The break room, from the outside, looked like something ordinary. If, somehow, a person had managed to sneak into the site, avoid the armed guards and motion detectors, and not get caught up in some horrible monstrosity's escape attempt, they would have thought it was from some office. It had a coffee table, a few chairs, a board game cabinet, and some kitchen equipment. However, underneath the coffee table was a button that would hermetically seal every entrance with an inch of steel. The board game cabinet, along with containing Monopoly, also had medical equipment in the Operation box, backup batteries and flashlights, and various religious manuscripts. The kitchen area had cyanide pills in one drawer, an escape tunnel in the oven, gas masks in the pantry, and communications equipment in the fridge. The chairs were just normal chairs.

In one of these chairs was an obviously uncomfortable janitor, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He sipped it slowly, steam floating off the brown liquid. His badge, connected to a lanyard around his neck, read "Marcus Pically, Janitorial Staff, Level 1 Class C". It was obvious that he was new to all of this. He looked at two researchers talking, unnerved by how they were talking about the horrors, that he had just learned about, as if they were some sort of common knowledge. He sipped his coffee again, comforted by the familiarity of it.

Marcus was a recent hire by the Foundation. Fresh out of employment at Capsin Accounting, he was looking for something easy to pay the bills. One morning, when he was sipping a cup of coffee in his apartment, someone knocked on his door. Getting up to answer it, he found that the deliverer had left, leaving only their package. A flyer with the words in bold, "HIRING". Some company, Seagram Cleaning Products, was looking for janitorial staff.

Marcus hated that flyer. Once he learned about the Foundation's true purpose, he wished he had never gotten it. Sleep had been a thing of the past for him, being kept awake by nightmares of some of the images they had shown him. And they were supposed to be some of the safer ones.

There was a cough across from him, and Marcus looked up. It was one of the other janitors, the oldest in fact. He smoked a cigarette slowly, his cleaning cart to the side of the room next to Marcus's. "So you're the new guy." He looked over Marcus, having an air of comfortably around him. Again, like the researchers, he seemed unfazed by the horrors he shared air with. "I'm Buck. Nice to meet you Marcus. You get an assignment yet?"

"No, I'm supposed to train with you." The new hire said, studying Buck. His uniform had seen things, it covered in stains, a few that looked suspiciously like blood. Though he supposed it was going to be an eventuality working here. Buck seemed at ease still, the senior worker scratching the side of his muttonchops. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." He looked at Marcus, who took a moment to think. "How are you so calm? I mean, I know they are hiding stuff, they have to-" He glanced at the researchers. "The worst thing here can't just be some weird animals."

Buck smiled softly and took a drag, smoke floating hazily into the air. "You get used to it." He said with a smile, cigarette in hand. "The death, fear, you push it aside and do your job." He put it back in his mouth and looked Marcus in the eyes. "That's how I get by."

Marcus was silent for a minute, before speaking quietly. "It's just…they give us two minutes for orientation and expect us to survive twenty years."

"It's not hard to survive twenty years. I've been doing this for twenty five, still have all my limbs. You just need to keep your head on straight. No matter the situation. After a test, routine cleaning, hell, a containment breach, you have to stay cool."

The alarms went off at that moment, blaring. The intercom crackled to life, the collected members of the break room listening to whatever the voice had to say.

"We have a breach of SCP-4103, I repeat, we have a breach of SCP-4103. Containment protocols are in effect, please-" There was a smash over the intercom, and a few panicked yelps and gunshots. Then, only the sound of screaming and the rip of flesh, followed by chewing.

Buck stood, sighing and dusted off his pants, adjusting his hat. "So, first lesson of working here. Janitors are the only ones with access, besides site admins, to close air vents. That means that we have to go through them in order to stop anything from coming in. Not gonna lie, we may end up like him." He pointed to the intercom, where only quiet whimpers could be heard. "Now, we need to go to control, which is near Cafeteria A." Pulling out a map of the facility, he spread it on the table, taking a pen. "That means that if we're here, control is…" He drew a line through the air ducts, until finally he stopped at the control room. "Here. About three hundred meters of vents. With an angry anomaly involved." He put out his cigarette, smoke rising up from the ashes. "Grab one of the first aid kits." He went over to the kitchen and got out two white capsules, wrapping them in napkins. "And a Bible, if you're that type of person." Marcus, pale, nodded and went over, collecting the kit. Handing it to Buck, who attached it to his belt, they stood underneath a loose tile in the ceiling. Moving the table over, Buck took the map and got on top, pushing open the tile. Climbing in, he pulled Marcus up, the only illumination from their flashlights and from the room below. A quick thumbs up was given to a researcher, who nodded and pressed the button underneath the table, and steel slid over the opening. The only noises now were their own breaths and the sound of wind gently blowing past.

"Ready for some hands on experience?"