Monster Exchange Program Read online

  Monster Exchange Program (MXP)

  Mark Albany

  Mark Albany

  Copyrighted Material.

  MONSTER EXCHANGE PROGRAM (MXP) Copyright (c) 2019 by Mark Albany. Book design and layout copyright (c) 2019 by Mark Albany. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are product’s of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from Mark Albany.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Foreword

  I hope you enjoy this book. It is strictly for adults, but if you are 18+ and enjoy the read, come join me and two other authors in our Facebook group, HAREM NATION.

  We look forward to discussing our books with you!

  1

  When people thought of the FBI, they usually envisioned bulky shitkickers with stenciled windbreakers transporting high-security witnesses, taking down the bad guys, and generally doing their damnedest to keep the country safe. Hell, I’d thought the same thing when they accepted my application into the New Agent Program.

  Before I’d joined, I’d always assumed the Bureau was flush with cash. I guess it was because as the FBI’s role expanded domestically, particularly in light of the off-the-books program I was involved in, they went on a hiring binge. Truth is, even though they spoiled us at Quantico, once you graduated, they became as penny-pinching as your local dry-cleaners.

  They wouldn’t even spring for a plane ticket from Dallas to Los Angeles, simply handed me a bus ticket and told me to pack my bags for my first assignment. Sure, there were still people out there who didn’t like seeing people like me on planes, complaining that I made them feel uncomfortable. I guess it was my size. I’m a big fella, a little under seven feet tall, and I have a grayish complexion and two of the gnarliest tusks you’ve ever seen sprouting from my lower mouth. I have troll blood in me, you see, and being half-troll sometimes spooks people. At least the Bureau had the good sense to give me the mission reports to read during the long-ass bus ride. A trip made longer by the absence of Wi-Fi and generally terrible cell reception for about ninety percent of the way. Having something to occupy my mind was a plus.

  Still, getting off the cramped and smelly bus after almost thirty hours on the road was the best feeling I’d had in a long while, although it was immediately trumped by the ecstatic feeling of stretching in the meager light cast by the streetlamps dangling from the front of the bus depot.

  “Hey, keep it moving, tusk-face,” came a low, growly voice from behind me. I turned to see the surly driver eyeing me through his sunglasses, his wrinkled and browned skin telling of many long hours spent behind the wheel of buses or similar vehicles, bringing those of lesser means from one point in the country to another.

  I couldn’t help running my tongue over the right tusk coming up from behind my bottom lip, and offering him a one-fingered salute, not bothering to verbally tell him where he could shove his petty insults. The man backed away from the door, grumbling softly under his breath, somehow thinking that I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  People forgot how keen troll hearing was. I paused just to drive the point home, making it look like I was staring back at him, but instead studying my reflection in the windows. Short black hair, a couple of inches longer than was allowed during training at the Academy, was pushed back off my forehead. My ears weren’t long like full trolls’ tended to be, but there was a hint of a point to the top. My skin did have the grayish quality that the rest of my kind had, with dark eyes shaped like fat almonds, and the aforementioned ivory tusks jutting out from my bottom lip. They could keep on growing for most of my life, but as of right now, they just about reached the height of my nose. They worked as a quick way to tell how old the troll in question was, but they were a little different in half-trolls, and the influences of human DNA were still being studied.

  Still, I wasn’t going to stick around the bus stop my whole life. I had places to be, people to see, and a job to do. My assignment was to enroll at a local college that had been experiencing some unusual incidents, including more than one missing young girl, and find out whether there were any supernatural forces involved. There had been others like me at various universities around the country, part of what some called the MXP, the Monster Exchange Program, which was a federal diversity initiative. My cover involved enrolling in college and then getting the lay of the land to report back to my superiors at the Dallas field office. Sounded like a pretty sweet gig to me at the time.

  I shouldered my duffel bag and backpack, where I had my monster hunting gear hidden—including Dead Sea salt, vibration emitters, a magic blade, and more. Most of the students wouldn’t have a clue what they were looking at if they found the stash, and those in the know were likely to be the ones I was hunting. Rolling my shoulders one more time to remind the driver how much trouble he would be in if he tried to mess with me, I headed over to an area where a group of taxis was all lined up and waiting for newcomers who needed a ride into the city.

  I wasn’t looking for just any taxi, though. My mind was set on a particular one. The taxi number had been in the mission files, and I had committed it to memory, along with a horde of other details. As confidential informants went, being a taxi driver was like hitting the jackpot. People didn’t really care about what was said in the presence of some anonymous driver, especially if he was quiet, and they talked about all kinds of shit. And trolls were known for having traps for memories. People had a misconception, thinking they weren’t smart because they tended to be larger and talked slower with a kind of slur. That was mostly due to the development of their jaws, of course.

