Ominous clouds loomed overhead, obscuring the already dim light of the night sky. Four figures darted around under the canopy of stars and tattered fabric, following the path through the Town Square and into the Garrison. They stopped just short of the entrance to a guild hall lavishly decorated with orange lanterns and other pieces of seasonal decor. Obviously no expense had been spared by the owners on letting others know that this place fully embraced the night's festivities.

After a brief moment of silence, snickering could be heard from the shadows, as one of the four figures, significantly taller than the rest, was shoved out into the light of the carved lanterns illuminating the entrance. The Knight shivered before turning back to stare at her friends. One of them gestured for her to step forwards with a reassuring smile, obviously failing to see the humour of the situation his two friends did, before slipping back into the shadows. The girl, now alone, wearily stepped towards the doorway, almost tripping over the hem of her costume, a large sheet draped over her armour with a pair of ears hastily sewn on, attempting to imitate some form of Kat Cowl. Obviously she hadn't the money to buy an actual Kat set. A hole had been cut to expose her face, and a large pair of Round Shades were balanced precariously on her nose, dulling the light from her sky blue, almond-shaped eyes ever so slightly. Approaching the door, she clenched her fists in a pitiful attempt to stop her hands from shaking. Holding her breath, she gingerly reached up and went to deliver few short raps on the doo--

"BOO!" hollered a voice behind her.

The Knight shrieked and cowered. Loud laughter erupted from behind her, and she turned to face her friends, two of which were now laughing uncontrollably, the third standing next to them with a disapproving look on his face. She gave him a sheepish grin as he sighed and shook his head. He gave her the same reassuring grin and gestured to her again, this time trying to tell her to breathe deep, calm down and be confident. Smiling back, she turned to face the door and knocked again, this time much louder. With a creak, the door opened a tad. Puffing her chest out and taking a deep breath, she yelled,

"TRICK OR TREAT!"

(Wow, I may have gone a tad overboard. Sorry about the text wall, heh. I tried editing this, I swear. Please excuse the quality of this, I haven't written in a while, and there's probably a ton of inaccuracies, I'm new to the game, after all. I'm kind of conscious about posting this but eh, thought it would be fun to practice. Also, I hope the fact that I didn't actually include a piece of gear that's in the game is okay? I kind of wanted to make it seem a bit unique and noob-like heheh... It's supposed to look like a hybrid of a Black Kat Cowl and the sort of stereotypical Ghost "costume". I'll edit the details if it's not. Sorry to have bothered you. Either way, I really like this idea of yours!)

Whoops, double post.
Somehow.

That's hilarious Polygon! XD I wasn't expecting a mini comic but in my opinion, that's better than what I was thinking. Thank you! :)

Ah! Thank you so much, Polygon! I love it! Would I be able to use this as an icon? Just thought I'd ask, heh

@Fighting-Polygon Will do! Thanks again!

The times, nor its inhabitants seemed to hold any sense of logic, nor the answers the unit requested. The levels of spiritual energy fluctuated and agitated the Luminite core embedded within it’s person, moreover, the mists and overgrown pumpkin patches had repainted Haven into a graveyard. And yet, the various souls about were jolly, content. Apparently they had found their own defensive measures against the energies surrounding them, donning various disguises and masks to mimic the evils. An odd tactic to be sure, though, admittedly, the unit itself had understood precious little of this newfound world since Desna and her rangers had salvaged him from the derelict facility. Perhaps it was time to forgo the walls of corrupted code and put aside the befuddled memories in lieu of new ones. A notion that was passed unanimously across the unit's memory boards. Sadly, upon request, the wardens responsible for watching and guiding the unit had little in the way of these ‘costumes’. Or rather, few that could accommodate his unique reanimated body. Masks couldn’t fit over it’s rather dated apparatuses, and clothes either degraded to an unusable degree, or simply fell through the energy currents that made up the majority of his body. Irregardless, the unit persisted in it’s attempts to attain a convincing disguise, sifting through what it could find within the armories surplus. Eventually, after what the semi-functional time clock within the unit’s systems had chalked up to ‘a few hours’, the unit had discovered a small crest. Tarnished as it was, it held a faint reminder of the other disguises the unit had seen. The two shades of orange, BA6900 and 8F1F00 if it wasn’t mistaken, seemed to be the perfect camouflage, and even calmed the unit’s sensors to a mild degree. Pinning it into place upon one of the straps on it’s chest, the unit made it’s intentions clear to it’s supervising warden, and upon gaining clearance was given two things; an empty linen sack one could easily assume had been removed from a pillow, and a very particular set of instructions for a local ritual that the warden had insisted the unit to try. After expressing it’s thanks, (and apologies for ruining a small closet’s worth of disguises), the unit agreed to help the warden with his duties. With the traditional bag of holding in hand, the unit took to the streets in search of institutions adhering to the traditional mandate. ‘Homes with pumpkins, look for ones with the lights on. It didn’t take long to track one down, thankfully, as the unit was having second thoughts about the whole process. Though, before it’s inquiries and various algorithms could come back to figure if he should continue with his mission, the decision had been made for him. As his body had been running on autopilot while it ran the numbers, the consciousness had returned to the unit as it found itself knocking on the door of one ‘Ex Gladius Fama’, a rather notorious and gilded hall of rangers. Some of the rangers who had even visited the derelict station from which the unit was discovered. Veterans...who would know IMMEDIATELY if the unit had performed the local ritual wrong, trapped again within it’s panic, a small sprinkle of sparks began to spring out here and there about the unit’s frame, a common occurrence for when it became overwhelmed with emotion. As the door opened, the unit’s servers screamed silently within it’s head as a local hero, more commonly referred to as ‘Vanguard Rank’ answered the door expectantly. The unit tripped over it’s words as it ran every RECALL program it could all at once to remember the steps of the ritual.

Step one, hold out bag. Easy enough, the unit needed to do something with it’s hands anyway.

Step two recite the traditional words.
“T. R. I. C. K”

*BZZZT*

Spelling out the word letter for letter had reduced the load on the server’s greatly, but it still stood to reason for the circuits to short when under such a monumental load. And with a crackle of energy came a newfound voice, utterly devoid of the robotic nature that had came before it. Now there was an extremely sinister voice speaking, one with all the charm of a harvester.

“.̔̓̊ͩ̚ͅ.͇̞ͬ.̷͕̳̮̟̠̻̠ͧ̊̇ͨ̇̾̈́ơ̬̝͖͊͒ͮrͯ͂ͭ̽͆͗̑͝ ̢̦̲̫͕͌t̠̊ͨr̀͊ͮĕ͓̺̣̑̓ͯ͞ȃ͕̣͔̼̮̗̙̋̄ͪ̍̅̽ṫ̙̓͋͗̇̾͑́.͋̆̄̿̽ͥ͂́”

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The unit's back

The unit's front

It's a voltaic headset, and it's supposed to have a hallowed crest on. Happy Halloween man!