We swing around the corner—and stop. We’re staring out at the spectators. An aisle stretches on either side, but Lucas doesn’t move. Instead, he turns around to make a stand. I stay behind him because I don’t have a sphere.

The footsteps thud closer. Five yellow players—all Recruits—block the aisle. Their faces light up in triumph when they us holding our ground, however defenseless.

“Twenty players remain,” the headset voice says, now updating after every five knock outs.

Lucas saunters forward, waving his sphere at each player in turn. “And here I thought we were going to lose you.”

“Wasn’t meant to happen, was it?” the guy at the front of the pack says. “Five-on-two. I wouldn’t say the odds are in your favor.”

“I’d agree—from a certain standpoint,” Lucas says. “Unfortunately for you, the odds are ever in my favor. Or do you not know who you’re dealing with?”

The players chuckle and size him up. None of them throw their spheres though, just in case.

“You see,” Lucas continues, “I made a bet and I intend to win it. I’ve already had to play dirty once tonight, and I won’t hesitate to—.”

SMACK.

Someone slams into me at full-force. I sprawl on the ground and slide behind the wall. The spectators cheer, supporters of the red team.

I twist my head and see Glacia pushing herself to her knees. A moment later, one of her knees drops onto my chest, and she pins one of my wrists to the floor. She raises a sphere above my face and holds it there, the red glow casting deep shadows over her face.

“Having fun now?”

She snaps her wrist. In a flash, the sphere hits my face and ricochets down the aisle. My suit flashes white and deactivates. I don’t feel a thing because it’s just a hologram, but my side is throbbing from the tackle.

I crane my neck and—upside down—watch her scramble away. A second later, Lucas jumps around the corner dodging three yellow spheres. The orbs rebound off the edge of the stadium straight back to their throwers.

“Sorry, bud,” Lucas says as he jogs past me.

The yellow players turn the corner as I’m standing up. One of them laughs, but the rest ignore me and run off in pursuit of Lucas.

That’s when Glacia reappears, freshly stocked with two Hologis spheres. I move aside to let her chase the other players. She glares at me, and I don’t look away. For some reason, I think that would make her even angrier.

Then she’s gone.

“Arman Lance,” my headset says, “proceed to the exit.”