  Half-trolls weren’t much different, and the one waiting for me in the cab looked smarter than most. You could tell by the look in his bright yellow eyes. Still, he looked a little silly, crammed into a vehicle that clearly wasn’t meant to accommodate his impressive size.

  “Hey there, stranger,” I said, peeking into the passenger window. “Think you can give me a ride?”

  “I don’t know,” the half-orc grumbled, his deep voice almost vibrating the whole car. “Can I?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on, man. It’s me.”

  “How do I know?”

  “You see another seven-foot-tall motherfucker around here?”

  The orc smirked. “Sorry, kid, but I have to do it before I can let you in.”

  I knew what he was waiting for. He wanted to confirm who I was. There had been a sign and countersign system mentioned in the files I’d read. Signs and countersigns had long been a staple of domestic intel tradecraft , but that didn’t mean they weren’t antiquated as hell. I let my head drop in surrender for a few seconds before looking back up. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? Hope the nights are just as beautiful.”

  “You should see it on the full moon,” the driver said, grinning and unlocking the door. “Okay, big guy. Hop in.”
/>   I sighed, pulled the door in the back open and tossed my bags in before taking my place on the shotgun seat next to Stu, the driver, one of the FBI’s best West Coast informants.

  “I’m Stu,” the driver said, offering his massive hand.

  “I know,” I replied, shaking his hand firmly. “Nate. Nate Ellison.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nate,” Stu grumbled, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. “Sorry about the mistrust back there. After the skin-changer scare they had last year, the Bureau is tightening up security.”

  “Right back at you,” I replied, leaning the seat back a little as we drove off. “Don’t worry about it. Can’t be too safe these days.” I knew what he was talking about, of course. Even fresh out of the Academy, I had heard tales of how DNA tracers were required for all field agents to keep them from being infiltrated by the damn shifters, supernatural creatures that could morph into men, women, and all kinds of things in between.

  “Where am I taking you?” Stu asked. He apparently hadn’t been briefed on the whole of the mission.

  “USC campus,” I replied, looking at the city around us as we drove through. Los Angeles was one of those cities that people liked to say was full of mystery and fun when they talked about it, even if the reality of the place rarely fulfilled those expectations. It was a place revolving around the entertainment industry, where, as someone once said, lots of promises are made, but few are ever kept.

  “Where you from, kid?” Stu asked, bringing my mind back to the here and now.

  “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you Stu?” I replied as he shrugged his massive shoulders innocently.

  “Not local, then,” Stu replied with a chuckle. “You have the accent of someone from the East Coast, though. I have some family in Jersey, so I thought I’d ask.”

  I opened my mouth, about to tell the half-orc to mind his own business, but after thinking about it, wondered what the point would be in keeping irrelevant secrets between us? I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me, so we might as well have a civilized conversation.

  “Grew up in South Boston, actually,” I said, nodding gently. “They took a lot of us in there after the Breach. My tribe ended up being one of those that actually worked out in the area.”

  “Huh, no kidding,” Stu replied. “My family originally settled up in Maine. Folks thought they weren’t good for anything but farm work—good with the horses, you know—but as it turns out, a lot of the second generation are starting to get it going in the universities, even though there are a lot of assholes who don’t like that.”

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked, turning to face the half-orc. His features clearly pegged him as a second-generation, and so far, there were only two generations. The Breach—the rift in the universe that had forced humans and various non-humans, including monsters, together—hadn’t happened that long ago. Nobody had quite figured out how the Breach occurred, but it had, and once it closed, my ancestors and Stu’s were stuck in the land of mortals for good.

  “Helping my little sister pay her tuition,” Stu replied. “She’s going to be a doctor, that crazy kid. I’ll get in on it with her helping me once she gets her degree.”

  “Cool,” I replied. “But you could get a job as pretty much anything out there. I’ve seen that a lot of movies are taking on you troll-folk as extras, and even putting some in really flashy spots on TV.”

  “Those are slow-burn jobs, Nate,” Stu explained. “I need the money right now, not five years from now when I make it big on either the big screen or the little one. This job pays well enough, and people are sufficiently intrigued by being driven around by a half-orc that they don’t usually notice that I’m ripping them off. They probably think I’m too dumb to outsmart them, and if I’m ever caught, I just put my slur on a little harder and make it out as an honest mistake.”

  A hint of a smile touched my features. At least he was honest about his shady business dealings, although I caught myself checking the meter to make sure he was only charging me for the one ride.

