Origins. James Frey
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night after another, he doesn’t sleep. Can’t sleep.
He stays up all night, staring at the ceiling.
The last day, he visits Xander’s grave for the first time.
He stands before the gravestone, shivering in the sticky summer air. It’s a simple marker, bearing only Xander’s name and the dates of his birth and death.
So close together.
There was a funeral, but Marcus wasn’t there. He was too busy with his new training regimen.
He was too afraid.
In his hand, Marcus holds the golden horns, the official marker of his selection as a Player. It’s such a silly thing, a flimsy band of fake bull horns that no one in his right mind would actually wear—but for so long, it was everything. A symbol of the life he wanted so desperately. And then it was a symbol of everything Xander had taken from him. The band fit so comfortably on Xander’s head. Even though it didn’t belong there.
Marcus sets the golden horns on the stone.
“I did what I had to do,” he says. “What a champion would do. That’s all.”
Elias teaches that winning at all costs is more than just a phrase. That Endgame is not football, and it’s not war—it’s not a place for rules or for honor, for loyalty or mercy. Winning means doing whatever it takes, without hesitation or regret.
Marcus is working very hard to believe it.
“I thought you might be here,” a voice says behind him.
Marcus turns around. Elias is leaning against a gravestone, a strange, knowing smile on his face. He gestures toward the horns. “I hope you’re not planning to leave those here. They belong to you.”
Marcus shrugs, hoping Elias can’t see all the emotions, the pain, churning just beneath his surface. He’s supposed to be stronger than that now. He’s supposed to be invulnerable. “They were his first. All of this was.”
“Until you took it from him.”
Marcus has trained in relaxation and control. He knows how to master his breathing and his heart rate, how to tamp down his body’s reaction to stimuli and remain physiologically unmoved by panic. There may be fireworks going off in his head, but outwardly, he’s perfectly calm. Elias, he has learned, always has an agenda. Marcus waits for him to reveal it.
“What happened on that volcano, Marcus?” Elias says.
“I told you what happened.”
“And now I’m asking again.”
“His cable snapped,” Marcus says—Marcus always says. “I tried to help him, but I couldn’t.” He’s gotten used to lying about it—he’s gotten good at lying about it—but it feels especially wrong to do so here, in the shadow of the grave. “I couldn’t get there in time.”
“You’re an excellent liar,” Elias says. “That will come in handy.”
Marcus stops breathing.
Elias bursts into laughter. “Oh, wipe that deer-in-the-headlights look off your face, Marcus, you’re better than that.”
Marcus tries to remember what he’s been taught, remember his breathing, but it’s hard to find his calm center when every nerve ending in his body is screaming.
Elias knows the truth.
He knows.
He knows.
“We’re both men here,” Elias says. “It’s time to be honest.”
“His cable snapped. I tried to help him, but I couldn’t.” Marcus knows he sounds like a robot, but he’s capable of nothing else. “I couldn’t get there in time.”
Elias shakes his head, still chuckling. “Okay, then, how about I tell the truth. His cable snapped? Yes. You tried to help him? No. You watched and did nothing while your best friend hung on for dear life? Yes. You watched and did nothing while he fell to his death, then came home and lied about it, stole everything that was supposed to be his?”
Marcus swallows hard. His tongue feels huge in his mouth, clumsy and incapable of speech. His throat is clenched, his breath gone. But he manages to squeeze out the necessary word: “Yes.”
“Yes,” Elias says. “Yes. Good. Yes. That’s a start. And don’t you want to ask me something now?”
Marcus stares at him blankly. He’s waited for this moment for so long, for someone to ferret out the truth, for the consequences to crush him. He’s pictured this moment, but never past it. He doesn’t know what happens next.
“You want to ask me how I know,” Elias prompts.
“How do you know?” Marcus says obediently, although he doesn’t care. He doesn’t see how it could matter.
“I know because I was there,” Elias says. “Many of us were. We all wanted to see for ourselves what you would do when the opportunity presented itself.”
Marcus gapes at him, wheels turning. Because if Elias was there, waiting and watching, that meant he knew something would happen, which meant—
“Good, you’re keeping up,” Elias says. “Alexander’s cable snapped because our sniper shot it.”
“You were testing him?” Marcus says in wonder.
Elias sighs, obviously disappointed. “For someone who’s so sure he deserves to be a Player, you’re not very quick on the uptake. We were testing you.”
The words are like an explosion; Marcus could swear the ground is shaking beneath him. Thunder roars in his ear. The muted colors of the graveyard burst so bright he needs to shut his eyes against the pain of them.
This is how it feels, when your world falls apart and remakes itself into something you don’t recognize.
When everything you thought was solid melts away.
“It was always going to be you, Marcus,” Elias says. “It was obvious the first day I met you. But we had to know how much you wanted it. We had to know how far you would go—how much you would sacrifice for victory.”
Marcus concentrates on standing still. It takes all the energy he has to hold his muscles rigid. He fears that if he relaxes his control, even for a second, he will collapse. Or he will lunge at Elias and pummel him to death.
He thinks about relaxing his control.
Thinks hard.
Instead he forces out the obvious question. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
“Because it’s time for you to grow up,” Elias says. He takes the golden horns off Xander’s grave. “Stop sulking. Stop beating yourself up—what’s done is done. You made a choice, and it’s a part of you now. You know what you’re capable of, and that’s a good thing. It’s something you won’t soon forget.” He presses the horns into Marcus’s hands.
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