Beacon down.

[Freidrich Antmann]

It'd been a few days yet, and the master-mind behind it all had all but forgotten about requesting the first subject's friend being watched by any means possible. Freidrich had become entirely wrapped up in his new candidate, and the progress that was being made; he had the young man unstrapped on this day. No blindfold, and no restraints necessary. The once-soldier sat in the empty, interrogation-like room silently, seemingly taking in his surroundings calmly-- much like one might expect a cat to do, when placed in a new environment. It was, of course, the next step of deprogramming; after you'd made them docile, you isolated them.. observed.. and waited for the signal that it was time to begin the manipulation.

For once, the man wasn't decked out in his lab coat, as there were no chemicals being handled.. nor was he at risk for potential body fluids being sprayed or otherwise spat in his direction. Simple jeans and a white dress shirt, with the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves cuffed and rolled to mid forearm. Still, there was no way around the fact that he reserved the mad look. Especially once the buzzer sounded and broke him from his nearly blank stare at the confined subject he'd been watching like a hawk.

"Was willst du jetzt?" he replied, after pressing the intercom button. "What?" Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't hired and kept the ones that spoke his native language. He preferred speaking it, and preferred those who could understand. It was frustrating-- tiring, at best, yet he released the button and waited without as much as glancing over his shoulder at whomever may have been standing just behind the steel door of the observation room.

"Sir, we've got a problem." The informant was back with more information, and apparently, it was none too good.

Freidrich muttered a string of curses, but pushed from his rolling seat to press his palm harshly down on the button that would disengage the locking mechanism and allow the man to enter. Bad news. Wasn't this lot capable of anything but bad news? He was beginning to doubt his own team. Then again, no one had said he had much faith in them, to begin with. They were merely there to do the work outside of the facility. He didn't as much as look over this time, when the informant stepped in, removing his beret.
"Sie können sprechen.." the man muttered, only half-interested in what he was about to be told. Call it.. ruined shock-factor, if you will. He already expected the news was bad, thus, it was just hearing which news was bad - and what it involved. "Tell me," Freidrich said, waving his hand, right before he reached across the controls to slowly dim the lights in the interrogation-like room he was so carefully keeping watch on.

"Well, Dr. Antmann, let me first start by confirming that you remember.." The young man paused, almost as if he thought he'd just put his foot into his mouth by even suggestion that Freidrich may have forgotten anything.

"I do not forget."

"Right, sir. The device has lost it's signal." He barely felt the need to explain what device; or, perhaps, he was attempting to prove his superior wrong by making him ask which he was speaking of. Not many would test Freidrich out-right and so obviously.

Freidrich didn't reply for a long moment, though squinted hard at the subject in the next room over who seemed not at all phased by the lowering of lights-- not until, of course, they were completely out and the room was incredibly dark. It would've been a surprise if anyone could've seen their hand five inches away from their face, in there, let alone that subject. If anything, Dr. Antmann seemed as if he were ignoring the newly given information concerning a certain device he'd ordered placed. When he rose from his seat, it was slow, and he went as far as to rake a hand through his hair before turning a cold stare on the informant who then immediately ditching his idea of putting the man through his little subconscious test. No one tested Freidrich.

"Und wie konnte das passieren? How? Why?" he asked, cooly.

"Apparently, it was tampered with. The beacon went off the map sometime this morning; we're unable to locate it. They found it." It was the most reasonable response he could give, and the most likely, given who had been tagged. Next time, maybe, they should've allowed him to tag him-- the others were useless as shit, with piss-poor aim, it seemed.

"Wunderbar. Sie schlagen immer fehl. Must I do this on my own?" Came the steady reply from the man with the messed up hair, who was now only a mere pace away from the informant.

"Sir, if I may.." The informant replied, quickly.

"You've done quite enough, haven't you? You can't even place a tracker, for fuck's sake. Lächerlich. Alle von Ihnen." Shaking his head, Freidrich returned back to his seat and turned his attention back to the controls he was slowly - but steadily - conforming. The young man in the interrogation room was incredibly quiet, and he was most thankful for it. Chances were, Dr. Antmann would have intentionally made him hurt right then, merely because he wasn't at all in a good mood anymore. "Humor mich," he suggested while reaching to slowly turn a slatted knob. Whatever it controlled, caused a slow, low-toned hiss that was even audible from where he and the informant stood, watching on. "What do you intend to do it about it, hm?"

The informant faltered at the sound of the gas being released; more than most likely it was a neurotoxin that would make the test subject hallucinate something awful. Even while he heard the doctor's words, he wasn't sure how to reply. "We're already on it; as soon as we've got a plan set in motion, you'll be the first to hear of it, sir."

"Sehr gut dann. This is your last chance, boy." Freidrich said with a sickening smile that never was given to the informant. "Dies könnte Ihr Ende." With his attention wholly on the glass, and the subject that was only visible now thanks to the cameras capable of infared and night vision, he breathed in a slow breath and tilted his head to the side to rest down upon his knuckles almost lazily, while waiting for results. "You do know what happens to those whom work for me, when their end comes.. ja?"

Shaken, the informant nodded once before he realized that the doctor was no longer looking at him, and seemingly had no intention to do so again. "Yes. Yes, sir." It meant death; no questions asked. One could not simply be fired from such a position.

Freidrich didn't reply for a long moment, but instead watched as his subject backed himself against the far wall of the interrogation room as if cornered by some imaginable beast. Pleased, he turned the knob once more to reduce the flow of gas into the room, and leaned back in his chair. "Also, bin ich davon ausgehen, dass es werden keine weitere Fehler? No more fuck ups?"

"Yes, sir."

The doctor then reached over and pressed his hand on the button that would, once again, unlock the door-- it was more than enough to signal that he was ready to be rid of his presence. "Dann verschwunden sein. Until you have your plan, stay out of my sights. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir." And with that, the informant left the room and replaced his beret.

"Gott Verdammte Idioten. Warum arbeiten sie für mich?" Freidrich shook his head, turning once to make sure that the door did lock back into place, and then placed his hand on the receiver of the off-white phone. He was contemplating activating an asset.. but, he'd just given the informant one last chance, had he not? Fingers drummed on the plastic material, then withdrew.

"Nein, noch nicht. Einer. Letzter. Zeit."