Operation Shutter.

[Agent Redmen]

Retrieval missions. They came about for numerous things; lost devices, useless tracking modules, and last but not least.. people. People who'd went missing, had been disappeared by means that didn't include the Agency's say so-- people who knew too much. This mission was concerning a single agent who held no true status, but hadn't at all been trained to keep his mouth shut; try as he might, Freidrich hadn't broken through that thick skull of his. Thus, without as much as a phone call or computerized report on his status, he was deemed a threat. The Agency didn't take threats lightly, obviously.

The agent was put into mission no sooner than he'd arrived for work, the sun was just barely creeping up above the tops of the skyscrapers and shedding light on the already bustling streets. He'd stood just outside of the facility, adjusting his com and hoodie.. the straps of a backpack that held very little more than a notebook, a picture of the subject in question, and things that were meant to be left behind to stage it as a possible suicide-- even if these guys weren't dirty when it came to cleaning up after themselves. They did, by all means, know Agent Jack. Knew he was on the brink of falling clear off the cliff, and never being seen breathing again.. perhaps, just a planting of evidence to make it feasible, and their hands would be clean.

Not to mention, it was only by seeing that the agent was alive and well during a particular outing of his, that had set this plan into full operation mode.

"Test," he agent said, pressing a hand to the piece barely noticeable in his ear. When a voice came through, he merely adjusted the volume. "Going mobile. Standby."

The walk was by no means a brisk one, and bypassed the utilization of taxi cabs. He stuck to the trail given almost as if he were on a track, driven by magnets below; it would've almost seemed uncanny, the way he walked, had he not blended beautifully with the flow of human traffic along the sidewalk that lead to the subway station. With his hands casually in his pockets, he waited at the turnstiles after purchasing a ticket, and boarded once the train screeched to a stop. For the entire ride, once the train lurched with momentum, the agent stood, holding loosely to a strap that hung from the top of the car.. and he didn't at all move until his known stop came to be.

He filed out nonchalantly, and even re-adjusted the straps of his backpack as if he were simply some college kid making his way to campus. But, he most definitely wasn't. And before he could reach the campus at all, he veered off onto a side street so that the black Blazer that had been planted could become an extension of his own ability. He let himself in, and dropped the visor down, and caught the key that had been left for him. "Wheels acquired," he said, with another press to the button that the device in his ear possessed. "I'll report after I've found the target." After a second's worth of static, a female voice gave him the go-ahead, and thus, he cranked the engine, and shifted into gear before veering into the slow flow of traffic. He just needed to get close enough to the destination, and from there on out, it'd be on foot. After all, a Blazer wouldn't fit in tunnels.

Thirty minutes later, - mainly due to traffic - he parked the Blazer in the parking lot of the next terminal's employee's area, and climbed out. The backpack was slid back into place, and he was on the move.. right down into the terminal, and he bypassed the checkpoints and turnstiles. The ticket booths and security. It was as if no one could truly see him, even if he were very real, and very much walking past them. They were paid, though, and that was how it should be when Dr. Antmann had paid top dollar to have them look the other way. It was the only way he was able to get down into the service tunnels without being called out due to his lack of uniform.

He maneuvered through them as if he'd done it a thousand times, without prompt, and without any form of GPS locating device, and very soonly had ascended the stairs to the last door. It was there he paused, and drew out one of the two Nighthawk suppressed 1911s and fired at the door to break the lock. Unconventional, perhaps, but he didn't have time to stand there and pick the lock as a rogue might have done. Letting himself in, he pushed the clothes aside and soon deposited himself right into the penthouse. "Clearing." the word was hushed, and from his vantage point he'd taken - just behind the bar, - he was waiting. Watching. Watching for a certain brown-haired, boyish-looking fool to bring his head into range.

[Chameleon]

And that was the problem with paying top dollar but not doing enough research. Yes, the rogue agent had left and come back to this particular loft apartment. But did anyone care to check to see if there was anyone ELSE in the apartment? Even if they had looked, chances were they would not have noticed the taller man coming and going. Cham had his ways of getting in and out undetected even to those who prided themselves on being hunters.

