Summary: What would happen if KITT was pushed beyond breaking point? How would he, and everyone else cope?
Disclaimer: I do not own Knight Rider. It is the property of Glen A. Larson and NBC. I do not make or seek profit from this.
A night like tonight, black, bleak, with the heavens pouring down with a vengeance, when you stayed inside so long as you had a choice in the matter. Where the drainage of LA only just kept pace with the deluge to keep the roads from flooding, in one of the many areas that had long since fallen into disrepair, a lone figure lay in hiding.
Inside what was a truly pathetic excuse of a warehouse, lacking almost all of its roof, the rain freely falling in and seeping back out, a sight that had to be seen to be believed. With each violent unleashing of lightning, the form could be seen.
It was what could best be described as, some sort of Cyborg, with four wheels to act as feet, the rear pair slightly larger than the front pair, apparently built for off-road use. Leg struts to connect it to the main barrel-chested body, a pair of missile launchers on the lower sides, set to fire forward. A small, raised part of it sighted a pair of scanners. While the arms on each side carried a pair of Gatling cannons on each shoulder and a three fingered hand, their thin appearance belying their strength. A strength that had been ruthlessly demonstrated less than one month ago.
But what was really unusual was that it was not standing, but on its side, lying on the ruined floor, curled up in a feotal position, the arms pulled in close to the chest, seemingly to fight of the cold. A wasted effort, given the rainfall hitting the frame, each drop that struck and slid off like acid to it. And, not all the fluid that rolled off was rain. If anyone had been around to see, they would have noticed the shaking of its body, the wobbling engine growl, the deep red scanner shuddering back and forth in an uneven, unstable manner, the other lights - deep red as well - flickering.
He was crying.
Once the dream. The poster boy of Knight Industries. The greatest work of Doctor Charles Graiman. Now he was on the run. Disgraced. Failure. His memories, his only companion.
He curled inwards a little more as he recalled that fateful night. The body, the lifeless body laying on the ground. Mike, clutching his head in agony. Sarah, stepping away, afraid. Afraid of him, tears in her soft blue eyes. The body again, the dead body. Dead by his hand.
"What the HELL did you do!"
That accusing question. That one, painful, soul-wrenching, accusing question. At that point he knew. The trust between them, built up over months, was gone. Ruined by just one moment of absolute rage.
"Y-you lose…" his victim's last, whispered words before he had crushed the life out of him. Destroyed the ribs, lungs, and heart with one squeeze.
The now-dead man had been right. He had lost. He had lost everything. And it had been his fault.
All. His. Fault.
He fled. Ran away. Never even looked back. He just couldn't bring himself to see their faces again, their looks of terror, hatred, and betrayal.
That had been a little over three weeks ago.
Now alone, he never stayed in one place two night in a row, desperate to stay one step ahead. Afraid to stop. Forced to take what he could to survive. He had no home, no friends, no family. He had nothing. And he had only himself to blame. He moved his hands in front of him and looked. A little blood was still on the right hand, it would probably never come off. A permanent reminder of what he had done. He curled back up and now his voice processor produced the sound the rest of him was making, as he cried himself to sleep again.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, father."
He was KITT, and he had killed.
Author's note: Whew! My first serious piece of fanfiction. So please don't be too cruel for now. This may be a one-shot or the start of something major. Please review and comment.
Edit: Minor typing correction, piece added, and Disclaimer fixed of simple yet gaping flaw - two 'makes' instead of 'make not'.