"So if I go and pop that chin guard off, there's totally no space for a standard fuel intake?" Spinister slithers out of the shadows and well into Brainstorm's personal space. Very, very gently, he tries to poke at the side of the scientist's mask.

"Actually, wow," the big copter mutters, leaning ever closer- or as close as the punch bowl between them let him anyways. "Those double cooling slits look kinda like the slits on mine. We're like. We're like mask siblings!"