Until Dashboard made a final decision regarding his affiliation, he was staying in one of the guest suites on the Ark. Privately Cosmos thought this was a little unfair – the guest rooms were bigger and better furnished than the rooms in the barracks, not to mention closer to the common and recreation rooms. He wondered if the neutral wouldn't put off making a decision for as long as possible, simply to take advantage of the nicer quarters. Cosmos didn't think he would do the same in that situation, but he knew other mechs who wouldn't hesitate…

He shook his head and reached up to knock on the door. That was all beside the point. Right now, Hound was his priority.

The door slid open, and the gray-and-black mech peered out with a puzzled expression. It took him a second to look down and spot Cosmos.

"Oh! My apologies. I'm not used to dealing with minibots." He stepped back from the door. "Come in, please. Make yourself at home."

Cosmos walked in, looking around as Dashboard shut the door behind him. He hadn't really expected Dashboard to have already redecorated the room to suit his tastes, so he wasn't really surprised to find the room bare of decoration. He did notice that, while the room was neat and organized, it wasn't exactly tidy – dirty footprints patterned the floor, and sticks and pine needles were scattered across the room and even all over the berth. Dashboard himself, despite his sleek look, was still dinged-up and dirty, as if he hadn't seen a washrack or a paint touch-up since he'd arrived here.

"I don't believe I've been introduced to you yet," Dashboard noted, sitting down on the berth. His voice had a pleasant lilt to it, marking him as a resident of the Towers, though not quite nobility. "What's your designation?"

"Cosmos," he replied, nudging a pinecone with the tip of his foot. "I'm an interplanetary scout. I wanted to talk to you, if that's okay?" He knew he sounded wishy-washy, but he wasn't exactly good at interrogation or anything. This was a job better suited for Jazz or Ironhide, not a shy and awkward minibot.

"Of course." Dashboard motioned to the chair. "Do sit down. Make yourself comfortable. I promise I don't bite. Much." He chuckled a bit at his joke.

Cosmos forced out a stiff chuckle and hauled himself into the chair – it was really built for a taller mech, and his feet hung a good meter from the floor when he finally got settled in it. "You look… different."

Dashboard gave a chuckle. "Thank you for being tactful. Yes, I admit I look a little blockier than when I first came here." He raised his left leg slightly, showing off the new wheel there. "The command element suggested I take on an alternate mode that would fit on this planet, so I complied. A Fiat 500, I believe they call it. Sporty, if a bit antiquated."

"Ah, right." Cosmos nodded, then tried to get the conversation back on track. "So… you came here in an escape pod."

Dashboard nodded. "I believe you were on the team that recovered it."

Right, that had been a stupid question. But he tried again. "Was there anyone else in the pod with you?"

"Not a spark," he replied, shaking his head. "If any other pods were launched in the chaos, I didn't see."

"Ah." He tapped his fingers together, trying to figure out what to say next. "What about animals? Did… did you bring a pet?"

Dashboard laughed. "You are a funny one, Cosmos. Trust me when I say that, when your ship comes under attack by a Decepticon task force, the last thing you're thinking about is evacuating your pets."

"Oh." He fidgeted a bit more, fiddling with a panel on his arm. "When you woke up at the crash site… did you see anything strange?"

The neutral mech raised an optic ridge. "Should I have?"

"Well… ah…" How could he ask this without making it seem like they were blaming Dashboard for whatever was happening to Hound. "Do you think it's possible that something snuck into the pod with you? Did you notice anything weird?"

Dashboard's smile never faded. "Cosmos, you saw the inside of my escape pod. It's barely large enough to hold a car-bot. If I was sharing my pod with anyone or anything, regardless of their size, I think I would know." His smile took on a wry tilt. "Is this about Hound's claim about the Horrorcon?"

Cosmos didn't know how to answer that. "Um…"

"Never mind. I take it from your reluctance to answer that that's the case." He reached forward and gave Cosmos a pat on the helm, an action the minibot thought was rather condescending. "I'm glad you're standing up for your friend, but I really wouldn't encourage this flight of fantasy he's embarked on. He saw something in the moonlight that wasn't there. That's all."

