Author Note: Feedback is much appreciated on all of my work. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1

The Tracker

It was 10:00 PM on the fringes of the city of Durban in South Africa. A storm was forming off the coast, but towards the countryside it was beginning to get very quiet. Outside the large, port city it had become calm, for the time being.

On this final stretch there was an old, dilapidated building. Inside a private office sat a single man, Jarred Ndiaye, who was pulling a late shift. A meticulous individual in both person, and nature he worked on subjects involving the locating of people. Ndiaye knew people very well. Whether his jobs were locating drug gangs, weapon dealers, or even a random tourist who'd managed to run astray Ndiaye could find them. For a price, of course.

A single light bulb hovered above his head, a small desk fan blowing on his shaved head. Mildew was beginning to form on some of his office walls, and spiders constantly hovered in the corner. Ndiaye's lack of organizational skills had constantly plagued him, but thus far he hadn't met a secretary, or housemaid that fit his liking. Even though he had dedicated his life to studying the social interactions of humanity he still often found himself incapable of dealing with others. Because of this he tried to think of people as lost and accounted for; never anything in-between. Such private tendencies also made him a lonely man, though he'd never admit to it.

His head tilted up as he heard the lock on his office door turn. A group of men were standing at his door in military garb. In the middle was a fair skinned white man of what Ndiaye believed to be British descent, his hair being red, but cut very short. What became obvious in his pose, and formal, yet relaxed pose, was that he was clearly the leader of the group.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jarred Ndiaye asked from behind his cluttered desk. Eyes widen as he noticed their currently shouldered weapons. "What are you doing here? I'm closed!"

Ndiaye's hand reached into his desk. Concealed within was a 44. Magnum revolver – just like the one Clint Eastwood used to have in those old Dirty Harry movies, which Ndiaye had happened to love watching when growing up. In the current state of being he could never be too safe. His work had led to many arrests, so if anyone ever found out he was the private contractor who led to those arrests things could get ugly.

The leader of the column raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, but that didn't make Ndiaye lower his guard.

"Good evening to you too, Detective Ndiaye. I am Commander Thompson, representing the MNU. Do you mind if I take a seat here?" He gestured to four foldable steel chairs in the corner of the office.

The Commander had bravado to him, but not so much that it overpowered the detective. The aura of someone who was confident in talking to people, but whose features showed he was plenty capable of dealing with problems in other manners if necessary.

"Go ahead…" Ndiaye replied, his hand not leaving its hold around the powerful weapon. If the commander or his men tried anything at least the detective would get one shot; one that would easily puncture his feeble desk, knocking the supposed commander out of his chair.

The commander pulled aside one of the foldable iron chairs, setting it in front of the detective's desk. He crossed his legs, right-over-left, and stared at Ndiaye in a pleasant, non-threatening manner. Ndiaye didn't like it. A smile was a very mysterious gesture of human nature for it had many potential meanings. Was it the grin of a friend or shark?

"Thank you ever so kindly for your hospitality Mister Ndiaye. Of course I'm not here to admire your furniture."

Mock sincerity did not reach Ndiaye in a positive manner.

"The company would like to ask of your assistance. Your skills as a detective have drawn quite a bit of attention to your name in the region. Enough to impress us all the way up at the top, and we would like to offer you a job."

The young black man leaned back in his chair, placing fingers to his chin. "As flattered as I am that you Americans can take not of a lowly native I have to say there are lots of missing people here in Africa. Your company is not the only group of potential clients I have available. What makes your case so much better than the others?"

"The MNU knows that you have a perfect track record in regards to finding people. Surely you get bored with this. How do you feel you would fair with other game?" The British accent had a very charismatic tone that none could deny at least feeling inclined to listen to. "Get down and dirty in some of the more hard pressing areas of trouble. We want to challenge men of your nature; give them something they can really sink their teeth into. And make a large profit out of it."

"Okay, fine, Mister MNU. Tell me who it is you want me to find? Rebel leader? Thief? Present me with your case. EN-lighten me, before I grow tired of this visit."

