Optimus Prime held his hands steepled before him as he listened to the report from Jazz and Ratchet. When he had sent a squad to Virginia to investigate the UFO crash, he hadn't expected them to come back with a survivor. Still, he couldn't deny that it was good to see a living Cybertronian make their way to Earth, even if it was a neutral. And perhaps they could convince said neutral to renounce his neutrality and join their side. If they could just appeal to his better nature…
Dashboard stood against the wall of Prime's office, hands behind his back and politely waiting for his turn to speak. Ratchet and Jazz stood before Prime's desk, finishing up their report, and Hound slumped in a chair in a corner. Oddly enough, the usually pleasant-tempered scout seemed withdrawn and sullen, and had given his side of the report in short, clipped sentences. Apparently he had sustained injuries in his encounter with the neutral, though that wouldn't account for all of his suddenly snappish nature.
Prime couldn't shake the feeling that Hound was hiding something from him, and judging from Ratchet's irritated expression he sensed that the medic knew full well what it was. But he opted not to press it. If Ratchet felt it was important, he would tell him, but for now he would let it rest.
"Thank you Jazz, Ratchet." He nodded at the two, then settled his gaze on Dashboard. "I would like to hear from you now, if that's possible."
"Certainly, sir." Dashboard stepped forward. "My name is Dashboard. I was once a security guard in the Towers district, and when the war began I followed several of the nobles to a neutral colony on Hyperion. When the war reached that planet, we evacuated and set our course for deep space, hoping to find another world to colonize, but we came under attack. I made it into an escape pod, where I put myself into stasis. I woke up on this world, Earth… and well, you know the rest."
"I see. And your encounter with our scout?"
"Yes… I'm deeply sorry about that. He insisted he was an Autobot, but well… Decepticons have often used that assurance to draw victims out of hiding. I panicked and shot him with my distortion cannon, and fled. It wasn't until Bluestreak and Windcharger found me the next day that I realized I was on a safe world." He chuckled softly. "It's rather amusing… your scout apparently thought he'd been bitten by some kind of Horrorcon."
Hound shot a glare at Dashboard. "It's not funny."
"A Horrorcon?" Prime arched an optic ridge. "What's this about?"
Hound sighed so deeply it was almost a groan. "I mistook him for a Horrorcon, all right? It was dark and I was on edge and maybe I've seen too many monster movies with the twins. Just leave me alone about it already."
Ratchet gave a sigh of his own and shook his head. "Hound came back with his shoulder all mangled, giving some story about getting bit by a Horrorcon. The damages to his shoulder certainly looked like a mauling… but they're also consistent with a close-range blast from a distortion cannon. Mistakes happen, but Hound's being a brat about it apparently."
Prime frowned behind his mask. That seemed like an awfully big mistake to make… and Hound wasn't known for making up stories. But if Hound was admitting to his error and the evidence pointed to his "monster" sighting being a fluke, then he supposed he shouldn't question it too deeply. Still… he couldn't shake the feeling that something strange was going on.
He put the feeling aside for now. "Dashboard, we can grant you temporary sanctuary aboard the Ark for now. But by the end of this planet's lunar cycle I want you to make a decision regarding your allegiances. If you choose to become an Autobot, you may remain here… but if you would rather remain neutral, we will arrange to have you sent to a protected neutral colony."
Dashboard nodded. "Of course, sir."
"In the meantime, I leave you in Ratchet's hands. He'll give you a complete physical, then take you to Red Alert for a security briefing. Once Red Alert has cleared you…"
"That'll take days," Jazz noted with a chuckle.
"…then we will find you quarters aboard the Ark. Welcome aboard." He nodded. "Everyone is dismissed."
Hound pushed himself out of his chair and slouched his way toward the door. Dashboard reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic look on his faceplate.
"No hard feelings, my friend?"
Hound pulled away with a wordless snarl and ducked out, leaving Dashboard to stare after him in confusion.
"Did he just growl at you?" Ratchet demanded, scowling.
"Let 'im cool off," Jazz advised. "He had a rough coupla days. He ain't gonna be a grouchy-pants for long – he's Hound, he's never mad long."
"All the same, I'll feel better about this when I've had a chance to apologize," Dashboard confessed.
