The steps to the inner-city home were nice, well maintained and probably taken care of by some lucky sod that managed to land a job cleaning the nice areas of town, a cushy job in the modern age.

The amount of times that Tracker had been to these areas, so close to the homes of the most powerful, would be almost uncountable. Not something that many could brag of, and not that many would want to brag about, for fear of being stabbed by the person they were bragging to.

The home looked new, all white walls and wood floors, similar to the homes all down the street, but just dissimilar enough that the buyers of the home felt like they had something unique.

Tracker climbed the few steps up to a heavy wooden door and gave it her best ‘important news’ door knock. She waited a moment, nothing seeming to happen behind the door, and just before she prepared herself to give it another shot, she heard the soft thuds of footsteps.

The door cracked open, and the slightest part of wat looked like a boy’s face revealed itself. Asian in appearance, and carrying some extra baby fat, you could almost misconstrue him to be as young as early teens.

“Can I help you?” Walter asked, his eyes nervously wandering over the woman who had suddenly appeared on his doorstep. It wasn’t that she was out of place, being dressed in a very well fitted suit, but more that he hadn’t had anyone knock on his door for any other reason than to deliver food or a package he or his parents had ordered.

“Walter Suen? I’ve come to talk to you today on behalf of the AASAU, could I borrow some of your time?” Tracker spoke evenly and quickly. Wandering around these parts without an identifiable reason was a good way to get yourself put in jail, guilty until proven innocent.

“Oh… Uh, okay. Sure.” The boy, who was really a young man of 20. Everyone in these parts had such nice and clear records, it made Tracker’s job all that much easier.

Walter hesitantly opened the door further, moving aside so that Tracker was able to stride into the home. The inside of the home did nothing to diminish the obvious wealth of those that lived there, the land itself was enough to make anyone balk, the cost of the house and all inside it was another whole kettle of fish. There was enough linktech in here to sink a battleship, more than Tracker had ever seen anywhere but inside of a Linked’s or a bona fide military base.

There were screens everywhere, computers littered around the place for easy access, she presumed, top of the line mindlinks, all sorts of gizmos and gadgets that are really more for fun than functionality. She looked to the young man, guiding her through the living room towards what she assumed was a dining room, totally unperturbed by the sheer amount and class of technology that surrounded him.

If she didn’t know what his family was like, and who they worked for, she would be suspicious he was a tech Linked himself. She knew though, that the cost of all of this was much more than it seemed.

They arrived in a large dining room, the table extending to hold probably between ten and twelve people, but only three spots on the table were set, all clumped at the end closest to the entranceway. She thought that it was endearing in a way, that even though there was all this money and tech around the home, they kept it simple and intimate when it came to dinner.

Walter motioned for Tracker to sit, and she did. He disappeared into the conjoining kitchen, and a moment later he returned with boiling water, coffee, teabags, milk and cups. The man knew how to treat a guest. She was almost surprised that a servant of some kind wasn’t doing it for him. Walter sat at the other side of the table and quietly made himself a cup of tea while Tracker opted for coffee.

“So, the AASAU? Why have they come calling?” Walter said, keeping a confident visage, though he was fiddling with the teabag nervously. Tracker finished making her coffee and took a sip before answering.

“We know that you registered with the Australian Association of Superhuman Ability Users a few months ago you were classed as an Undefined.” Walter nodded, but hung his head a little. Tracker almost chuckled. If only he knew.

“Yeah. They said they would get in touch with me if needed.” Walter continued, his fiddling with the teabag only increasing, slowly ripping the tag itself from the string.

“Well, this is us getting in touch.” Tracker smiled, though it wasn’t quite one of kindness. Maybe an official or PR friendly smile. Walter wore a surprised look, and he quickly discarded the tag that he’d ripped off ready to ask a million questions but tamed himself.

“Then you are looking for an Undefined?” He said, his face asking the question ‘what team would want an undefined?’. Thankfully, Tracker had a clean answer for that.

“A group of undefined.” Walter’s eyes glazed over as he looked into himself and a little, dopey grin grew on his face before he quickly tamed his expression.

“Who is funding this team?” Tracker gave no answer to that. Not that she really knew anyways. Though enough digging had given her a good idea. Walter averted his eyes from her fake smile. He wanted to know, to be sure, but the idea of a team of undefineds was something that he couldn’t help but find the allure in.

When he had first become a linked, he had dreamed of exercising his newfound power, and truly living free once more. But he was undefined, dangerous and unreliable. He was a liability once again, and even his life insurance had gone through the roof.

“Do you want to come meet your team?” Tracker said, goading him with an answer that he was only just forming.

Walter just nodded.

She was back, walking through the stench of the slums. She was more comfortable here than in the inner-city, at least down here the common thug was weak enough to crush with her pinky finger. There were no common thugs in the inner-city, only scary bastards who had more power and money than they knew what to do with.

This time, in her pursuit of more of their kind, she had somehow found her way to the less reputable part of town. Not that anywhere else in the slums were any more reputable, but the ‘red light’ district was definitely a hotspot of general degeneracy. She was sort of surprised that she hadn’t been attacked yet, maybe it was the suit.

Tracker walked through the doors of this fine establishment and was immediately hit with so many smells that stank of sex and partying that it almost made her loose balance.

