Tʜᴇ Tᴡᴏ﹣Sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ Sᴛᴜɴ

Long, silvery hair fell over pale shoulders as magenta eyes bleary with sleep stared emptily at a small, neon green display. It'd been at least three days since the man had slept last, pumping his system full of caffeine to get through his research. After those long hours, he'd finally come to a conclusion. All he needed now was rest and a part that was more than easy to obtain.

Before he slept (for longer than four hours, anyway), though, he wanted one last cup of coffee. When he'd wandered into the kitchen to set up the coffee machine, he found a fresh cup already waiting for him, the pot still steaming hot and the machine still humming quietly, indicating it was still working. His mind was much too sleep-addled to comprehend it. It was obvious to the only other person in the room, since they had made the coffee.

“Mastermind.” The tired, long-haired man turned to the voice that had called out to him after taking a hold of the mug on the counter. “You should rest more.”

“Uh-huh,” came the non-committal reply. His footfalls were heavy as he crossed to the table the other person was sitting at and he flopped into a chair. “After this cup. You made this for me, Psyker?”

A nod. “Figured you'd want more coffee before you slept, so.”

Mastermind lifted the mug to his lips and sipped, sighing softly as the liquid hit his tongue. Hot coffee. French vanilla crème and the perfect amount of sugar. Not too sweet, not too bitter. He nodded in reply. “It's perfect.”

The pair lapsed into quiet conversation, Mastermind asking Lunatic Psyker about the happenings of the last few days. The brawler had been out most of the last couple, looking for something, he said. He'd found it, thankfully, so he came home to see that Mastermind still hadn't left his lab. “Speaking of which,” Psyker leaned back and reached into his right pocket, fishing. When his hand grasped what he needed, he pulled it out in a closed fist, holding his hand out to give the object to Mastermind. The other held out his own hand. “This is what you needed, right?” And he dropped it.

“Th-this is--!” Sure enough, the part the researcher had planned to go get when he’d rested up some was dropped into his hand – a small intelligence microchip. It had translucent edges that glowed a soft neon purple. “Yes! This is exactly what I needed! I can finish my new drone now, but...” He frowned. “I need to name it.”

“Doom's Da--”

“Not even.”

“Then Armageddon?” Psyker didn't miss a beat, grinning playfully.

“Too lame. ..ah! I think I got it.” Psyker made a questioning noise. “Apocalypse.”

“...sounds lame.”