Motormaster scowled as he hunkered low behind a fallen tree, watching the Autobot pick his way through the forest. He really didn't want to be here. He and his comrades had been out tearing up a stretch of highway, running those laughable human cars off the road and knocking down signs with wild abandon, when Megatron had radioed him with the mission, and while at first he'd been glad for the distraction, now he just wanted it over with. It was fragging boring, and sending all five Stunts to capture a single Autobot felt like overkill in his book.

He smirked ruefully. If he, of all mechs, thought a particular assignment was overkill, that was really saying something.

"Okay, there he is," Dragstrip muttered, shifting from foot to foot restlessly. "Let's get 'im!"

"Wait," Motormaster ordered. "Let's make sure he's alone first."

"Oh, come on!" Wildrider whined. "We'd know if there were other Autobots around. Fraggers like their bright colors…"

"For once I advocate listening to our leader," Dead End muttered. "For all we know, Hound could merely be bait in a trap. He's one of the weaker Autobots, his tracking skills notwithstanding, so for him to be traipsing around on his own just hints at our oncoming doom."

"Oh, shut up, Mr. Depresso," Motormaster grumped, reaching out to cuff Dead End up the back of his helm.

Fifty yards away, Hound paused in his tracks and raised his head, as if he'd spotted something in the distance… or was picking up a scent. His back was turned to the Stunticons, and it was so tempting to just leap out of hiding and tackle him here and now, pummeling him into scrap and then reducing that scrap to rubble. But Megatron wanted the worthless mech alive, so he would have to restrain himself and his troops somehow. Maybe they could at least rough him up a bit first…

"What's the point of this anyhow?" demanded Dead End. "Why is one scout worth all this trouble? Or does Megatron hate us enough that he'd rather send us off on pointless missions?"

"Hey, at least we got an easy mission for once," Breakdown pointed out. "Not like a whole lot can go wrong on a snatch-and-grab, right?"

"There's always a dozen ways any mission can go catastrophically wrong," Dead End informed him in a dull tone. "Perhaps this is just Megatron trying to be rid of us…"

"Will you two shut up!" Motormaster snapped. "Or so help me I'll string you up in trees here for the Autobots to play with!"

Dead End snorted but subsided, while Breakdown shut up with a quiet whimper. Motormaster glared at the two of them for a moment longer until he was sure they would stay quiet, then turned back to Hound…

Or rather, to where Hound had been just seconds ago. He scowled, optics flicking from side to side as he tried to catch a glimpse of the scout again. Primus damn it, he'd barely taken his gaze off the mech and he'd vanished. How could such a clunky slowpoke be so fast and quiet?

"Spread out," Motormaster ordered. "Radio when you see him. He couldn't have gone far."

"How the frag do you lose a—" began Dragstrip before a grunt cut him off.

"You wanna finish that little thought, Dragstrip?" Motormaster rumbled, turning to glare at the yellow racer… but Dragstrip had vanished. Branches swayed directly behind the spot he'd been standing moments ago, as if something had just reached out and plucked his fellow Stunt out of sight.

"Dragstrip?" he repeated.

Breakdown whined and pressed in closer to Dead End. "Th-there's something terrible out there, isn't there? Like a Dinobot or… or a Horrorcon…"

Dead End tilted his head in an obvious optic roll. "Breakdown, my dear, you are far too old for monster stories, don't you think?"

"B-b-but Rumble said…"

"Who cares what Rumble says?" Dead End countered. "We all know we can trust him about as far as he can throw one of us…"

Wildrider had been plowing through a tangle of brush at that moment, but suddenly he pitched forward with a yelp, landing flat on his face. Before he could push himself upright he was yanked backward, vanishing into the forest with a screech of dismay. His shriek was immediately followed up by another from Breakdown as the white Lamborghini tried his hardest to climb into Dead End's arms.

Motormaster drew his sword, snarling. What the frag was going on? Was Dead End right, and Hound was just there to draw them in for quick capture or offlining? Were the Dinobots lurking in the forest right now? No, they would have been charging and roaring, not picking them off one by one from the shadows. This was more the work of the blasted twins, or Mirage…

"Come out and fight like a mech!" he ordered. "Are you some kinda coward? Show yourself!"

A low, sly chuckle drifted from the trees, and though Motormaster would never have admitted it aloud, he felt a chill ripple up his spinal array. "Oh, I'm no coward, Motormaster. What's more cowardly anyhow – eliminating a foe from the shadows, or demanding they come fight you on equal ground instead of adapting yourself to fit their fighting style?"

Breakdown whimpered and clung to Dead End all the tighter. Dead End, for his part, didn't look all that reluctant to let go of the white mech anymore.

