Ruck vs Mal

[Kella]

The warehouse had been left in the middle of a moment, some crates on carts in transit, some lifts half-raised. There is no life save for the crickets hiding in the shadows and the birds that flit from rafter to rafter. All manner of materials lie in the crates, from reams of clothing to shipments of high explosives. There are even a few fuel tanks among the stacks of crates, forever lost in the void between point A and point B. The stacks of crates, some spanning forty feet of the fifty foot height of the warehouse, form a literal maze in three dimensions, full of shadows and crevices and dark places, where badgers and feral cats hide.

All was quiet, until footsteps disturbed this cemetery of ambitions...

Ruck vs Mal

The Spawnful vs The Mandalore

Mal goes first.

*DING DING*

[Dire Wolf]

Mandalore the Liberator grunted. His operatives may have been extremely capable warriors, but their skills at gathering intelligence were lacking. The giant lumbered through the warehouse with the disinterested gaze, sometimes he even bothered to take the time to check a box or a crate to see if anything worth his people's time was within.

Nothing.

What was supposed to be a warehouse of great importance to the republic economy turned out to be one that held strange mechanisms that wriggled, scintillated, and vibrated when the 'on' switch was activated. It enraged him. Mandalore's people, his brothers and sisters, were burning in the skies above and the world around him as he plodded through a building that was literally worthless to him and his war effort.

The orange light of his helmet's heads up display glowed softly against the pale flesh of his face as he scanned the room for potential threats. Silence was the only thing that the iron beast could hear. Silence and the soft breathing of the mechanical device that kept him alive, of course, but he had grown so used to the device's soft clack that it had turned into little more than white noise in the background. It wasn't long before his active listening devices picked up a noise that was made across the warehouse. The source of it wasn't loud, but something else was alive within the confines of these walls and it sure as hell wasn't one of his vode.

Mal's scarred face turned into half smile as his hands found the grip of his massive rifle and hefted them up from hanging at his side. His need to kill had piqued by this point, "reveal yourself, or Force help me I will end you." Mandalore didn't care if this was an overreaction to a simple noise, but he was a particularly deadly combination. Mandalore was bored and angry. Those two emotions never mixed when applied to an eight foot tall, three hundred and fifty pound Mandalorian.