"Give him time," Ratchet told him, leading him out. "For now let's get you looked over…"
Once his office had emptied out, Prime gave a deep sigh of his own and reached up to rub at his temples. The excitement never ended here, apparently. Though at least a neutral requesting sanctuary with the Autobots was on the lesser end of the spectrum – it certainly beat dealing with an explosion in the science labs, or a prank war between the twins and Trailbreaker, or the Aerialbots antagonizing the Dinobots again. And with the human holiday of Halloween rolling around – and most of the Autobots wanting to celebrate it – he doubted the excitement would end anytime soon.
Cosmos didn't talk to the Autobots' human friends very often. It wasn't that he was xenophobic or anything – on the contrary, meeting the sentient inhabitants of other worlds thrilled him beyond words. But he often felt like he didn't have anything worthwhile to say to them. He was a deep-space scout who spent more time in orbit around the planet than actually socializing with people, and so he felt awkward trying to strike up a conversation with anyone. And if the Autobots were often bored to tears when he rambled on about satellites and pulsars and the next comet passing, he figured the humans would only be hopelessly lost by whatever he had to say.
But today he didn't care about awkwardness. He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about what was worrying him, and he had a feeling none of the Autobots would be willing to discuss it. Perhaps the humans could help him somehow.
The common room was abuzz with conversation as Cosmos made his way through, a cube clutched in both his hands. That wasn't anything different – small talk abounded during refueling breaks. But for the past week now the talk had turned to Halloween, and the preparations for the big Halloween bash the twins were planning on throwing. Prowl and Red Alert had yet to approve the party, but everyone seemed to assume that said party was a foregone conclusion. Doubtless if the command element nixed an official party, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would just throw one anyway in a remote location where Prowl and Red Alert would be none the wiser… or at least elect not to throw too much of a fit about it.
Cosmos passed a table of mechs who were discussing what costumes they were planning on wearing on the big night, and made a beeline for the small table in the corner where Sparkplug and Chip were taking a coffee break. Just the humans he wanted to talk to. Chip was smart, and Sparkplug had a level head on his shoulders. Perhaps they could help him, or at least hear out his worries.
"May I sit here?" he asked.
"Sure, go ahead," Sparkplug replied, pulling his mug back. "Go ahead and put your fuel on the table. Should be plenty of space."
"Thank you." He set the cube down and sat on the floor. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Not at all," Chip replied. "We're just discussing Halloween costumes. I was thinking of going as Professor Xavier from the X-Men comics."
"And I was trying to get him to think outside the box," Sparkplug added. "Just because he's in a wheelchair doesn't mean he has to play a wheelchair-bound character, after all. Nobody here's going to complain about accuracy or anything."
"Hey, Professor Xavier is a fantastic role model," Chip countered. "I looked up to him as a kid. Let me dress as my favorite X-Man and you can be yours."
Sparkplug laughed a little. "Ah, I'm too old to be one of the X-Men. I'll probably go as something boring, like a cop or a football player." He looked up at Cosmos. "Thought about your costume yet?"
"Not really," Cosmos confessed. "I haven't been giving Halloween much thought. Though it's supposed to be special this year – there's supposed to be a full moon that night."
"Oh, right!" Chip realized, grinning. "A blue moon! Well, not the color blue, that's just the term for when there's two full moons in a month. It's a pretty rare occurrence."
"That's right, there was one on the first, wasn't there?" asked Sparkplug. "Well, that'll be neat. Not to mention appropriate, it being on Samhain and all."
"Samhain?" Cosmos cocked his head.
"Old Gaelic festival heralding the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. It's on the same day as Halloween – in fact, Halloween has some roots in it. There are actually quite a few holidays around this time of the year, such as the Mexican Day of the Dead."
Cosmos blinked, trying to process all of this… then remembered that he'd come here on a mission, not necessarily to make small talk. "I hope you two can help me."
"With a Halloween costume?" asked Chip.
"No, not that. It's about Hound."
Sparkplug glanced over at the table to the left of the Dinobots, where Hound was hunched over his fuel and staring morosely off into space. "We noticed he's been kind of moody the past few days. What's eating him? He can't be THAT upset over getting shot by the new guy."
