**Farewell (For Now)**

Dr. Henman departed this morning. The farewell was surprisingly emotional.

The Boss actually *hugged* him. I’ve worked here for three years and have never seen the Boss hug anyone who wasn’t being thrown to Gerald. They stood there in the hangar, two middle-aged men who’d chosen very different paths, promising to „make this work.“

„We’re going to change the world, old friend,“ Dr. Henman said.
„We’re going to *own* the world,“ the Boss corrected.
They both laughed.

Dr. Henman promised to return within the month with preliminary component specifications. He also apologized for the coffee stains on the conference table and the permanent marker on the walls. I assured him we’ve seen worse.

As his helicopter disappeared over the horizon, the Boss stood watching with an uncharacteristic expression—something almost resembling hope.

Then he turned and asked me to schedule a meeting with our „discrete procurement specialist.“ Back to business.

The lair feels quieter now. Two genius-level megalomaniacs are exhausting. One is merely tiring.

I’m secretly relieved.

*- Mrs. Clawdia, restoring order*

**Reality Check**

The champagne hangover has been replaced by a financial one.

This morning’s budget meeting was… educational. I presented the projected costs for their Orbital Particle Gun project. The initial figures were already alarming. Then Dr. Henman remembered they’d need „specialized rare-earth magnets.“ Then the Boss realized they’d need „orbital launch capacity.“

The final number made even Dr. Henman wince.

„But it’s only a few million more,“ the Boss protested.
„*Several* million,“ I corrected.
„We could optimize the—“
„*Several dozen* million.“

There followed a forty-minute presentation from both scientists explaining why this was actually a very reasonable budget for „reshaping the geopolitical landscape via orbital superiority.“ Their enthusiasm was admirable. Their math was creative.

I’ve submitted a revised funding proposal. We may need to liquidate the Swiss account. Also possibly the Luxembourg account. And perhaps delay the minion dental plan for another year.

Dr. Henman suggested we „could probably cut costs by using a smaller shark.“ He has not met Gerald. Some expenses are non-negotiable.

*- Mrs. Clawdia, reconciling the irreconcilable*

**The All-Nighter**

I arrived at the lair this morning to find both scientists asleep in the main laboratory.

The Boss was face-down on a printout of orbital calculations. Dr. Henman was slumped in a chair, still holding a mechanical pencil. The whiteboard behind them was covered in equations that progressively devolved from neat academic script into manic scribbling.

Evidence of the night’s work: seventeen empty energy drink cans, three pizza boxes (one with a single slice remaining, bitten but abandoned), and what appears to be a complete redesign of the particle acceleration chamber.

The security footage shows them working until 04:23, at which point Dr. Henman said something that made them both laugh hysterically for six minutes straight. I suspect sleep deprivation was a factor.

I draped lab coats over them and left a note to call me when they woke up. Whatever breakthrough they had, it can wait until they’re conscious enough to explain it without giggling.

The minions are under strict orders not to disturb them. Even Gerald is being quiet.

*- Mrs. Clawdia, brewing very strong coffee*

**Something Exploded (Naturally)**

The „atmospheric resistance testing“ began at 09:00. By 09:47, something had exploded.

To be fair, it was a *small* explosion. Mostly contained to Testing Bay 3. The sprinkler system handled it admirably, and only one minion needed medical attention. Minion #23 will make a full recovery, though he’s requested a transfer to Accounting.

Dr. Henman found the whole thing hilarious. „Just like the plasma incident of ’09!“ he declared, slapping the Boss on the back. The Boss did not find it hilarious. The Boss found it *very expensive*.

The real victim of the day was Minion #51, who made the mistake of walking past the laboratory at the wrong moment. He’s now the „voluntary test subject“ for the next iteration. His face suggested the volunteering was not entirely voluntary.

The two scientists spent the afternoon analyzing the failure. Apparently the explosion was „highly educational“ and „exactly what we needed to see.“

I’ve doubled the fire extinguisher order.

*- Mrs. Clawdia, updating the incident report*

**The Physicists Are Fighting**

Day two of the Henman visit, and I’ve been promoted to referee.

The „planning session“ for their Orbital Particle Gun started civilly enough. Coffee, blueprints, polite technical discussion. Then Dr. Henman suggested a trajectory angle that the Boss found „mathematically offensive.“

What followed was three hours of increasingly heated debate over atmospheric drag coefficients. They were using the whiteboard, the walls, and at one point, my desk calendar. I now have velocity equations written across March.

„It’s basic thermodynamics, S.!“
„You’re ignoring the ionization threshold!“
„YOUR ionization threshold is outdated by fifteen years!“

This is apparently how they used to argue in graduate school. Dr. Henman finds it nostalgic. The minions find it terrifying. I find it exhausting.

Eventually they agreed on a „compromise solution“ that somehow involves testing prototypes. I have a terrible feeling about this.

At least they’re too busy arguing to cause any actual damage. Yet.

*- Mrs. Clawdia, confiscating the permanent markers*