So when the agent was clearing himself, he probably wasn't aware of the eyes that were following his every move. No, Jack was not there right now. But the agent wasn't alone. It was his lucky day. He was going to get to face the Chameleon up close and personal. Hard to say how he did it but as the agent took a position, Cham appeared right in front of him as if dropping from the ceiling. He had time to smile ever so briefly before a set of brass knuckles were swung right at the agent's face.

To his credit, the agent responded but not nearly quick enough. He jerked his weapon to fire but Cham's hand swung up from underneath and snaked up to brush the arm out of firing range. The agent was trained for this and countered with his own elbow blow aimed at Cham's face. It was blocked and the agent was spun around and thrown over the bar. Cham came after him even as he caught up one of the long bar spoons. He pressed the advantage, a swinging round house kicked the gun out of the way and sent the agent stumbling backward.

The fight was up close and personal, fists and elbows flying. Blood spatter evidence later would be very interesting. But there came a turning point in every fight and soon Chameleon had the other agent at a disadvantage and then the seconds began counting down.

Cham used the bar spoon, red tip removed from the pointy end. The Agent rushed in and Cham spun, the blow coming from underneath the man's chin. The agent swung a fist, the spoon pierced his chin and drove easily upward into the man's head, popping out the top of his skull. The man stumbled back then sank to his knees, trying to overcome the moment and find that resolution. They were trained for that. Nothing could .. stop ... them.

Cham circled the man and stared down at him, eyes narrowing on him. He knew the kind and had an idea of who the source was for this particular assassin. Was it for him? Chameleon didn't think so. He had an idea of who the target actually was and how the agent had figured out where they were. That would be dealt with and very soon.

The statement was made though. The Blazer would be found later with the agent in the front seat with his hands cuffed to the steering wheel. His shirt fell slightly open to expose some carving on the flesh. Blood dripped down the man's neck and on his face was a Mardi Gras mask - a death mask. It was white and had blackened eyes. The lips were red and had a bit of red dripping down the side. When touched, that dripping red smeared. When the mask was taken off, the agents doing the discovery on the Blazer would find the agent's face had had the skin peeled off. His eyes were still in their sockets staring blindly ahead. The bar spoon was still stuck through the man's head from under his chin to the top of his head. And the carving on the man's chest? It was a little lizard.

A chameleon.

And the final punctuation to the message was a note pinned to the dead agent's jacket with only one word etched in blood upon it.

Mine

[Agent Redmen]

When the agent didn't report back as expected, needless to say, more were deployed; after all, there was a seamless amount of loopholes that permitted their numbers to be rather promising. They were everywhere and nowhere, all at the very same time. The only thing they had to go on, however, was the blinking tag on a map from the non-moving agent's tracker.

Two agents this time, were sent on a different sort of retrieval mission: to retrieve what was expected.. a dead agent.

They came across the Blazer, obviously, and the first to open the driver's door had taken a step back upon doing so.. and in only a second upon seeing the mask, he was quick to draw his phone from the chest pocket of his blazer. A single digit was pressed before it was lifted to his ear; the agent took the sideline, though the other took it upon himself to investigate further. The mask, he removed without a shred of empathy and only studied the missing face and the dead, staring eyes, with a tilt of his head. Robots. That's exactly what the two were like. He held the mask by the eye holes and continued, nudged the dead back in the seat and first saw the note pinned there with the 'MINE' written on it. It was only upon further realization that he spotted the carved lizard on the man's chest, and.. while it intrigued him, he was already well aware that Freidrich would be none too pleased.

The second agent was relaying the information through the cellphone as it came, and it was in a calm and quiet tone. The only other noise was white noise, a man yelling in German, coming from the receiver of the cell. And of course the distant sound of passing traffic..

[Chameleon]

Quite honestly, Chameleon didn't give a fuck if that twisted mother fucker was happy or not. In fact, he would be tickled right to the tips of his toes if he knew that Antmann was pissed off. It would at least make him feel a little bit better about having lost one of his favorite operating centers.

At the moment, Chameleon was on his way to find someone. Someone who was going to get his fucking ass kicked because the loft had been compromised.

Time to teach the kid a lesson.