Near the bottom of the 'middle-hive' of Hive Sibellus Ill Bill spits his lyrical hot fire. Those who don't like it catch his hands, or the mass-reactive shells of Fat Ruby's side arm. 

When the delinquent denizens of the middle hive seek to travel to the Underhive to procure illicit substances, or hire unscrupulous individuals they must go through one of the many gatekeepers. Ill Bill does his best to offer safe travels and protection for the correct price, unless you're an Arbite. Are you an Arbite? You have to tell me if I ask, it's the law!