Cosmos hesitated, wondering if he should even bring this up. Hound had ended up recanting his version of events regarding the attack, saying he had probably imagined seeing the Horrorcon and didn't want to talk about it anymore, and no one outside their squad had mentioned it. If he told Sparkplug and Chip… would he be doing more harm than good? Would they think he was crazy, or worse, think less of Hound for his story? He didn't want that at all.
But he couldn't deny that Hound had been acting weird since the encounter in Virginia. And Cosmos wanted desperately to help him somehow. Even if it meant trying to get help from the humans.
"Hound thinks it wasn't Dashboard who injured him," he said at last.
Chip frowned. "But Dashboard confessed to shooting him. An accident, he said."
Cosmos shook his head. "Before we found Dashboard, Hound said he was attacked… by something else. A Horrorcon."
"A what?" Sparkplug's forehead bunched in confusion. "What's a Horrorcon? Sounds like something from a bad horror movie."
"You humans have your monsters," Cosmos replied. "Vampires, werewolves, mummies, ghosts, and all the others. We have our own monsters, our own legends, some similar to your own and others very different. They go by many names, but the collective term for all of them is Horrorcons."
Chip's eyes lit up with interest. "I didn't know you guys had your own monster myths! This is so cool!" He cocked his head. "You're saying Hound thinks he saw one? What did it look like?"
Cosmos felt his spark plummet. "He did not say."
"Aw dang," Chip groaned, though his grin didn't fade. "I wanted to hear more. See if you guys had your own version of the Wendigo or Slenderman." He laughed.
"It's not funny, Chip," Sparkplug scolded. "If Hound was attacked by one of these Horrorcons, then that means it's still out there somewhere. It could still be lurking in the mountains, waiting to attack some unsuspecting campers or something. Or it's just waiting for an unlucky mech to happen by, if it prefers metal over meat."
"Sparkplug… you believe him?" asked Cosmos. He had hoped the humans would take his side, but hadn't really expected them to...
Sparkplug looked at Cosmos intently. "Hound doesn't lie about anything. If he claims he saw something, then he saw something. The fact that he now claims it was his imagination – probably trying to save some face – doesn't change that."
Warm relief flooded the minibot at that. "Do you think that he would tell us more if we asked him?"
"I dunno," Chip confessed. "He's clammed up lately, kept to himself. Prowl says he hasn't gotten more than two words out of him lately. But just because he won't talk to Prowl doesn't mean he won't talk to us, right?"
"We can always give it a shot," Sparkplug replied. "Maybe if we get a better description of whatever attacked him, it can answer some questions." He stared into his coffee mug, frowning. "And I hate to say it, but we need to talk to Dashboard about this too. The fact that he was in the area with the Horrorcon means he might know something about it that we don't. Maybe he shared an escape pod with it."
"If that's the case, how is he still in one piece?" asked Chip.
"That's something we need to find out." Sparkplug tapped the edge of his cup. "Cosmos, you go talk to Dashboard, all right? I'll see if I can't get some information out of Hound. Chip, go ask around and see if any of the Autobots know something about Horrorcons, or have some literature they can loan you. Try to be discreet about it if you can – ask about their monster lore instead of about Horrorcons directly. I'd rather not have the entire base know what we're looking for, and I don't want to embarrass Hound more than he is already."
Cosmos stared at Sparkplug in amazement. The mechanic was normally very easygoing and quiet, giving the impression of being an average everyman, but he had a sharp mind and could snap into command mode in an instant. Small wonder he had gotten along so well with Optimus from day one – the two were far more alike than anyone realized.
"Cosmos? What's the problem?"
"Oh… nothing." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go find Dashboard and see what he knows."
"I'm going to talk to Skids," Chip volunteered. "He's got a huge database on Cybertronian culture and legends. Maybe he'll let me browse it some."
"And I'll go talk to Hound… wherever he ran off to." He frowned at the empty table where Hound had been sitting moments before. "Sneaky guy. Didn't even see him leave. Ah well, I'll find him. Meet me back at the main hangar tonight and we'll go over what we've found, if anything. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better."