He ducked his head away from Dashboard's hand and wriggled out of the chair. "Thank you for the advice, but I'll decide how I best want to help my friend."

"Of course." Dashboard grinned, and for a moment Cosmos thought he saw his optics flash with a burst of feral light. "But be careful, will you? Hound seems especially moody right now, and I would hate for someone like you to get hurt."

Cosmos stared at Dashboard, but the mech only smiled and shut the door after him.

"Me Sludge wanted to be Anguirus!"

"Me Slag called it first! Besides, me Slag look more like Anguirus than you. You Sludge can be Loch Ness Monster or something."

"Loch Ness Monster not Kaiju!"

"Me Slag thought it was Kaiju!"

"Me Swoop thought Loch Ness Monster from Scotland, not Japan."

"Me Slag still think you Swoop should have been Rodan."

"Me Swoop not like Rodan. Mothra's better."

"Mothra's stupid!"

"You Slag take that back!"

"Can you five shut up for two seconds so I can work?" Ratchet snapped. "Primus almighty, if you don't mute it I'm going to start removing vocalizers!"

"You Ratchet always saying that," Snarl pointed out, "but never follow through."

"Want me to start?"

Snarl smirked, but he didn't press his luck. Instead he turned back to the table the Dinobots had appropriated to hash out their Halloween costumes. From the sound of it they had decided on various monsters from Kaiju movies, and naturally Grimlock, who tended to use his authority for trivial things like this, had claimed Godzilla for himself. Swoop had decided on Mothra, while the others either bickered over which ones they wanted to dress as or heckled Swoop for his choice.

Ratchet, for his part, just hoped they made up their minds quickly so he could get back to work. He wasn't against this whole Halloween celebration, but his medbay was NOT meant to be a costume workshop. He had much more important things to be worrying about than costumes.

"Cut 'em a bit of slack," Wheeljack advised. "They're excited about this. Don't ruin their fun."

"I'll fraggin' well ruin their fun if they interrupt something important to…" began Ratchet as he looked up at the scientist… only for his voice to trail off. "What the frag…"

"Oh, this?" Wheeljack spread his arms. "Giving my costume a trial run. Whatcha think?"

Ratchet gave Wheeljack's khaki-covered body and the bulky contraption hanging from his back an incredulous look. "Dare I ask what you're supposed to be?"

"Don't you know?" Wheeljack asked. "Dr. Venkman from Ghostbusters! I made you a proton pack too, in case you wanted to go as Dr. Stantz with me."

"Slag, no," Ratchet growled.

"What?" Slag barked, whirling to glare at the medic.

"Not you," Ratchet snapped back. "I'm talking to Wheeljack."

Slag grumbled but went back to arguing with Swoop.

"You know, you really could loosen up some," Wheeljack advised, leaning against Ratchet's workbench. "The world isn't gonna end because you pulled the steel girder out of your tailpipe."

"I've got a lot to do, and you lunatics aren't helping," Ratchet replied, returning his gaze to the microscope. "If you could drag the Dinobots to your workshop so they can work out their costumes there, I'd appreciate that."

"No can do," Wheeljack replied. "Perceptor's doin' something delicate in there, and he doesn't want the Dinobots around." He looked at the microscope with interest. "Whatcha got there?"

"Samples of Hound's nanobots and internal fluid," Ratchet replied as he swapped one slide for another. "Trying to figure out why his self-repair system has suddenly gone haywire. A wrecked shoulder joint just doesn't fix itself THAT fast."

"I dunno if 'haywire's' the right word," Wheeljack pointed out. "I mean, his self-repair fixing his shoulder would be a GOOD thing, I'd think. If anything, we should look into replicating it for the rest of the Autobots."

"You can't jack up a mech's repair systems without some serious consequences," Ratchet retorted. "Nanobots don't like to sit idle – they're constantly working to repair and improve a mech's internal systems, whether it's minor injuries or everyday wear and tear. Ones that work this fast are going to have nothing to do in a short time, and then they'll start wreaking all sorts of havoc on the internals. You have mechs bleeding out their orifices or having their internal components crumble to dust without warning."