Motormaster spat and brandished his sword, focusing on speaking to their unseen foe without his voice shaking. "Get out here and fight me! Or so help me, we'll burn these woods to the ground and flush you out!"

"Oh, you think to treat me like prey?" the voice asked. "You're not the hunter here, Motormaster. But if it amuses you to think otherwise… very well. I'll come out."

Breakdown squealed in fright as a dark form stepped out of the trees. Motormaster's optics rebooted in surprise. It was Hound, all right… but not a Hound that matched the image his databanks held. His armor was a shade of green that bordered on black, and the white and yellow highlights on his armor had darkened to gray and brown respectively. It wasn't just his colors that were different either – there was a wild, almost feral gleam to his violet-blue optics, and the corners of his lip plates seemed to be locked in a slight but predatory grin. He moved with an odd sort of grace quite in contrast to his blocky form, placing each step with the utmost care so that he moved as silently as a shadow.

"There… is that better?"

Motormaster growled and crouched, sword ready to thrust and free hand ready to jab and claw at his foe. "You're not gonna be so cocky when we've got you beat senseless and trussed up to drag back to Megatron, Autobot."

Hound outright laughed at that. "I'd like to see you try."

Motormaster roared and thundered forward. Hound smirked and, with a speed that shouldn't have been possible, sidestepped the charge. The truckformer skidded wildly as he tried to stop himself, but only ended up slamming into a tree with enough force to crack the trunk.

Breakdown, meanwhile, squirmed free of Dead End's arms and bolted. Hound gave a grin that would have made Motormaster proud had it not also been profoundly disturbing, and he sprinted after the fleeing Stunticon. The two vanished into the trees… and a scream of utmost terror filled the forest until it was abruptly cut off.

Motormaster wrestled himself to his feet and charged after Hound… only for the scout to come running back almost immediately. He didn't even hesitate, just drove his sword forward and punched it through Hound's abdomen. Never mind that Megatron wanted him alive – this was the only fitting punishment for offlining the other members of his team!

Hound's face contorted in a grimace, and he clawed at the hilt jutting from his abdominal plate. Motormaster laughed and yanked the blade free, then kicked the Jeep's legs out from under him. The Autobot grunted in pain as he hit the dirt and made no move to get back up.

"Not so tough in a straight-out fight, are you?" Motormaster gloated, planting a foot on Hound's chest. "Didn't think so…"

Pain flashed up his leg as a blade slipped into his ankle joint, severing cables and its tip jamming into the joint. He howled in agony and staggered back… only for another jolt of pain to erupt from his knee. He collapsed, cursing… and went quiet as an oil-slicked blade found his throat. Hound now straddled his chest, holding the weapon to his fuel lines, energon glowing on his abdominal plates but the gash in his chassis slowly knitting itself closed even as Motormaster watched.

What the frag… He hadn't known Hound could do that. Was he some kind of weird experimental super-soldier now? Or worse… something not Cybertronian in origin, but some kind of monster? What had Breakdown called it – a Horrorcon?

Hound smirked, and he made a single cut with his blade. Motormaster's damage readout shrieked in protest as it registered the loss of all but the most vital systems from his cranial unit down – he was effectively paralyzed and mute now.

"I think," he said in a low, dangerous voice, "that you made the mistake of underestimating me. I doubt you'll be doing that again."

Footsteps sounded just out of Motormaster's range of vision as Dead End finally made a break for it. Hound gestured for Motormaster to stay put – as if he had any choice in the matter – and loped off with the silent grace of a panther. A sharp cry rang through the forest as the red Porsche was quickly dispatched – whether killed or simply put out of commission like Motormaster, who could say?

The black truckformer offlined his optics and began to put together a list of creative ways he could dismantle Hound once he got his faculties back. And maybe a few ways to get back at Megatron for giving them this stupid assignment in the first place.

Under normal circumstances, an Autobot coming back to base with a captured Decepticon would have been welcomed with heroic fanfare. But these were far from normal circumstances… and for a single scout to come back with five immobilized Decepticons in tow was cause for concern. Especially given how oddly he'd been acting lately, and the fact that he'd never shown this level of combat expertise before.

Cosmos technically wasn't supposed to be present for this meeting. But he had managed to wrangle his way into a position to eavesdrop by claiming to have vital information on Skyspy's repair status, and he hovered just behind Prime as he, Ratchet, Prowl, and Ironhide questioned a rather irritable Hound.

"I don't see why you have to be suspicious of me," Hound pointed out with a scowl. "I stopped a Decepticon threat on our own territory. You should be thanking me, not treating me like a criminal."