It wasn't uncommon to find Hound out in the wilds surrounding the Autobot base, going on a leisurely drive through the desert or exploring the forests or mucking through a muddy gulley. He had always had a deep appreciation for nature, and found the wide variety of flora and fauna on Earth endlessly fascinating. Often, after a particularly brutal battle or exhausting training session, he would retreat outside the base to de-stress, finding some measure of inner peace and tranquility from his study of nature and the many ways it found harmony with itself.
Today, the woods were a more powerful draw than ever. It wasn't simply a matter of trying to relax – it was as if something out there were calling to him. Ever since the mission in the Appalachian Mountains, he had felt anxious whenever he'd been confined to the base, almost claustrophobic. The feeling was lessened when he was out driving on the open roads or in the desert, but only losing himself among the trees seemed to cure it fully.
With a sigh he made his way to a small clearing and sat down, relishing the feeling of grass and damp earth under his legs. The day was calm and clear, with just a hint of a nip in the air to indicate the shifting of the seasons. Most of the trees here were evergreens, but here and there he caught a glimpse of flaming yellow and orange where the leaves were changing colors. Noisy honking signaled a V of geese working their way southward for the winter, and every now and again a furry body rustled through the grass or fallen leaves as it hoarded away food or fattened itself up in preparation for the cold weather to come.
Hound cycled a deep intake of air and smiled for the first time in days. It was a time of change, a shifting of the world. Nature operated on a logical cycle, uninterrupted and unceasing, and creatures learned to adapt and accommodate. There was something to be learned from that, he figured.
His thoughts wandered to the encounter a week ago, and his smile faded. He had been so sure of what he'd seen, but after everyone shooting his story down – and providing proof that the mech he'd encountered had just been an ordinary mech – he didn't know what to believe anymore. And in the end he'd simply recanted his story, figuring that was easier than continuing to fight about it. Now, he was wondering if that had been the best idea after all.
He lifted his arm, testing the joint. Funny… it was as good as new now, despite Ratchet's claim that the joint needed replacing. A mech's self-repair systems could often seal ruptured tubing or damaged circuitry and wires, but he'd never heard of an entire ball and socket being mended by one's internal nanobots. And usually self-repair took time, hours or even days, but somehow his shoulder had healed itself completely within an hour of Ratchet's repairs. He wasn't a medic, but he was going to guess that wasn't normal.
Part of him insisted that he go see one of the medics about it… but at the moment, he really didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and ponder on what he had seen.
A faint sound reached his audials, and he tensed slightly. That sounded like one of the minibots' engines… and from the slight catch in the engine, he was going to guess it was Beachcomber. He was good about being able to identify individual mechs by the sound of their engines, though usually he had to be rather close to them to tell the difference. Odd, though… Beachcomber sounded far away…
He stood and crept through the woods, toward the faint drone of the engine. Normally he would simply work his way through the trees, not caring how much of a racket his chassis made as branches whacked his plating and sticks crunched under his feet. But today he gentled each footfall, padding forward almost silently, weaving his way between the trees and taking a route as clear of branches and vegetation as possible. Even his fans stilled as he made his way forward.
There… a ribbon of road cut through the forest about a half-mile ahead, and Beachcomber was just pulling over at that moment. The blue minibot transformed and pulled a bag out of subspace, then bent over and began picking up bits of trash from the side of the road. Hound couldn't suppress a smile. Trust him to put a patrol on hold in order to clean up litter.
His hands twitched slightly as he watched Beachcomber work, the dune buggy's back to the scout's hiding place as he picked up bottles and cans and old tires. Unconsciously he found his joints tensing, his entire body coiling as if about to spring. The mech had no idea he was here… he was completely oblivious, easy prey… it would be sparkling's play to close the gap between them and pin him to the ground, to grab his neck in a death grip and shake him…
A shudder passed through his body, and he shook himself out of those thoughts in horror. What in Pit was he thinking? This was Beachcomber, his ally, a mech he had spent countless hours hiking and talking with! He wasn't honestly thinking about attacking him, was he?
Beachcomber continued his self-appointed cleanup job, humming a John Denver tune as he went, completely unaware that someone was watching. Hound looked on a moment longer before shaking himself again and drawing deeper into the trees. The urge to attack had vanished… for now.
What's happening to me?