It says a lot about the current state of the Major's organization that the knocking of an unexpected and unannounced visitor at the door of his most vital sanctum is not met by alarms, running boots, or bullets. Instead, after a lengthy pause a slot is slid open in the steel door for the visitor to be viewed through.

"Ah, it's a sinister figure in a trenchcoat. The goggles are a nice touch to your costume, but I don't think you're here for Halloween, are you?" The gold eyes behind the slot have laughter in them, but it's still indicative that the Major now answers the door to his evil lair personally. "Well, you haven't the look of an American assassin. They would have just sent an airstrike. Please, come in and make yourself welcome."

There's the sound of a half-dozen locks clicking, grinding, turning, and beeping, and then the door slowly opens. It squeals- the hinges have not been oiled in some time. Whether this is because of budget constraints or because the Major likes the atmosphere of a creaking door is hard to say.