages from the Elite Solver to the Elite Leader on a daily basis. It’s no surprise that he would recognize me, especially if he worked with the Elite Leader. That’s where he was going to take her, after all.”
“Uh-huh,” One says slowly, and whispers start to echo in the hallway. “And how would you know where he would take her?”
“Like I said, I took messages to and from the Elite Solver and the Elite Leader. I’ve seen people taken from the streets and from their buildings and brought into the Elite Leader’s mansion, and I’ve seen them be locked away. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen,” the Runner explains, telling the whole truth.
There’s a slight pause and the room falls silent.
“Then tell me this,” One continues, walking forward. The Runner can see the shape and the basic features of her face as she draws nearer. She stops right in front of him. “Do you hate the government? Do you want to bring them down? Because that’s what this rebellion is for, that’s what the Unnamed is rising up to do. So do you hate them?”
The Runner looks her dead in the eye, the light behind her blinding him. “Yes.”
“Then you shouldn’t care that we killed your Master, the Elite Solver, who is a part of said government?” She says this as more of a question, rather than a statement.
The Runner takes a deep breath before answering, careful not to show any anger through his body language, nor the words he uses.
“No,” he says, the heart in his chest aching with each thump.
“Good.” The Runner sees One smile. “Then you should have no problem killing Blaise, either.”
20: Tomorrow
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, Runner,” 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.
He runs, leaving his jacket behind.
The night air is cold against his skin as it pulls at his shirt. He sprints at full speed around the World. He loses track of time, he loses all feeling, he goes numb.
He replays the situation over and over in his head. He was asleep. The girl had shot Mortimer the Elite Solver, and the sound of it woke him up. He remembers his shoulder as well. It hurt, but he had ignored it. So much was happening… And Mortimer said one of Blaise’s henchmen had shot him in the arm, but no one knows how to use guns in the World, the Base, or the Planet. To his knowledge only the girl and Three know how. Maybe One and Two as well.
Then a thought strikes him, making his mourning waver to let a new tingling of panic wash through him as he slows to a complete stop. What if it was the Unnamed that was trying to kill him, and not Blaise?
The Runner finds himself circling around to grab his jacket and sprinting, not to the Runner’s Building, but Blaise’s mansion. It appears as he nears it, its walls a deep blue, the blue of the circle on the Runners’ jacket. The door is solid black, almost seeming to disappear in the night and the shadow the moon creates upon it.
The Runner jumps onto the stairs, skipping at least three steps at a time. His fist bangs rapidly on the dark-painted wood. He counts to three before doing it again. Three more seconds later, he repeats the process once more.
The door swings open, a mad, cursing Blaise standing behind it and rubbing his eyes.
“Do you know how much I have to train…?” He stops as he looks up at the Runner. A smirk crosses his face. “Hello, Runner. Come to surrender?”
“Did you try to kill me a few nights ago?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Blaise scoffs. “What are you trying to accuse me of?”
“Did you or did you not try to kill me a few nights ago? Did you send someone to shoot me? And how did you know where I was?”
“Slow your roll, Runner,” Blaise interrupts. “What are you accusing me of?”
“A few days ago, you threatened to cut off my legs. You said you’ll break me. And then, the next day, there’s someone rapping on my window and waving a gun around. I was shot in the shoulder. Don’t tell me that wasn’t you.”
“Well poor, poor you. But I haven’t tried to kill you. Not yet, anyway.” A cat-like grin slips onto his face and there’s a dark glint in his eye. “But I wish you luck. You’ll need it with the way that I play, Runner.”
With that, the black door shuts and the Runner is left alone in the darkness of night with his thoughts.
The Unnamed is the enemy, always has been, but this takes it to another level, unless Blaise the Elite Runner is lying, which is likely, but the Runner gets the vibe that he’s telling the truth.
Tomorrow is the last day before the Competitions. The Runner has to watch his back and make sure he’s not doing anything to alert the Unnamed, especially now. They’ll kill him on the spot, and he knows it.
He makes a list in his head. First thing’s first: beat Blaise. Second, take down the Unnamed. Hopefully he gets that far.
