Glacia bounces on the balls of her feet. Back home, she rained terror in the arena. Here, she’s facing Officials and Recruits of all ages and skill levels. Some people shoot careful looks at her, sizing her up. They know she means business. Others roll their eyes, amused, clearly not expecting her to be a threat.

They’re in for a surprise.

A buzzer sounds. Blue lights flash on the walls. Pistons hiss, gears groan, and the gate splits apart. Cheers float into the tunnel, and when we enter the arena, I see a massive screen above the stadium. The image focuses on the parade of players. Friends walk beside friends, not knowing if they will soon be enemies. That’s the kicker: the team arrangement is completely random. You could be surrounded by opponents and knocked out in seconds, or by teammates to form packs and hunt other players.

Thousands of people fill the four sections, each of which represents one of the four teams. The Red supporters are to my left, Greens to my right. Yellows are on the opposite end of the arena, and Blues are directly behind me. The stands are dark except for lights that line the aisles and mini projectors connected to every seat. Spectators can flip between video feeds to watch the action in different parts of the stadium.

Lucas and Gort lead the procession, and I lose sight of Glacia when she shoves her way to the front. Ellin sticks by my side even though we haven’t said two words to each other. John and Michael chose not to play, so they’re sitting with Victoria in the stands.

The march stops at the entrance of Level 1, the largest of the three levels. Ramps connect to Levels 2 and 3, but those are off-limits until later in the game.

“You will now take your place inside the stadium,” a monotone voice says inside my headset. “Arman Lance, proceed to Block Thirty-two.”

Ellin and I move into the stadium and split off at the first intersection. The headset’s tiny display guides me through the maze of walls and shelters and barriers. Holographic numbers float above designated blocks. I pass the players who have already taken their positions. Some are in aisles, others in wide open areas.

Block 32 is at the far corner of the stage. I take note of my surroundings: in front of me, a shelter sits next to a ramp that rises to Level 2, and a barrier stands several yards to my right. Block 73 is behind the shelter—I passed it on my way here—but that’s the closest player I know about. If I’m lucky, a Hologis sphere will be released on my side of the shelter. The last thing I need is a disadvantage.

“Arman Lance,” the headset voice says, “please await the signal.”