More Than Meets The Eye

It would be pretty cool, B.A. thought.

In a rare situation of common interest, he and Murdock had gone to the movies. He, because like all red-blooded American males, sometimes he just wanted to watch shit blow up, and improbably beautiful and improbably clean women run around while it was happening. Murdock went because, of course, he had all the toys.

B.A. wished he could complete "he had all the toys" with "as a kid", but that was a blatant lie.

But as ridiculous as the storyline was, and the plot holes, and the inaccuracies, it would be pretty cool if his van could change into a robot.

All the fire power, all the instant data that would be available, never having to worry about it taking care of itself if he had to leave it behind because of a mission that logistics didn't allow a full-sized van along . . .

And it would have a cool name.

Like Nighthawk or Vorath or Runamuck or something. Yeah, that'd be awesome—

"Hey B.A.!" Murdock said, breaking through his internal dialogue with an excited but thoughtful tone. "Know what I was thinking? How it'd be neat if your van was a Transformer!"

B.A. stunted a groan. The one time he was having non-rational, a little off-kilter thoughts, Murdock had to channel it and come up with the exact same thing—

"But then I was thinking, you know, all the modifications you've had to make to this old girl. You know, building that gun safe in the back, adding all the communications equipment and that little closet where Hannibal stores some of his disguises and Face stores his shampoos, bolting down some rifle mounts to the floor—remember that?—and all the touch-ups and body work and paint jobs you've done over and over and over . . . well, I was thinking this van is pretty much a Transformer anyway! It'd be an Autobot, of course, because we're the good guys—"

"Shut up, fool," B.A. replied, but his typical gruffness wasn't there. As much as he hated to admit it, Murdock had a fine point.