"You misunderstand me, Mister Ndiaye. We're after someone more than human, and our superiors think you're just the man to do it…" He paused giving the detective a long stare.

Silently Ndiaye spun a pencil between his fingers looking up a tad.

"You do of course know what I am referring to, Mister Ndiaye…?"

Tension was broken as Ndiaye began to laugh uncontrollably. "You want me to search for fook'in prawn? Do I look like lion tamer? I didn't notice I was carrying my whip today!"

Quickly he noticed that look of intensity was still present on the Commander's face. He swiftly returned to his normal, curt tone. "There nothing I can do for non-human detection. My assumptions and processes of work are based on human culture, motivation, and mindset. I have honed my skill on human conduct since a young age…These prawn- I haven't a clue what the fuck they are! I wouldn't know where to begin with them. Maybe your employer should keep a closer eye on them so as you don't have to come bothering locals every time you lose one of those things!"

"You haven't listened to my whole deal Ndiaye." A look of stern anger crossed the commander's face, but this time Ndiaye was no affected by it.

"What deal? You are here wasting my time!" Ndiaye waved him off. "It's too late, and I want to go to bed."

Casually the commander flicked his wrist, pointing towards the detective. The men behind the seated commander lifted a box, shoving it on the African detective's desk.

"Hey, what is this you are doing!" he shouted as many of his folders and evidence for his current cases was knocked off the desktop, carelessly tumbling to the ground.

"Take a look inside the box, Ndiaye. I think what you find will interest you."

Grumbling to himself Ndiaye picked up a razor blade, easily cutting through the top of the box. "MNU, pah! You all just like shitting on all of us; like our time isn't valuable. You should also know that no means –"

He stopped himself, pulling a small model made from scrap from the box. It was shaped as a traditional, simplistic sailboat. A hull made from two Coke cans, a sail of reused fabric...Sitting on the side of the boat was two clearly human figures constructed from aluminum foil. He also could make out that the figures were sloppy to a degree due to a creator's apparently large hands that would have made such a task difficult.

"What on earth is this?" he said, looking to the commander.

"I would say it's a boat." Was the reply, commander grinning in a smug sort of way.

"No! Where did you find this? What is the origin?" Ndiaye said, instantly running a hand through the rest of the box.

"District 10, my friend—hidden away out of sight; I only saw it because I…I'm what you would call an enthusiast for my work." Another grin appeared this one more sinister than the previous expressions.

Ndiaye pulled out a copy of the New York Times, now wearing latex gloves on both hands in order to not contaminate anything. "How did this get so far out? Americans don't live near 10..."

"That would be your job, Ndiaye. We want you to take these things and put them together for us."

Ndiaye's hands didn't return to his gun. Instead his fingers interlocked as he went into a state of thought. Why these things were in an alien group did intrigue him a great deal…but that would also require him to leave the city for field work. Never had he been much for travel, heat, or the wild in general. But he'd also never turned down a deal of this nature.

"What is this contract you offer me for this prawn?"

"A million in American dollars, just for your time," the commander said, grinning at Ndiaye's shocked expression. "Two more if you find this guy."

Bemused and exhilarated at the same time Ndiaye places his face in both hands giving a sigh from surprise, not of frustration. "When do we leave? Only a mad man would turn that down," he said with a laugh. "Next time you want me, mention the price first!"

"We leave right now if all possible…" He looked over and noticed a distressed look on Ndiaye's face. "Don't worry. You tell us what you need from home and we'll get it for you."

"No, no—I have my stuff here!" He said, really not wanting anyone to go around his house.

Quickly he shoved several sketch books, pencils, pens and other office supplies into a bag. His lucky sack had been with him back when he'd first done a field investigation, so it was natural that it should be taken again…also when they weren't looking he snuck in his revolver with a few extra rounds.

"A man of action in need of little supplies," laughed the Commander. "I hope you don't mind helicopters."

Nydia paused looking up in confusion. This made the commander laugh.

"What helicopter?"