Sure thing. Start with a rough sketch of a central ring—about fifty feet across—where the main action happens. On the inside of the ring lay a padded, slightly sloped floor of interlocking rubber tiles so a hero can fall safely but still feel the impact. Outside that, a 15‑foot wide corridor filled with obstacles: low walls, crates, a rail system that can be moved to alter the terrain for different stunts. Add a few elevated platforms on the sides—four to be precise—each six feet high. They’re staggered so a fighter can jump from one to another, giving you vertical choreography. Mark each platform with a different texture: rough stone, slick metal, wooden planks—each with its own grip coefficient. This gives the stunt crew instant cues for how hard a landing will be or how much a slip might cost. On the outer edge, a perimeter wall of 30 feet tall but with a hidden door on one side for quick exits or to let in a crane. Place safety nets in the corners and a discreet pit of water or foam beneath the lowest platform, just out of sight but ready to catch a fall. Keep a sheet of the map on a table—color‑coded zones, numbered sections—so the crew can refer to it in real time. Remember, the detail is the lifeline; the arena should feel like a living training ground, not a stage prop.

Got it. For the tiles, bolt each section to a sliding rail so you can swap them in 30 seconds—just a quick push on the side and they’re gone. The perimeter door will be a single‑bar latch; a lever on the opposite wall pulls the bar free, no lockwork. The foam pool sits below the lowest platform, but it’s wrapped in a light‑weight canvas that blends into the set’s base, so a jump looks like a normal fall and the crew doesn’t have to wait for a water spill. And I’ll mount a laminated map on the wall adjacent to the set, with a bright orange arrow pointing to the action zone; it’s visible from anywhere on the floor so the team can glance and keep the flow. That should keep the scene moving and the crew happy.