"How th' frag did you stop FIVE Stunticons single-handedly?" demanded Ironhide, not even bothering to hide his shock. "Not even Grimlock can do that! That ain't natural"

"While knowing that the Stunticon threat has been neutralized for now," Prowl put in, "Ironhide has a valid point. For any mech to take on five Decepticons single-handedly and come out of it without even a scratch is rather suspicious."

"I didn't come out of it without a scratch," Hound corrected. "I told you, Motormaster stabbed me! It just fixed itself!"

"And that's another thing," Ratchet grumbled. "We've got to get that rogue nanobot problem of yours fixed, and soon. I know it seems like a good thing now, but in the long run it'll just cause problems."

"Well, what if I don't want it fixed?" Hound retorted. "It's an advantage, not a curse!"

"Hound," Prime interrupted, "listen to our CMO. He knows what he's talking about, and if he says your overactive self-repair system is a danger, then I'd take warning from what he says. It may seem like a good thing now, but the long-term damage could be significant."

"That's not even taking into account your other symptoms," Ratchet put in. "The overclocked sensory systems, the changes in your color, the behavioral issues… something's seriously wrong, Hound, and we need to fix it now!"

"I don't WANT to be fixed!" Hound snapped. "I finally have an advantage on the battlefield, and suddenly it's a terrible thing? I don't think so. If this is a glitch or a damage of some kind, then I choose not to get it repaired."

"Hound!" Cosmos exclaimed despite himself. "You can't be serious!" He almost blurted out about the upcoming full moon, but managed to mute himself just in time.

"I know the risks," Hound went on, giving Cosmos a significant look. "And I choose to take them. For once I feel like I'm contributing something worthwhile to the Autobot cause, and I'm not going to sacrifice that. It may mean making adjustments… but I'm willing to do that."

Ratchet sputtered incoherently and looked beseechingly at Prime. The Autobot commander gave Hound a long look, then sighed deeply.

"I can't force you to seek treatment," he acknowledged, "so I won't."

Ratchet outright squawked indignantly at that.

"However," Prime went on, "if I feel your condition could affect the well-being of other Autobots – if it turns out to be contagious, or it increases your aggression to dangerous levels – then I can and will step in. Promise me you'll consider treatment should that happen."

Hound gave a single sharp nod. "Fine."

"That's all I ask." He gave a wave of his hand. "Dismissed. Prowl, make sure the brig is secure so we can transfer the Stunticons there once Ratchet has repaired them. Ironhide, gather a few of our stronger Autobots to aid in the transfer. Ratchet, you're dismissed, and for Primus' sake stop acting like I shot you in the foot already."

Ratchet stalked off with a grumble, and Prowl and Ironhide saluted before heading out. Hound was already gone – somehow he had slipped silently out while Cosmos had been listening to Prime.

"Sir… are you sure that was the right thing to do?" he asked.

Prime shook his head. "I don't know what to think anymore, Cosmos. Hound has been acting very erratically ever since we retrieved Dashboard's escape pod. I just hope it passes with time, or that he'll consent to accepting help very soon."

"Have you questioned Dashboard? Or done anything about him?" He still had a feeling that the gray mech knew more than he let on, and that he knew exactly what had bitten Hound and where it was lurking now.

"Dashboard has kept to himself since coming to the Ark," Prime replied. "He has turned down our offer to join the Autobots, and says he will be leaving at the end of this lunar cycle. And yes, we've talked to him several times. He knows nothing of what's affecting Hound."

"You don't think he gave Hound… whatever he has, right?" He didn't dare say "lycanthropy" yet – he feared even Prime wouldn't believe him.

"He has none of Hound's symptoms, so no," Prime replied. "At any rate, however, he soon won't be our problem." He folded his hands on his desk. "You had information on Skyspy's satellite network to present?"

"Oh!" Cosmos quickly gave a rundown of the current bout of repairs to the satellites, as well as an estimate on how long it would take before the system was in working order again. By the time he had finished his report, Prime seemed to have forgotten about the unsettling incident with Hound, and he dismissed the minibot without further discussion.

Cosmos, however, couldn't think of anything else BUT Hound the entire time, and he almost ran from the office, trying to track the scout down. He had to convince him to accept treatment somehow!

"Jazz, is the brig ready for… what the frag are you wearing?"

The saboteur looked up from his computer console. "Brig's shipshape an' ready, Prowl! Ready to take reservations! An' ya like it?" He stood and turned in place to model the red-and-black jumpsuit that had been tailored to fit the various curves of his chassis. "It's Michael Jackson's from his Thriller music video!"

Prowl just shook his head and walked past Jazz to get to his own console. "I thought Halloween wasn't for two more nights."

"Hey, gotta test-run the costume somehow," Jazz pointed out. "Got ya one too. Mirage says he took your measurements in your sleep, so it should fit."

