Fourth shift is when the ghosts are the loudest.

Tracks wanders blindly down the hall humming along to a tune only he hears. In his head the ghosts sing along. A bawdy tune from the pub he and the pale brown mech used to recharge behind. He laughs and sings the chorus, his voice bouncing off the walls echoing in the empty halls but the halls aren't there. He's in the bar listening to the gangs slur the words and fall over each other as they reach the end of another bottle. But the ghosts laugh and sing with him. They're always with him. Sometimes that makes him angry and he does things like trying to crush Beachcomber's head, but not often.

The dull silver tiles squeak under his feet. Squeak…squeak…squeak…They blur together to a long strip of cracked sidewalk. He recognizes the sidewalk, he's walked down it a thousand times. There's the shimmer of broken glass in the gutter and on the pavement where the streetlight is broken. The scent of cooking food wafts past him. Wind blows wrappers and cans around in the empty chained lots. Broken out windows look down on him, a few have strips of cloth fluttering in them and if he's quick enough he can catch suspicious optics looking down on him from the darkness. The sidewalk wavers under his feet and becomes silver metal shining under fluorescents. Squeak…squeak…squeak… He waves at the security camera as he passes. But the ghosts saw the sidewalk and now they're talking to him.

Squeak…squeak…squeak…Sunlight reflects off a faded billboard and far off the fancy high rises of Tarn glitter like giant broken pieces of glass. The soft squeak his feet make on the tile flows together and becomes a quiet giddy voice in his audio. Squeak…squeak… "Whaddaya say we go to the park. Nice orn, those nursemaids always bring they bratty high class brats out. We swipe some sweets, a few credits, boom, we got a place to recharge tonight and we got food." His frame is a pale brown next to Tracks' scratched and scarred black. There's a strange squeaking coming from somewhere but he can't remember where, but he tries to ignore it because he's hungry.

"Cruiser," he says ducking into an alley. Squeak…squeak…squeak…The mech follows waving it off. They're too small to get picked up for the draft, but that's no reason to be on the radar. That's what they say, they say only the young adults get drafted, but some of the other juveniles have suddenly gone missing. Sure some of them died, but not that many, that only happens after the enforcers cruise through.

They hang out on the other side of a dumpster as the enforcer coasts by. "Screw the sweet stuff, find some keys. Then we can have a place to recharge and find somethin' to sell," he says the the mech with the pale brown frame. Squeak…squeak…squeak… From the street there's a crackle and then a loud voice echoing through the quiet streets. Draft numbers 167 through 200 are advised to be at the municipal office no later than 0800 tomorrow morning.

They look at each other, the pale brown mech rolls his optics. The recording starts to repeat until there's a loud crack and the sound of glass shattering. A second later the cruiser's tires squeal and the engine revs as it tears away. There's another crack and laughter. Squeak…squeak…squeak… "Do you hear that?" he asks.

"You're up early, glitchy." Bright lights. Bright, bright lights. Bright lights shining on metal. The orderly is bigger than him, but he's slow and thinks he's stronger. He has a syringe.

Squeak….squeak…squeak…

Strapped to a gurney he can't do much, not even twist he head. One of the wheels is squeaky, the one on the right by his foot. That's the one. Bright lights pass overhead. Squeak…squeak…squeak…A little oil could fix that. A little grease. He wonders if energon will fix it. He'll find out as soon as he gets his hand loose. He giggles.

The squeaking stops because he's stopped. He blinks and the sidewalk is gone and the orderly is gone and the squeaking has stopped. He's not in the facility anymore. He's on the Ark on E deck. The ghosts scamper around him whispering to him but they haven't learned to take turns so their voices are just a soft jumble in his head. He stares at the lift and thinks about going back to his room. Turning away he starts walking in the other direction listening to his feet squeak on the floor talking to whispers only he can hear.

oOo

A/N: Second installment of Street True AU. If you haven't read Master's Apprentice, it won't matter too much. But you might be confused about some of the OCs and relationships and whatnot. With that being said, if you have a free afternoon/evening I recommend you read Master's Apprentice before delving into Tracks' story.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!