The media craziness really was hitting fever pitch.

Two days before the singles knockout stage commenced, all the fighters who were left in the competition were summoned to one of smaller, satellite arenas built into the higher floors. That meant thirty-two singles competitors, eight pairs and eight flag teams, all assembled in one place, for the sole purpose of driving the media and fans into a fresh frenzy.

It was time to shoot a promotional video.

Codi didn't really know how to feel about it. Last year, apparently, the video they'd used as an introduction to the final Gauntlet stages had been fully animated, but that hadn't played well with the focus groups. This year they wanted the real faces; real people doing real things.

She walked alongside Ripple, leading the Battlecast group into the bizarre room that had been specially set up for the occasion. Dozens of support staff swarmed over the area, together with a small cloud of camera drones that would capture the action from every conceivable angle. The arena itself had been converted, with black-screen walls laced with lines of shimmering blue like a gigantic spider web. The other competitors were shepherded in nearby and all of them looked equally nonplussed by the venture.

"Take it this never happened last year?" she murmured to Ripple from the side of her mouth.

The other girl shook her head silently as Bronagh directed them to one of the media handlers who would tell them where to go, and what to do. The young man they ended up with stood ramrod stiff, his body ensconced in a skin-tight black top and iron grey trousers, along with a pair of gleaming trainers. He turned a dazzling smile on them, displaying eerily perfect teeth.

"Battlecast," he said, his head bobbing up and down in approval. "Excellent. My name is Weaver, Arando Weaver. I'll be your media director for today. I must say, it's a pleasure to have such a group of young stars to work with."

Codi raised an eyebrow; exchanged a dubious look with Gareth. Weaver kept talking.

"Now, I'm well aware this could be a little different to what you're used to, but you know the audience loves to see the real fighters – none of that computer generated nonsense." He allowed himself a strange, high-pitched giggle that made Codi's skin crawl. "Now I'd like to take your capture the flag team first. If you can all step forward...?" An expectant sweep of his arm beckoned them.

Reluctantly, Codi stepped forward. Gareth and Ripple moved up on either side, then Cardle, and then Leela limped into position on the right.

"Excellent," Weaver repeated, clapping his hands together. "Now, if you'll just..." He didn't finish the sentence, instead sweeping forward and moving the fighters around without preamble. Codi tensed as his soft, slender fingers coiled around her upper arm. Up close the man had a strange, antiseptic smell, mixed with some kind of mint. The odour put a wobble in her stomach but she tried to ignore it, allowing herself to be moved into place despite her discomfort.

Although Leela had recovered enough to begin light drills with her exoskeleton again, she was far from one hundred percent. Accordingly, the media man arranged Battlecast's top flag team with Leela at the front, Codi and Ripple to either side, then Gareth and Cardle flanking out to complete the arrowhead formation.

Then she had to stand in an over-dramatic pose, flag planted to her right and held in one hand, the other held up straight in a clenched fist. Then they took closer up shots: a dramatic look up at the camera, the flicker of the flag, and fleeting headshots of the rest of the team. Drones flickered around them, recording every inch of every person. In brief snatches, Codi could see other teams being put through the same paces. Some were made to run in formation towards ranks of cameras – others took up different formations. She saw the team from Atlantic at the far end of the room arranged in an outward-facing pentagon as the cameras circled them.

To Codi it all seemed a touch over the top, but their chaperones loved it. At one point they even had Leela hurl the flag forward as the other members of the team spread out behind her – something that would never happen in an actual match, but presumably looked good on display.

Then they broke up the teams. It was time for individual shooting and Codi felt an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. Getting a real crowd worked into a frenzy was one thing, but trying to generate the same energy in front of a camera felt decidedly... odd. One of Arando Weaver's underlings took her to one side, along with a small arsenal of camera drones.

They took a myriad of shots, some static from different angles, others in motion, walking towards the camera, swinging punches at imaginary foes. At one point she was instructed to actually hit one of the drones as it swooped towards her. She obliged, feeling utterly foolish in the process, but it didn't seem worthwhile arguing about it.

Seeing her obvious discomfort, the attendant assured her that once the network's editors had had their way with the footage she would look incredible. It didn't help. She liked to fight, not act. Looking around, she did eventually lock onto Keefer Darkwood's immense frame. It was an odd sight, watching the giant placidly allowing himself to be directed by the handlers. It was a bit like watching a giraffe being made to perform.

But she couldn't watch him for long. After her individual shots they linked her back up with Gareth for the pairs section of the promotional video. This, too, was just as ostentatious. They exchanged dubious looks they were forced to take up positions back to back, arms folded and staring down the camera lenses.

