"Nah, they're just not supposed to be lethal." He said, crouching down and resting his arms across his knees as he admired the underbelly of the Dragonfly. "Though they can be. Hell, it's what the crowd would rather have." 

"If we're going to do this, don't go dying on me, cowboy." Jocasta said, cocking her hip and crossing her arms. Neil looked up at her. 

"Too handsome to die?" 

"Too expensive." 

"Ah."

[hr]

The ring was simply a colloquial term. The true arena was a hexagonal wall of reinforced steel and cryocrete and electromagnetic pillars that created a negative charge that cushioned the steel behemoths from hitting the walls with full force if they charged or were tossed out of bounds. Beyond the walls was a hyperfyber glass, bulletproof and impenetrable against shrapnel or small-yield explosives. The stadium around the ring could house ten thousand occupants, but the real crowd would be watching on the holovids. There were thirty million inhabitants of the Golden Girdle at any one time, however the numbers could fly as high as twice that during rush cycles. And these fights would be shown on every public holovid and on many private ones across one hundred thousand kilometers. 

First thing was first. Neil and Jocasta needed two things. Firstly, they needed a Rekker, which meant a APC between 3 and 4 meters tall, and secondly, they needed a patron to back their bid, else Neil wouldn't go anywhere near the ring. Just as with everything, the rich and powerful had their toes in anything that could potentially make them more rich or powerful, and it also curbed their boredom. So every fighter was backed by a patron, and had a team that could acts as a spokesperson, a coach, and a medic in times of need. Neil felt Jocasta could serve each of those roles well enough. Hell, he probably only needed a spokesperson. 

The Rekker was another thing entirely. Neil had taken all the gear and weapons off the deceased bounty hunters and with a few questions to the right people, located a place he could potentially sell them for some extra cash. Even the most optimistic outcome, however, would mean they were pretty short of a real Rekker. They might have to settle for a piece of junk and Neil's expertise until they won a few matches and could patch it up to win the big prize. Fifty thousand credits a pop for four rounds, with twenty five percent of the earnings going to the patron, and the fifth round was five hundred thousand credits, and an added two hundred thousand for the patron. However, the big bucks were in the betting pools. That was why the rumors of fixed fights came about. A few champions had thrown matches at the finale to win big in the betting. The fighters were now banned from betting after this incident occurred a few times, but that did not stop them from using proxies. 

Neil explained all this to Jocasta as they made their way down the Presidium's stairs to the lower quarters, below the casinos, vaults, hanger, and the great mall that dominated the center of this particular station, dubbed 'Alexandria IV.' 

"This is all fascinating, cowlick, but where are we going exactly?" Jocasta asked, causing Neil to glance up and smooth his hair on instinct. She smirked and he gave her a look when he realized she had been messing with him.

"We're going to find someone who'll buy these rifles and gear for a good price. Maybe then we can grab a junker or I can game our money up enough to find us a real Rekker to use."