"…oh." Wheeljack shuddered. "Never mind, then. Think Hound caught some kind of virus that's affecting his nanobots?"

"It's possible."

"Think the distortion cannon did it?"

"Distortion cannons just shoot concentrated blasts of kinetic energy, not anything that should transmit a virus. Still… I'll have to get some samples from Dashboard here. It's possible that he could be a carrier for whatever Hound's got. Means I have to check out you and everyone else who's had contact with Dashboard or that escape pod too." Ratchet sighed. "My work is never done, is it?"

"Look on the bright side, job security," Wheeljack laughed. "Find anything interesting yet?"

"Some abnormalities in his nanobots and his fluids," Ratchet noted. "Nothing calamitous, but…"

Sludge chose that moment to escalate the argument to a shoving match. Slag reeled back as Sludge headbutted him in the chest, sending him toppling into Ratchet. The medic yowled as he sprawled over his work area, knocking the microscope, samples, and several containers of chemicals all over the table.

"YOU PRIMUS-DAMNED MORONS!"

"Uh-oh," Swoop whimpered, and bolted from the room. The other Dinobots followed suit, not even pausing to grab their plans from off the table. As tough and bold as they proclaimed to be, none of the Dinobots wanted to risk the wrath of their creator – and at the moment they feared the medic more than even Megatron himself.

Ratchet, for his part, couldn't blame them – at the moment he wanted to get his hands around Sludge's neck and shake him for all he was worth. The table was covered in chemicals… and the slides and sample tubes containing Hound's nanobots and fluids were little more than smoking lumps of melted glass and char now.

"I'm gonna kill 'em!"

"It was an accident!" Wheeljack insisted. "And it's not like you can't track Hound down and get more samples."

"I'm still gonna kill them!" Ratchet snapped, stalking off to grab a cleaning cloth. "This is precisely why I didn't want them in the medbay while I did this!"

"Look, I'll talk to them and see if they can't take it to their quarters or the rec room," Wheeljack promised. "Just… stop acting like they did this on purpose. It wasn't all their fault. I mean, why were there volatile chemicals on the table anyhow?"

"They weren't volatile," Ratchet snapped. "Mostly cleansers. The most unstable thing on the table was some silver nitrate, and that was just to disinfect things."

"Huh." Wheeljack cocked his head. "That's weird. Silver nitrate shouldn't have THAT kind of reaction to our fluids."

"Yeah, well, nothing around here seems to do what it should anymore," Ratchet grumbled. "Go find Hound and tell him to get his aft back in the repair bay. I'm going to need more samples, and to give him a complete physical to make sure those nanobots aren't wrecking him inside. Something screwy is going on with him, and I want to know what."

A metallic hand came down on Chip's shoulder, and he gave a completely undignified and unmasculine shriek of fright. He couldn't exactly jump out of his wheelchair, but he did flail his arms briefly, almost smacking the mech behind him in the faceplate.

"Chip! Are you all right?"

"I'm… I'm fine." Chip focused on taking deep breaths and relaxing before he turned to face the speaker. "Don't just come up behind me like that, Cosmos! Geez…"

"Sorry." Cosmos ducked his head low. "I didn't mean to spook you."

Once Chip was sure he was breathing normally, he reached out to pat Cosmos' arm. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped. I just got really into what I was reading here."

"What did you find?" Cosmos crouched low to peer over the human's shoulder.

"Lots. Skids let me borrow his files on Cybertronian mythology and cryptology, and I've been looking through them. Geez… you guys have some freaky myths! Some of these make Dracula look like the Count from Sesame Street!"

Cosmos shrugged a little. "I never thought of them as particularly scary. Then again… I never really thought they existed until recently."

Chip gave him a strange look, then returned his attention to the screen. "Some of this stuff is far out there… like, nightmare-inducing. Sparkeaters, changelings, Morphobots… who comes up with this stuff?"

Cosmos shrugged. He wasn't the most imaginative sort, and the most creative monster he could probably come up with would look boring compared to some of these creatures from their mythology.

"Mkay, what did you get out of Dashboard?" asked Chip as he continued to browse the database. "Anything useful?"