She surveyed the room, just taking in the numerous patrons laying down whacked out of their mind on some drug the street managed to cook up, prostitutes downright having sex on top of a table. Alcohol being drunk and spilt just about everywhere and in every which way.

Tracker could honestly say that she had never been inside one of these brothel strip clubs, but she was already regretting it.

She held her breath as she walked in, further, eyes scanning for who she was looking for. In hindsight, it wouldn’t have taken much looking.

Who she was looking for was currently dancing on an elevated platform in front of a good two dozen patrons, who were all too content to throw money at her, and her graciously receiving in whatever lewd way she could think up on the spot. Why she would have such a forgiving crowd also wasn’t a hard question to answer.

Her skin danced with colour, a lovely shade of pink flitted across her skin, slowly increasing the amount of pink as more patrons foisted money upon her increasingly scantily clad form. It was so obvious that she was a Linked that she had turned it into a marketable trait. A fantasy of the powerful submitting themselves to your hard-earned dollars.

A fantasy it was indeed.

Tracker approached, weaving through the crowd expertly. It wasn’t long before the dancer saw her coming, and she continued to dance, seemingly seeing nothing at all wrong with the approaching woman in a very expensive suit.

She sat in an open seat, front and centre. The woman glanced at her again, slowly making her way around the onlooking crowd, giving each and every one a little bit of a private moment, the length of that moment was contingent on how much of your money lined her, surprisingly still on, bra.

Then the woman finally locked eyes with Tracker.

“What brings a woman of your stature down here, sugar?” The surrounding crowd chuckled a bit, as if listening to an in-joke. Tracker watched as the young woman moved alluringly towards her, showing her body conservatively enough that it was still alluring, and liberally enough that it was erotic.

Tracker reeled the young woman in with a curt ‘come hither’ motion with her finger. The woman drew near, and Tracker whispered into her ear.

“Aaliyah Flinn. The AASAU wants you.” Aaliyah’s face went stony and impassive for a moment, hidden from the view of the other patrons, before putting on a seductive smile and returning to dancing without a word. It was another two minutes of Aaliyah dancing around the elevated platform until she reached Tracker again.

The expression on Aaliyah Flinn’s face amounted to ‘why are you still here?’. And thus, Tracker was given no alternative. She sighed as she watched the dancer have more and more money stuffed into her limited undergarments, and she resigned herself to make a scene.

“Aaliyah Flinn. The AASAU wants you.” All sound suddenly died in the room.

Aaliyah herself went about as stiff as a board, before turning around with a smile on her face.

“I’m sorry guys, it seems like I’ve run out of time today! Hope to see you all on Thursday?” She said as she quickly retreated to the back room. The rest of the group that surrounded Tracker all turned to her with questioning, if not hostile, gazes.

“Flinn?” One of the patrons who had been tipping generously said, more surprised than angry. Tracker didn’t even bother with nodding in the affirmative and began to walk towards the door of the brothel.

The stench filled air outside the brothel was hardly better than the inside, but Tracker found it preferable. At least it didn’t contain the stench of sex. Or much of it anyways. She rounded the building, walking down the dingy alleyway until she found an unassuming door. A moment later Aaliyah, hastily dressed in more modest clothing, was quite literally kicked out the door by a large male leg, the door slamming behind her.

Tracker slowly walked forwards, unconcerned by the woman’s condition.

“Or should I have called you Trix?” Tracker couldn’t help but be smug from time to time. The moment she spoke, however, Aaliyah jumped to her feet, her skin suddenly morphing into a hue of bright red.

“What the hell was that?” She said, her voice low with anger.

“That was the AASAU’s wake up call, Aaliyah.” This answer obviously didn’t improve the situation as a fist was promptly thrown towards Tracker’s face. She managed to get her hand up in front of her face in time to block, but she could feel her bones creaking and her feet being pushed back over the concrete ground.

“I’ll remind you, Aaliyah, that attacking an AASAU Official is an offense punishable with upwards of five years in prison.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you’re a damn contractor and you know it.” Aaliyah growled, the bright red receding to a not so violent sickly green. Tracker was honestly surprised that Aaliyah had noticed, or knew the distinction, but knowing her history it should have been expected.

“The AASAU is collecting a group of Undefineds.” Is all she said before Aaliyah began to speak.

“I’m not even going to bother asking who is funding it, because there is almost no way you were told, though there’s a good chance you have an idea. Not like you’d tell me though.” Her skin started shifting to a shade of blue that gently pulsated.

“Indeed.” Tracker added.

“Name and code number will just result in being given a codename.” Aaliyah snarked.

“Tracker.” Tracker added.

“Likelihood that the team that this creates will be dragged into a whole lot of politics?” Aaliyah asked, almost without snark.

Tracker just snorted.

“Fuck, fine. Take me to your leader like a good doggy.” Aaliyah started walking down the street, turning to see Tracker with her eyebrow raised.

“Come on Tracker,” Aaliyah said, patting her legs and whistling as if calling a dog and when Tracker began moving, rolling her eyes all the while, she added, “good girl!”

After only a few minutes of walking Aaliyah sighed.

“Didn’t even get to keep the tips.”