Thank you, comrade sergeant. The balalaika thanks her commander as he lowers you onto the carpeted floor and walks away, closing the door behind her and leaving you to face the menacing Fry-Face. She takes a drag on her cigar, scrutinizing your disheveled state with her cold condescending gaze, and then takes a step toward you. She leans toward your face and smirks. I bet you dreamed of entering this office as a conqueror, but instead you stand before me on all fours.