She could see lots of other pairings going through the similar positions, but with minor variations. Since Gareth only stood a little taller than her, they could be placed side by side without things looking too out of proportion. Others had to be placed more creatively – Ripple and Chris were staggered, Ripple closer to the camera to offset her partners cumbersome physique. She spotted Firequake's pair – Rokkie and Targon Fenz, a slim, hawk-faced girl with shining magenta hair shaven down both sides of her head but left thick down the middle, flowing into a long braid down between her shoulder blades. They seemed to treat the whole thing as a joke. Fenz leaned an elbow atop her team mate's right shoulder, grinning giddily at the cameras. Rokkie Thakkar's smile was no less crazed.

It took nearly two hours before the finalists were released from the torment of promotional shooting. Codi couldn't get out of that strange room fast enough, and she wasn't the only one who was clearly relieved to get away. A sea of weary faces filed out and the different academies peeled away, their coaches shepherding them apart to avoid any extra-curricular exchanges between top fighters. All being in such close proximity, the tension was almost like a physical smog, hanging over them all just ready to ignite.

"Well, that was something," Gareth grumbled as they made their way back down into the body of the Arena. "Could've used that time to do anything else."

"Don't get too comfortable," Bronagh replied from the head of the group, a mischievous tinkle in her voice. "We've got more prep work to do right now. I hope everyone's ready to show their best face to the watching public."

Codi felt her heart sink.

*

Her guess at what Bronagh had been alluding to was correct. On top of having to play-act for a camera, the two days before the knockout rounds also crammed in the obligatory press conferences.

It was with a hint of amusement that Codi remembered the first time she'd gone through these panel interviews at the Gauntlet knockout stage. Last year she'd been terrified of what was to come. This time, although she didn't enjoy interviews, she'd been through enough to know what to expect.

Hers was the second group of eight – split out of the thirty-two competitors remaining in the knockout brackets – that would face the media together. Gareth joined her, along with Darien Fallow, Chalyze Bamber, two fighters from Nebula, one from Atlantic, and last, but not least, Max Lannigan from Knossos City.

Last time she'd done this she'd accidentally thrown Kye under a bus by putting him in the spotlight. Thankfully, there was no chance of that happening again. The press room opened out in a far half-dome – an arcing table with eight places at one end, directly rank upon rank of seating. The journalists were here in force, representing hundreds of news networks across dozens of worlds. A kaleidoscope of colour blazed from those stands, and in the spectators ring beyond that where a thousand of the most privileged Gauntlet enthusiasts were ensconced.

She was fourth in line as their group soldiered out into the lion's den, placing her at the centre of the table alongside Darien Fallow. Sitting down, she lounged back against the seat, exchanging a weary look with the Olympus Mons fighter as the rest of the contestants took their seats. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod of agreement.

The noise from the onlookers settled into a low hum at the emergence of a man in a white and black pinstriped suit from one of the side doors. He strode into the centre of the floor, wielding his microphone like a military baton, sporting long slicked-back hair like a curtain of black water. When he spoke his voice boomed from invisible speakers around the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, excellent to see so many of you here," he declared, then made a sweeping gesture to the fighters with one arm. "Please welcome our third group of finalists for the Gauntlet's knockout competition!" A polite rumble of applause filled the room for perhaps five seconds, before subsiding for the presenter to continue. "I know everyone will be just bursting with questions, but let's do our best to keep things running in an orderly manner. When questions are being answered we request that both our guests from the media and spectators remain quiet until the answer has been completed, in the interest of respect."

Seeing no disagreements, the man gave a final decisive nod. "Alright then – let's begin!"

The first few questions skirted around the lower ranked contenders left in the draw – Max and the fighters from Nebula and Atlantic – building up to the real heavy hitters in the top ten. Things were innocuous enough so far, probing to get some sense of confidence and expectation from the remaining fighters. On paper, according to the experts, many of the remaining fighters didn't have much chance of going the distance against the top tier of fighters.

She watched Max with interest as the lanky young man fielded a question about his move to Knossos City after the highs of Brax-Delta. He seemed very happy in his new academy – a mid range institute with a reasonable pedigree, but few notable fighters. With her shipping off to Battlecast after somewhat overshadowing him, it seemed Max wanted to make his own mark. Being the twentieth seed, he certainly had placed himself as a contender for the later stages. He also sounded a lot more confident in himself this year. A wry smile crossed her face when she remembered his halting, awkward answers in the interviews last year.

But it wasn't long before the questions reached her.

"My question is for Codi James," the male reporter began. "Since coming second last year, many people have viewed your move to Battlecast as a guarantee of winning this singles contest this time around. But Keefer Darkwood, since his arrival, has become the favourite across the boards. Do you feel any extra pressure now, given that you were expected to win this year?"

"That's news to me," Codi chuckled back, leaning her elbows on the desk in front of her and looking the reporter in the eye. "Who told you I was expected to win?"