"No. He says nothing accompanied him aboard the escape pod. He also said something strange… that we needed to be careful around Hound, or we would get hurt."

Chip frowned. "He knows more than he's letting on. We need to tell Prime about this."

"Good luck with that," Sparkplug muttered, walking up at that moment. "We don't have any proof. It's our word against Dashboard's, and at the moment, given that Hound's Horrorcon story has spread throughout the Ark, people aren't exactly going to believe us over the new guy."

"I thought we were keeping this quiet," Chip pointed out.

"I thought so too, but evidently someone's been talking." Sparkplug shook his head. "I don't know who, but I suspect our neutral friend is a bit of a gossip."

"Or he's doing it on purpose," Cosmos realized. "To make sure everyone believes him over us!"

"To what purpose, though?" asked Chip. "What does he gain from making people not trust Hound?"

Before Sparkplug could answer, the mech in question trudged up to the three of them. Cosmos' optics flickered in shock. Hound looked awful – like he hadn't recharged well in days. He was covered in dirt and scratches, and vegetation was caught in his joints. His optics looked dimmer than usual, an odd violet-blue instead of their usual aquamarine, and despite his exhausted expression he couldn't seem to keep still – his optics flickered back and forth restlessly, and his hands clenched slightly.

"Hound!" Cosmos exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

Hound managed a tired smile. "I'm… functional. Let's leave it at that." He pulled a broken branch out of his elbow joint. "I haven't recharged very well since we brought Dashboard in. But don't mind me, you guys needed me for something? Sparkplug said it was important."

Cosmos took in a deep intake before speaking, hoping against hope that Hound wouldn't be upset by what they asked. "We wanted to talk to you about the Horrorcon."

Hound's optics flickered, and he frowned. "I didn't see any Horrorcon."

"None of that," Sparkplug chided. "I didn't go hiking up and down Mount St. Hillary for you just to hear you deny your story over and over. You're not a liar, you've never made up stories before, and you're not one to let your imagination run away with you like some mechs. You have a good CPU in your head, and if you say you saw a Horrorcon, I'm inclined to believe you. And we're going to figure out just WHAT you saw… and if it poses any threat to the Autobots. Will you help us?"

A tense silence fell over the group as Hound stared at Sparkplug. Cosmos stilled his fans, waiting for a reaction. Hound normally didn't lose his temper, but he'd been so moody and withdrawn the past few days that he had no idea what to expect…

Then Hound gave a soft chuckle. "I'd just about convinced myself I was going crazy. I had no idea anyone would actually believe my story."

Chip smiled in relief. "We believe you. And we're willing to help you prove that what you saw is real."

Cosmos nodded. "There's bad news, though… we think Dashboard knows what attacked you. And he's trying to keep it quiet somehow."

"For what purpose?" asked Hound. "How could a neutral benefit from a Horrorcon roaming wild on the Eastern Seaboard?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Chip assured him, and tapped a few keys on the terminal. "I've been going through this database here, and tried to narrow the types of Horrorcons down to things that could have fit in that escape pod. That eliminates some of the bigger creatures – Unicron's definitely out – but there's still quite a few to go through."

Hound cupped his chin as he pondered. "It was mech-sized. Bipedal, with a long fanged muzzle and claws."

"That narrows it down even further," Chip noted, typing again. "So it can't be a Morphobot, a Slipshine, or a Chewer."

"I've seen that first one, but what the heck are the other two?" asked Sparkplug.

Cosmos gave a shudder. "Slipshines are flat, shapeless creatures made of a type of liquid crystal. They sneak up on mechs in their recharge and squeeze into their chassis through gaps in their armor, then spread throughout the mech's body. The victim doesn't even suspect anything is wrong… until they transform. Then the Slipshine lets out a burst of energy, fracturing the spark into dozens of pieces, each of which becomes a new Slipshine."

Sparkplug whistled. "So basically the equivalent of laying its eggs in your body… freaky."

"The halfway cheery name just makes it all the freakier too," Chip noted. "And Chewers are pretty straightforward – flying creatures that bite a mech's cables and drain their energy. Like vampire bats or the mynocks from Star Wars."