He runs back to the Runner’s Building, laying his head down for the second-to-last time before he either dies or is eternally victorious.
+ + +
He wakes up. The last day before the Competitions. This thought makes his heart palpitate, and he takes a deep breath to calm it down. It’s the last day to train.
He gets up and scrambles four eggs for himself. He needs a large breakfast. He needs to make sure he has energy for both today and tomorrow, just in case. Just in case, what, the Runner has no idea, but he feels like he needs to eat until he’s full.
After that, he stretches for a good length of time, making sure he doesn’t overstretch. By then, his food has started to settle and he can move without feeling the fatigue from eating. He jogs around with the rest of the Runners, nervous glances flitting towards him as he runs at the back. He doesn’t want to give anything else away to anyone else, so he’s taking it easy. His Master would have wanted it that way.
They all finish their last lap, some out of breath from pushing themselves harder than ever, while the Runner breathes easily and jogs in place. He makes his way out the front door and into the World, ready to jog around a few more times.
By the time he makes it around once, he decides it’s time to eat lunch. He has a big sandwich and a large glass of water, taking his time and trying to keep his wandering mind off of Mortimer the Elite Solver and the Unnamed. This is about him. This is the moment he’s been waiting for his entire life, and he will beat Blaise, threatened or not.
He stretches a bit more and runs around the World three times more, making sure to stop by his Master’s mansion at least once or twice to use the gym for his core and his arms. Running uses every muscle in your body, not just the legs.
And then night falls. The Runner makes his way back to the Runner’s Building just in time for Pre-Competition Announcements. The volume is all the way up and every Runner in the building is standing or sitting before the screen on the wall.
The woman talks about the rules and the placing, the normal things they talk about every year. And then she tells her audience to report any strange activity from any of the opponents to the Elites so last year doesn’t repeat itself. Then the screen is shut off and everyone heads off to bed. The Runner stays behind to stretch, and he feels someone else in the room with him.
He turns around to see the girl. The one that shot his Master.
She’s standing against the back corner, her arms crossed as she looks at the Runner through slitted eyes.
“What?” He asks, done with her and the Unnamed. Yet something makes his skin tingle at the way she’s looking at him.
She shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says, making a face.
The Runner sighs and walks over to a clear spot, a ways away from the girl. He stretches for what seems like an hour, and she just stands there against the wall, watching him. When he finishes, he stands up and looks at her.
“What do you want?”
“The truth,” she says simply, not moving from the dark corner.
“You know the truth,” the Runner spits as he turns to go to the room with all of the bunk beds in it. He’s tired and has a long day tomorrow. Long week.
“Maybe not the whole truth,” she says, and he hears her move. There’s the clicking of a gun and the Runner freezes, anger boiling deep inside of him, threatening to bubble over and explode through his mouth and his actions. He takes a breath and turns around slowly.
“You won’t shoot me.”
“Try me,” she says. “I shot your precious Master.”
The sentence sends a stake through the Runner’s heart, but he bites back the sudden rage that sends adrenaline through his veins.
“Yeah, but you need me if you want your freedom.”
“Says who?”
“Says the Unnamed,” the Runner says, walking on thin ice.
“I could beat Blaise easily.”
“Really?” The Runner scoffs, sending another wave of anger through him. “I’ve already beat him once.”
“Doesn’t mean you’ll do it again.”
“Still, it makes me desirable for the Unnamed to have on their side. And that’s where I am.
I’m not the enemy, Runner,” he says to the girl. “We can work together.”
A pang of guilt wrenches in his stomach as he realizes what he’s doing, what he’s saying. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away as she seems to consider it.
“Fine,” she says. “But I will beat you in the last round, no tiesies.”
The Runner nods. “Alright. We’ll see who’s better,” he says, a smile playing on his lips at the challenge. It falls quickly as the guilt, the sadness, and the nervousness washes back over him. They both turn to the stairs and descend, tomorrow just around the corner.
This week will be for you, Master, the Runner thinks, just before sleep takes him over.