  I could understand why he came out here to work. It was the same reason there was a lot more of his kind wandering the streets. Half-orcs like him were in large supply, many full orcs, too—definitely more than trolls. There were also a variety of skin-changers, drow, fairies, and more making their living in this city. I even caught a glimpse of a couple of fork-tails with delivery packages in their claws. California, being a progressive paragon, had some of the loosest laws when it came to what people these days called the Breach Monsters. A lot of people were against the use of that particular moniker, but I didn’t mind it much. In a lot of cases, it did kind of apply. ‘Monsters’ was a broad enough categorization that covered all the different species involved, so it made things a little easier. When talking to humans, anyway.

  “Besides,” Stu continued, leaning back in his seat as we reached the on-ramp, the snail-paced traffic giving way to a packed yet quickly-moving eight-lane highway, “the coin I make as a driver is small potatoes compared to what the FBI—and your Myths and Monsters Branch—pays for the information I sell them. Not only that, but your boys in the Bureau make sure I stay in business. Running protection for me and paying me on top of that… I must be pretty important to them. To you.”

  “And yet you’re still trucking a newbie across town,” I pointed out. I was surprised that Stu actually knew about M&M, the Myths and Monsters Branch at the FBI that I was part of. We were an off-the-grid element, a unit within the Bureau organized to assist in various crimes that involved monsters and the like.

  “And getting paid for it,” Stu laughed. “Don’t think that I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Your boss down at the Dallas field office told me to make sure you get settled and get to know the city you’re operating in. He didn’t say anything about giving you free rides.”

  “That’s fair, I guess,” I replied, cracking the window open and closing my eyes for a moment as the warm breeze coming in hit my face. I still wasn’t sure why anyone chose to settle in this place. I felt the same about Las Vegas, where I had spent the last couple of weeks of my training to run a couple of mock operations under substantial supervision. The fact that humans chose to settle in a couple of deserts, places that were rapidly running out of water, was as mysterious as the Breach itself.

  I narrowed my eyes, scoping a couple of posters plastered to the fronts of a brace of buildings, including one for another Warcraft film. How many of them had there been? Ten? Fifteen? The goddamn flicks took off like wildfire when they started using actual orcs to play the parts of the members of the Horde. Trolls like myself hadn’t been so lucky, other than as background. Half-trolls? No chance—not that I had any interest in that.

  “So,” Stu said, as the period of silence threatened to drag on interminably. “What did the FBI send you here to do? I mean, it’s not like they would just send a newbie on a solo mission like this unless there were some mitigating circumstances to help them along, right?”

  Peering over at him, a small smirk touched my lips. Tapping idly at the tip of my right tusk with my fingers, I shook my head. “Nope. That’s not going to happen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Stu asked, taking his eyes off the road to watch me.

  “You made it abundantly clear that we’re not friends, only business associates, and maybe not even that,” I replied, taking a moment to inspect the indentation that my tusk had left on my forefinger. “You’re not even going to give me this ride for free. Why on Earth would I talk about an ongoing investigation with you?”

  Stu didn’t answer, trying to figure out what kind of angle I was working. He was smart, I knew that much, but he was overthinking this. My angle, if that was the right word for it, was simply greed.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said, tilting my head and smirking. “Restart the meter, and I’ll fill you in on the basics.”

  Stu realized what I was after, and chuckled. “And here I thou
ght that trolls were a little limited in the math department.”

  “Stereotypes are bullshit,” I said. “You, of all people, should know that. Besides, I’m only half-troll.”

  “Your old lady?”

  “A shamaness.” I didn’t feel the need to add that she was also a bit of a war troll. Shamaness carried enough of its own baggage.

  Stu whistled.

  “She’s a certified badass,” I added.

  “They all are. It’s in those long fucking fingers they got.”

  “Wand-like.”

  Stu nodded. “In the next life, I wanna come back as a spell-slinger.”

  “Thankfully, she didn’t raise an idiot for a son,” I said.

  “No, she did not,” Stu rumbled as he reached across me and, with the press of a button, restarted the meter. “So, why does the Myths and Monsters Branch want a young half-troll like you heading up an operation all on your own? What are you anyway, twenty-three, twenty-four?”

  “I’m not heading up anything,” I quickly pointed out. “The chief’s still calling the shots. I’m simply running point. And I’m twenty-one, by the way.”

  “Well, what do they want you running point for, anyway?” Stu said, starting to sound annoyed.

  I decided to stop being facetious. “Look, several girls have vanished on campus and the Bureau wants some answers. Campus security is being difficult, of course, and denying that any disappearances occurred, despite a handful of witness accounts to the contrary. It’s a private university, very distinguished and exclusive, so getting anyone in without tipping security off about it and having them bury any investigation in litigation is off the table. Getting an agent inside would be difficult, except that just this year they opened up a handful of scholarships for non-humans, and I made the cut. On my own merit, I should say. So, I’m going to be the inside man for the operation.”