Agent Marshall

That's why we're here.

The brass wants us to sort it out once and for all to see if Bellamy itself is the issue, or if this instance is actually the entire anomaly.

You two done bitching at each other like middle school girls?

Blanchard asks with a laugh.

And to answer your initial question, Marshal, no, we haven't seen the anomaly or instance or whatever it is.

If SCP-8188-A were here, we'd report.

Hey, I'm just trying to keep us all alert and awake.

Marshal yawns.

I freaking hate stakeouts.

Same.

Agreed.

The comms go silent as the three agents wait at their posts, watching the street, hunting for the instance while trying to look like they are definitely not Foundation agents on a stakeout.

Blinking to keep the late afternoon drowsiness at bay, Marshall leans a shoulder against the brick building that makes up one half of the alleyway he's staked out in.

The brick is old and rough, and he can feel it through the old sweatshirt he's wearing.

It leaves the assignment, allows them to dress down instead of having to don the black suits that Foundation agents typically wear out in the field.

Marshall knows why he and the other two were assigned the mission.

It wasn't hard to figure out.

He didn't even need to run it by his doctor mother.

They are the three youngest looking agents on site.

Marshall can barely grow a beard.