What Steve apparently doesn't know is that the banter's for my benefit more so than anyone else's; it's to distract me, to keep my mind off how nervous I am, or how scared. If it happens to bug the ever-loving heck out of the guy I'm fighting, that's just an added bonus.

I launch myself into an aerial to bypass his leg, but my landing's not the greatest; my ankle rolls from the angle, and I manage to stay on my feet through stubbornness alone. Biting back a wince, I waste no time in going at him again; it hurts, but I can deal with it.

"Yeah, well," I say, "I'm a professional."