There were perks to adopting modern technology as opposed to staying with the old ways from before magic, from before even computers. Before even what came before the matrix, in fact. Maybe it was true that they could just no longer live without such...requirements. But, this wasn't technology used to replace the old ways that were so proven, and so effective. This was technology covering it's shortfalls with the old ways so proven. Old style leather harnesses replaced with kevlar laced fabrics. High tensile belt rigs with extended pouches for equipment. And body armour that could resist both blade, bow and bullet all as one without offering a weighted payload so much as to remove all mobility altogether. The modern ability to disrupt his physical pattern from spying eyes with the use of flaps and disruptive camouflage patterns that to the unaware eye were little more than fashion statements written in black on grey, a perfectly matched shade of colour to not be darker than the enviroment around it in the middle of the night.
He was rigged and ready to go, and the room was dark. His eyes were closed, waiting. The sound of cold, dead metal being lightly dragged across fabric and Arachnid's eyes snapped wide open to take in the source, a figure in the dark. Armed with a blade much to the similar length of his own. Low slung and silently moving. Right hand dropped to the left of his hip, gripping around the engraved hilt of the first of his two personal blades and drawing it in a long arcing sweep, an act that brought about recoil in Arachnid's wrist when it was swiftly deflected downwards, towards his own person. Spinning with the force for another attempt, only to strike nothing but air, sweep ducked by the hostile. And only the barest of light glinting off the lethal edge to warn him of the counter-strike coming his way. Stepping to glance the blow off the blade in front of him and reach out with a brutal left handed hookshot across the offender's face, only a soft grunt of pain the surprised reaction of attacker now victim.
Punch was followed by the continued rotation of his body to deliver a sidelong kick to the middle of the swordwelding arm and followed through to the dark figure's torso and satfisying impact of flesh to flesh aside, the heavy thump of a body striking the floor was the end to the engagement. Muscle memory nearly had his sword clearing the downed opponent, but he held back with a conscious effort, and instead swung the blade up in a half spin for the correct orientation before sheathing it without a further sound. And then the lights came on. Bright, almost blinding him. The attacker, nos subdued and laying on the ground trying to make the stars stop was young, almost the same age as when he'd started all this... and the same age when he'd first had his behind handed to him in much the same manner. Turning on a heel casually, rather than defensively, bowing to those spectating the educational, if not entertaining training fights. Lethal weapons aside, of course. The dark specifically requested to teach a lesson as everyone needed to be taught at some point or another in their careers. 'Someone will always kick you in the face, no matter how much face kicking you can do'. Of course, the saying actually said something more profound, and soul searching. But, his way was better. Much better in the old ways. But only that one thing.
He tried not to think of the four missing faces from the crowd, victims of the bastard ripping up the people just trying to survive, just trying to make their lives better. There were no borders for this man. None of his clan, White Serenity, be they in the blacks of an owl hunting prey for money to survive or the 'formal' whites he wore now, even if the black tactical belt and drop leg holsters and swordsheathes interferred with the colour. Innocents, gang members, his own extended street family as it were. No one seemed to be safe. Where White Serenity actually a ninja clan, or where they just blowhards? Not knowing was part of the magic to the outside world. With a nod from one of the older, familar faces, he smiled, leave to depart granted. Lowering a hand to help up his fallen 'foe' and yanking him back onto his feet, Arachnid dropped into a low bow and then strode from the room, knowing that, for another day, his instincts would remain safe from dulling. Used to be he even felt safe in this neighborhood enough sometimes to ditch all but his taser tucked in his beltline hidden beneath his shirt. Now, he had to show that he wasn't afraid to defend himself. Taser, dual blades and the military style dropleg holding the handgun (With suppressor tucked away in pouch, just in case.) He was of White Serenity, and his clan would not fear.
Lifting a small device to his ear and slipping into his right one, adjusting the tiny dial with a finger, while reaching into another pocket to dial up the commlink, by memory hitting Duck's speeddial. Listening to the crackly musical tones of a commlink just barely in range of the grid, like everything else in this place he was proud to call home. Just in reach of everything they needed through hard work (And some minor tampering with government property, of course). A silent moment for Duck to answer, though he had little doubts he would.
"Give me three guesses as to where you are?" With that said in the simple, almost playful manner of his standard greeting, he picked a bar name out of hand and threw it out there.
