The arrival

Stan the Van slid neatly in front of Lin’s hive entrance. Cy, an un-burqa’d outside virgin, was in the “driver” position but Stan did all the work. Stan offered, “Well, I don’t see your friend? She’d be all gray? Or, will she be all covered up like you folks tend to do…”

Cy looked and didn’t see anything right away, and then he saw what he feared the most. Cy saw armed men with the Kane family emblem (an Apple, a Tower PC, and a UPS truck in a triptych pattern) outside. They were looking both ways and watching for people watching them.

Cy gasped as a body bag that seemed only partially filled was carried by two of these men out of the hive. His rage built inside until he shook in place and his vision turned to pure white. He felt pain. Memories of pain carried from years of service hit the palms of his hands and it burned. The burning swept up his arms into an incandescent purpose.

Cy angrily spoke to Stan, “Stan, do you see those HOBOS outside of the hive there? I need them cleared away NOW!”

Stan was confused, “THOSE PEOPLE ARE NOT BUMS, CY!”

Cy shook his head lightly and corrected Stan, “You don’t need to shout. I’m actually sitting right here. Ok. Use your under 35 MPH voice right now.”

Stan whispered, “I’m not shooting these people, Cy. They have excellent tactical gear on. There’s no chance a bum could afford those vests and what would they do with all those pockets? Probably stuff trash inside. So, no, those aren’t bums.”

Cy answered with white hot anger, “Stan, these men are the worst kind of bum there is. The kind who will make other people suffer as their day-to-day job. They say they need the pay!? There’s always good work somewhere that still needs doing; therefour my deadly family vehicle, why waste time on work that doesn’t need to be done when you can WASTE A HOBO?!”

Stan’s whisper got angry, “That’s the WORST kind of bum, Cy! A no-good take from the producers and waste it on themselves bastard I’m programmed to defend your family from, Cy. Say the word.”

Cy yelled, “HOBOSHIELD!” and Stan the Van started to holographically play Apocalypse Now, the air cavalry scene under the Ride of the Valkyries surrounded Cy.

Stan’s loudspeaker blared the music as the van moved like a tiburon off the coast of Tiburon. bum baba bum bum, bum baba bum bum, bum baba bum bum-BAH! BAH! BAH!

Stan’s turret popped up, shifted quickly to the left, and fired a brief burst at the nearest Kane goon. “GO AWAY HOBO!”, Stan yelled out of the loudspeaker as the man fell forward from the rain of rubber.

Stan’s headlights searched for his next goal. The turret took the next target on the run, “YOU’RE NOT FASTER THAN MY TURRET, HOBO!”, and another man was down.

BWAH! BWAH! da-da-BWAH! BWAH! BWAH! da-da-BWAH-BAH!

Cy pointed to a group of men with an RPG, and yelled to Stan, “Time for HOBO RAIN!”

Stan roared backwards before the RPG rocket could hit his midsection. Two Van-to-Hobo missiles fired from Stan’s sliding doors and pieces of the destroyed RPG team came raining down. Cy had the sunroof open and several large chunks fell on the passenger seat. “ASTA-LA-FACE FULLA MISSILES HOBO RPG-ERS!” yelled the avenging eight person, full sized, minivan in his full glory!

The rest of Kane’s team routed after the explosion diced their comrades, but Stan followed in hot pursuit. “WHAT? NO RUNNING AWAY! IT’S TIME FOR HOBO DISCO!” The electric hoboshield fired its lightning and the remaining goons danced to the beat of the music before collapsing. There were no more of Kane’s men left standing. The smoke from various weapons slowly disappeared.

Stan was breathing hard or at least it seemed that way, “Phew. That was a workout. I thought for a minute there I might be forced to use the bioweapons, but I’m glad they’re still with me. I’ve grown fond of feeding them the occasional road kill”.

Cy thanked Stan and asked him to stay while he investigated the body bag. He popped open the door and attempted to run. He fell wetly onto the pavement, but stood and then walked quickly ahead instead. The bag was closed as he arrived. The two thugs that had been carrying it were still sleeping or were not sleeping, (Cy could not care less either way) and the rubber bullets that acted as their forceful soporific from Stan were scattered around their avatars like hail stones.

Cy ripped the zipper down and saw a small gray body. He averted his eyes but couldn’t help but see a small pin on the body. It read “Count Dolomites of Italy”. Cy slowly fell to his knees and scraped them both in the process. He sobbed quietly into his wispy beard.

Stan waited for a moment, and then rolled up slowly to comfort his friend with a hushed tone.