[i]Jason gave the arena he would be fighting in a quick once-over, noting the airplanes and all that surrounded him and his opponent, as well as the towering hangars... then, his eyes fluttered back over to the person he'd be fighting, and he only cocked his head to the right, his confusion practically palpable. This couldn't be serious, could it?[/i] "Did they, uh... seriously put some guy from the 1900's up against someone from fuсkin' 2500-something? Oh, Christ, you poor sod..." [i]As far as the Russian's armaments went... they were impressive. He wore a full set of powered armour, the black ceramite plates looking murky and dull underneath the sunlight that they bathed in, while an ocean blue haze slowly traveled over it as he deactivated his energy shielding with a simple thought. The Barbuta-style helmet straightened itself, the black horns mounted on the sides of it catching a ray of sunshine, reflecting it sharply. On his lower back, by his tailbone, he held a chrome cylinder that was about a foot in length, clearly deactivated at the moment, the metal encasing reflecting the sunlight that fell on it. Above the deactivated weapon, he had a SPAS-12 along with a SCAR-H STD, both painted a matte black, each equipped with a simple red-dot sight in the event he'd have to aim. On his belt, he held six grenades, three on each side -- forest green fragmentation grenades and what seemed to be incendiary grenades.[/i] "Ay, lad," [i]His voice crackled through the air again, laced with a static undertone caused by the microphone that he automatically spoke through,[/i] "You just wanna have a drink or whatever? Some food? Don't think our fight will last long regardless."