"Let's focus on what this thing IS instead of what it's not," Hound suggested. "Any of those articles come with pictures?"

Chip called up an article. "Sparkeater?"

Hound shook his head. "No tentacles. And it didn't look half-rotten from what I remember."

"Scrapmetal?"

"No, too many spikes. It looked sleeker."

"Energon zombie? Wait, you said it didn't look rotted… and it'd be impossible to tell if it was a changeling, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe, but I don't know why a changeling would take on the form of another Horrorcon," Hound pointed out. "And it wouldn't be a Blank either…"

"A Blank?" asked Sparkplug.

"Protoforms that have somehow gained life without gaining a spark," Cosmos explained. "They look like ordinary mechs except their faceplates – they're perfectly blank. And they're said to make no sound while they move, and to hunt down mechs to take their sparks for their own use."

"So basically Cybertronian Slenderman, except for the 'stealing sparks' bit," Chip chuckled.

"I still don't understand what Slenderman even is," Sparkplug said with a frown.

"I'll show you some of the videos later," Chip promised. "Just be prepared not to sleep much." Chip clicked through a few more articles. "Not that one, not that one… oh, gross, who came up with THAT thing? I hope whoever originated THAT myth got some psychiatric help…"

Hound peered over Chip's shoulder. "None of these fit. Maybe we should just call this off. Whatever I saw must have just been… stop there!"

Chip stopped clicking. "See something close?"

He pointed at the screen. "There. It doesn't look exactly like what I saw, but it's pretty close."

Cosmos hunkered down for a better look. The image on the screen was blurry, as if the mech snapping the picture had been trying to get away even as he took the image, but that didn't make what they saw any less horrifying – the fact that the creature was lunging at the camera didn't help. The limbs were little more than smears of motion, but the long, fanged muzzle that dripped with oral lubricant and the shining violet optics stood out with frightening clarity.

"What is that?" he asked. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Hound looked on in interest… then groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

Cosmos peered at the entry, and he felt his spark sink.

UNKNOWN CRYPTID

KNOWN SIGHTINGS: Terran system

FIRST SIGHTING: Terran system, date 142398-03.3

ORIGIN: Unknown, probably Terran system

SIZE: Unknown

DEFINING FEATURES: Unknown

ABILITIES: Unknown

PHYSICAL EVIDENCE COLLECTED: N/A

EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS: N/A

This unknown Horrorcon variant has been reported in the Terran (aka Earth) solar system in recent cycles, though no scientific evidence exists. No living eyewitnesses exist, though disappearances of Cybertronians in the Terran system have been attributed to this unidentified cryptid. Information on this Horrorcon is considered invaluable and is highly sought after by amateur and experienced cryptozoologists. All efforts to capture or make contact with this Horrorcon variant have failed.

Above is the only known image taken of said Horrorcon, recovered from the holo-recorder of Autobot cryptozoologist Mainframe. Mainframe's chassis was found two days after his holo-recorder was recovered. Medics were unable to confirm Mainframe's cause of death from what remained of his chassis.

Chip whistled. "That is scary. And this thing's wandering around Appalachia? We have to warn someone!"

"Of course," Hound murmured. "I get attacked by a Horrorcon, and it happens to be the one no one knows anything about. I seem to be striking out everywhere lately." He gave a rueful smile. "Thank you for trying, at least."

"The Autobots might not know what this thing is," Sparkplug put in, "but I think I do."

Cosmos turned to stare at him. "You've seen one before?"

"Not in person… but it features in plenty of our fiction. In fact, I'm surprised the two of you don't recognize it."

"I don't watch many movies," Cosmos confessed. "Or read many books. And when I do read it's non-fiction. Sorry."

"I haven't exactly been thinking of Earth monsters lately," Hound said. "Though now that you mention it… if you look at that image just right…"

Chip's eyes widened as he realized what everyone was getting at. "It's lupine. That face… it looks like it comes straight off a wolf!"

"Exactly," Sparkplug replied. "We're dealing with a creature our planet calls a lycanthrope – a werewolf."