Hurrst laid his arms behind his head and sighed, taking in the sun, his cell phone on the small folding table next to him. Things were looking up to a degree, he'd called his wife, semi-reconcilled and told his kids he was working alongside the band of heroes from fictional universes all brought together for no particular reason, they'd had a fit and requested a dozen and one autographs he told them they couldn't have. They were crushed, until he told them he'd have to ask his supervisor first. It was a little white lie, but not like he was going to bother them with his bullshit, they had a world to save and shit. A shame he couldn't tell his kids that, they just assumed he was baby sitting them until the Pentagon could sort things out, obviously, the Pentagon didn't give two shits about returning them to where they came from instead, using them to fight threats nearly as random as the origins of the heroes.
Hurrst didn't quite like it, but his job paid the bills. And let him have occasional periods of leave on secluded beaches in southern California sipping drinks he couldn't even pronounce. The agent yawned, maybe he'd take a nap later. He could use one. He wondered how Malone was getting along, he hadn't heard from him in a while. Poor bastard.