[b]Kira's Private Box[/b]

"I'll bet on the contract," Kira says, handing a sack of gems to the attendant.
The the attendant accepts your bet, hands you a ticket with the bids, and bows out of the room.

Out on the sand, the arena doors are opening.

[b]Viewing Cage[/b]

Nervous guards bring Cold Hands, at spearpoint, to a room with a barred window looking out on the arena sands.
The rooftops of city buildings spread above like strange stars, their lights forming meaningless urban constellations. Below, a sea of faces that fugues into unrecognizability.
You are not alone - a human in stained but lovingly patched overalls watches the arena gates open with you. 
One of his arms is a mechanical prosthetic, long and ungainly-looking, tipped with a spear blade. One his eyes and part of his skull has been replaced with more machinery, a glowing blue orb in stark contrast to bright brown organic eye beside it. Lank red hair hangs from the biological side of his scalp. He glances at you, nods, and returns his gaze to the arena.