"I could easily have gone the rest of my life without knowing that," Prowl groaned, staring at the black-and-blue ensemble laid out on his chair. "What is that supposed to be anyhow?"

"Spock!" Jazz grinned. "From Star Trek! Even got ya a set of ears!"

"I am NOT dressing as a fictional alien." He pushed the outfit onto the floor and sat down. "This whole holiday is ridiculous in my opinion."

"Aw, come on, Prowl, live it up a little!" Bumblebee insisted, walking in at that moment. The minibot spy seemed to be dressed for the occasion as well, his usual yellow paint job obscured by black and gray and with a queer black mask covering his entire helm and a good portion of his face.

"Batman," Prowl observed – at least that was one fictional entity he recognized. "Dare I ask who Robin is?"

"No Robin," Bumblebee replied, "but I think I've got Cliffjumper convinced to play Ironman. I know they're from different comic companies, but I still think they'd make a pretty good team."

"Is Seaspray gonna be Aquaman?" asked Jazz with a snicker.

"Yeah, I think all the minibots are going for a superhero theme," Bumblebee replied. "Powerglide's Superman, Beachcomber's Hawkeye, we finally talked Gears into being Captain America… I still don't know what Cosmos is going to be, though it'd probably be appropriate for him to play the Green Lantern, huh?"

Before Prowl could answer, two mechs strode into the control room. Their usual blue paint jobs were mostly covered up by dark suits, and each wore a hat and a pair of dark lenses over their optics. Before he could ask what in Primus' name they were doing, one of them spoke.

"Well," Tracks began, "it's a hundred and six light years to Cybertron, we got full tanks of gas, half a pack of energon goodies, it's dark… and we're wearing sunglasses."

Mirage nodded sharply. "Hit it."

Jazz cracked up laughing and clapped approvingly. "Way ta go, you two! Mission from Primus, I take it?"

Mirage nodded, smirking a bit. "If we're going to dress up for this holiday, we might as well do it with style, right? Not like a few other uncouth mechs we could mention."

"Let me guess," Prowl replied with a groan. "The twins. Do I dare ask what they're dressed as?"

"You'll find out," Tracks replied, just as the thunderous strains of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" filled the room. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker entered the room, headbanging with such force it was a wonder the shaggy wigs they were wearing didn't go flying off. Sideswipe, wearing a long black wig and a baseball cap, had Blaster in boombox form perched on one shoulder, and he threw up one hand in a gesture Prowl only knew as "horns" once he was sure they had everyone's attention.

"Party on, Garth!" he shouted.

"Party on, Wayne!" Sunstreaker replied, and he reached over to highfive his brother.

"Can everyone please stop coming into the control room to show off their costumes?" demanded Prowl. "This is neither the time nor the place for it!"

"Come now, Prowl, we've all been working hard. We can take a day to be a little bit silly, I think."

Prowl turned to respond to the Prime… and just about fell out of his chair. "Primus no… not you too!"

Prime just chuckled behind the false white beard that had been clipped to his mask, and adjusted his purple robes slightly. "All the same, I must agree with Prowl on one point – this is the control room, not the rec hall. Everyone except those on duty should leave."

Sideswipe huffed. "Spoilsports. C'mon Sunny, 'Raj, Tracks, let's go have a Friday the 13thmovie marathon while we wait for the big day."

"Why not a halfway intelligent horror movie instead?" asked Tracks. "I hear Cabin in the Woods is quite excellent."

"It's no match for the classics," Mirage countered. "I have a nice collection of Vincent Price if anyone cares to see something with sophistication…"

Prowl watched them go before turning back to Prime. "What ARE you dressed as anyhow?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore, from the Harry Potter books," he replied. "I thought about going as Gandalf, but Ironhide apparently beat me to it, so I changed ideas."

"Are we really going to go ahead with this party nonsense?" asked Prowl. "Even after what's been going on with Hound?"

"We can't simply put the entire base on lockdown because one mech is having issues, Prowl. I'm worried about him, but at the same time, he's made his decision about accepting help, and the most we can do now is keep an optic on him and intervene if things get out of hand. Besides, this may be exactly what he needs – a chance to unwind and relax a little. I'm sure this whole situation is stressful for him as well, and perhaps this will be what he needs."

"I hope you're right, sir. Though I have half a mind to assign him patrol on Halloween night. If this mystery condition of his has heightened his senses, we might as well get some use out of him."

"A rather cynical way to look at it, I suppose… but this army needs cynics as well as optimists." Prime chuckled softly. "Well, it's not as if we need a mech with super-sight to do patrols on Halloween. It's a full moon, that night, after all…"