"It's been fairly clear from both pre-season and your ranking that you are a favourite." The man sounded a little surprised at having to answer questions rather than ask them. "You must be concerned at the emergence of an apparently unbeatable competitor this year, when everything was aligned for you to be the number one?"

"Nobody is unbeatable," she replied. "And as for Keefer, he's not exactly my number one priority right now." It was a white lie. She wanted to get to the final and tear the Black Horizon fighter apart, but that didn't mean she was stupid enough to dismiss everyone else in her path. "My first match in the knockouts is against Chalyze Bamber. She's the eighth seed and she's sitting ten feet from me. You think I'm thinking about Keefer Darkwood right now? He's not even in the same half of the draw. I've got to take every fight, one at a time, and approach them all the same way. If I don't do that, I lose. Anyone who's stupid enough to ignore what's in front of them has no chance of winning the Gauntlet."

"So, no additional pressure?"

"None whatsoever." She leaned back. Asked and answered. Codi glanced down the table and saw Bamber trying to suppress a smile.

The reporter in question looked somewhat taken aback by the response and sank back into his seat.

Then a female reporter turned her attention back to Max.

"You're in the same bracket as your former Brax-Delta team mate," the woman said, a hint of mischievousness in her voice. "Last year she made it all the way to the final and is tipped to win this year. Do you come into this competition with a point to prove that you should be considered just as dangerous? Some people would say you were overshadowed last year."

Max leaned back, a casual smile on his face. "I am just as dangerous."

Codi couldn't stop herself from looking at him sharply, a jolt of surprise flashing up her spine. The Max she knew was a timid individual, capable in the Arena but lacking the killer edge that really separated the very best out from the crowd. He didn't notice her, his attention focused on the reporter and his easy smile broadened.

"And what makes you say that?"

"Codi's obviously one of the best fighters in the competition," he continued, and she felt a gnawing suspicion as to where he was taking this line of conversation. "But she's unpredictable. She's ... volatile, inside the Arena and outside it. Since moving to Knossos I've upped my skill-set. I can go toe-to-toe with anybody here, and I'm consistent. That's what makes me just as dangerous – I don't have off days – results don't get me down and nor does my personality."

Codi couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Leaving aside his sudden, uncharacteristic brashness, the side-swipe at her abilities and her character left her seething. With an effort she controlled her facial expression, not wanting to give the reporters anything to bite on as the exchange continued.

"And the fact that you used to be team-mates means nothing to you?"

Max smirked. "I wouldn't go that far, but it won't affect how I treat her in the Arena."

His interrogator seemed happy with that. The woman seated herself, a satisfied expression stamped on her sharp features. A hush descended on the Arena and both reporters and spectators were exchanging hungry looks. Whether knowingly or not, Max had just created what might become the biggest grudge match in the bracket.

Questions rumbled on, and Codi simply failed to contain herself when some berk raised the spectre of the Battlecast monopoly on the best fighters. The question knifed straight into the already simmering angry part of her brain and she shot the glassy-skinned woman in question a murderous look.

"I am sick, sick to death of you people trying to piss all over what Battlecast has managed to build here," she snarled with undisguised contempt. A murmur of surprise rippled through the watchers but she ignored it. "Ever since I made the decision to come here everyone wants to point fingers at us, tell us that we've somehow moved the goalposts – that the competition isn't fair anymore. Grow the hell up – you and every other academy using that half-assed excuse to hide that they're just not good enough!"

Her acid-words echoed through the atrium, but Codi wasn't finished just yet.

"Less than ten minutes ago someone was asking me if I felt more pressure because I might not be the favourite anymore. Now I'm part of this made-up problem of a level playing field. You can't have it both ways so get your damned story straight! And the next person who brings this crap up with me, I'll knock their teeth through the back of their scaffing throat. You've seen me fight – you know I can do it."

Amazingly there was actually some scattered laughter at the last remark as some of the more savvy reporters traded knowing looks. Codi fastened her gaze on the woman who'd pushed her over the edge, now looking a lot paler than she had a moment ago.

"Are we done?" Codi spat.

The reporter dropped into her seat as though ordered to by a drill sergeant.

"Good."

She slumped back in her seat and folded her arms, painfully aware of how petulant she must've looked. But it was true – she couldn't make herself recycle the same tired nonsense over and over again. Her mind was focused on more important things.

"Ahem, well..." the presenter cleared his throat, not quite sure how to handle this latest development. Fortunately for him, he didn't need to solve it on the spot. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid that's all the time we have, so we'll have to leave it there. Please, join me in making some noise for your Gauntlet finalists!"

Clapping and cheering thundered in Codi's ears, but this time she ignored it. Her eyes flickered angrily to Max and she found him looking back, an expression of faint amusement on his face. He was playing a new game this year. Whether his big talk was genuine, or the product of careful coaching, she knew one thing: if they met in the knockout rounds he would be eating every last one of those words.