Malkath was not a big fan of drop pods, even though they got one right into the action pretty quickly and were much cheaper to maintain than drop ships, he found them claustrophobic. To this end, he usually kept himself busy in his seat psyching himself out for the thrill of the hunt to come. 

The Kroot looked down at the patch they'd given him, the sign of the Human Trade Conglomerate which had hired him and the rest of the band of cutthroats, murderers, and hunters for this mission. He focused intently on the image, letting it sear into his mind. [i]Dead meat be whoever's trying to kill us and isn't wearing this patch[/i]

He closed his eyes, letting the patch stitched to his leathers dropp to his side, and he began to slowly increase his breathing, his heart rate rising, the blood pounding, his heart beating in his ears, and his muscles flexing as he then filled his head with memories of past hunts. Mighty and weaker warriors alike, of dozens of different species, all felled by his hand. Some of them were within him now, he having given them the honour of making what made them great warriors a part of him, and others were back in his room as trophies. Why was he keeping trophies now? They served no functional purpose and only took up room when consuming them actually served a purpose and gave him a real benefit. 

[i]The benefit is not in DNA but in the renown, the fame, the pride to show to others exactly the kinds of foes that have fallen beneath your talons, beak, and gun.[/i]

Malkath shook his head sharply, these divergences in his thoughts were becoming more apparent lately, it felt at times like he had multiple aspects in his head all taking on characteristics of some of the individuals he had killed.

[i]Idiot Mon-Keigh, what did you expect to happen from consuming so many different species? Just be lucky that you've become a more powerful killer and are not turning into a Krootox.[/i]

Malkath opened his eyes at this one and gasped, his meditative stance broken. The trials and tribulations of not having the guidance of a Shaper or clan to help deal with one's own evolution certainly had its drawbacks, but he loved the freedom to go where he wished and making his own fortune too much to be bound strictly by the ideals of his people.

He closed his eyes again and resumed his techniques. He could hear the sounds indicating that impact was imminent, and he wanted to be ready when they hit the ground running. His breathing intensified, becoming more bestial, some of his quills straightened up into points on his arms, and as he opened his now dilated and predatory eyes, he knew he was ready to kill these pirates with extreme prejudice.

The pod hit the ground and doors opened and Malkath was leaping out the door and running with a looping charge on all fours, his Kroot Rifle swinging with practiced elegance into his arms with a single motion as he was running, while his more accurate hunting rifle stayed slung across his back. His huffing breathing was all he heard as he charged headlong into his surroundings, not even caring particularly for his fellow mercs that landed with him as he raced into the nearest hall, and more concerned with finding fresh prey.