Hey y'all! I've had this idea floating around in my head for a loooooong time. I finally decided to indulge it, and loved writing it. I couldn't find any fics with the same plot, so I decided to publish it here. I sincerely hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Thanks, and happy reading! ~YeahScience

It was days like this that made Michael Knight hate his job. After all that hard work at the Academy and graduating at the top of his class, only to end up a desk jockey… He was an officer of the LAPD; so why the hell was he sitting here filling out paperwork for the 50th fender bender this week? Frustrated and bored, he popped another donut hole into his mouth (I am NOT your stereotypical donut loving cop, he thought defiantly) before walking to the water cooler to stretch his legs.

His boss, Devon, was sitting in his office and chugging away at who knows what. Now, that man was a workaholic. Despite the inhuman amount of paperwork he handled on a daily basis, his desk was always impeccably clean. Devon had arranged all of his office supplies quite aesthetically on his desk, but never kept any decorations or photos.

When Michael passed by the open office door, Devon looked up and followed the officer with his eyes, staring fixatedly.

If he wants me to spend more time at my desk, he can raise my salary, Michael thought sourly, but good-naturedly. Respect was paramount here: you gave it, you got it. If you didn't like that, don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

Michael's coworker, Reginald (most of the guys on the force called him RC3), was also getting a drink at the cooler. The two men exchanged smiles and nods, but no words. Michael didn't know RC3 very well, aside from "Hi, how's things," but he was always a cheery and light-hearted presence around the office. On days like today, he was a Godsend.

"Hey, Knight," RC3 began with a devilish gleam in his eye. "I gotta tell you about this guy I pulled over the other day."

Michael snorted. "Okay, I'll bite. What about him?"

RC3 grinned even wider and his eyes lit up. "Okay, so I pull this guy over for a busted taillight. I told him it was gonna cost $300."

"So what'd he say?"

"He says, 'Go ahead! The mechanic wants to charge me 500 bucks!'" RC3 burst into hysterics at his own joke. Yeah, it was lame, but Michael had to laugh. Patting the other officer on the back, Michael trudged back to his desk. Devon was still staring at him.

By now, the pile of paperwork had sprouted two horns and a devil tail. It reached out, threatening to pull Michael in and drown him in inkjet paper and petty claims. He responded only with a grimace before peeling off the top sheet and jogging his computer from its well-deserved sleep.

Once the monitor had booted up, Michael went to open his files. But before he could, the computer dinged and a notification popped up in the corner of the screen.

TO: MICHAEL KNIGHT

FROM: DEVON MILES

SUBJECT: NEW PROJECT

Knight,

Please meet me in the old break room at your earliest convenience.

The cop's mind went blank for a few seconds. Devon was not one for ambiguity. So why the complete lack of detail in the email? Also, nobody used the old break room. It was dark, musty, and didn't have air conditioning. The new break room was much better (it had a coffee machine!). Why meet there, and not in Devon's office?

Michael turned his head to look at the paperwork again. He gave the stack an imaginary middle finger and stood up from his desk. As he walked down the station hallway towards the old break room, several fellow officers turned their heads. All thinking the same thing as Knight: what the hell is he doing?

As if this sudden turn of events couldn't get any stranger, Michael walked into the break room to find the lights on with Devon sitting at one of the tables. Next to him was a brunette woman in a lab coat. She's pretty, came Michael's first thought. He was so entranced by her rich brown hair that he didn't even notice the strange blanket-covered box by her feet.

Taking direction from Devon, he sat across the table from them. When the awkward silence strung out too long, he broke it. "So, Lieutenant Miles. What is this new project you emailed me about?"

Devon and the woman exchanged sideways glances.

"Officer Knight, this is Dr. Bonnie Barstow, a veterinarian." The woman gave a sweet smile and a small nod. She extended her delicate hand towards Michael, giving a disproportionately strong handshake.

"Dr. Barstow," Michael paused. "You're the vet for our K9 unit, right?"

She kept smiling. "Yes, I am." Then she turned to Devon.

"Bonnie and I have been working on a project for the past couple months. Something that we hope can really make a difference when it comes to protecting the law in this city. The final piece of this puzzle, though is an officer. Someone we believe has great potential in law enforcement."

This whole time, excitement was bubbling up in Michael, threatening to boil over. Like a kid on Christmas, his mind kept repeating, I hope it's a dog, I hope it's a dog! Now his eyes were fixated on what he prayed was a crate, the cube with the seafoam-colored blanket draped over it, sitting patiently at the vet's feet.

"We know you haven't been as active in the field as both of us would've liked," Devon continued. "But we started this project with you in mind. You were top of your class, and unfortunately, bureaucracy has stuck you behind a desk. We hope this makes up for it." Giving a nod to Bonnie, she reached down and yanked the blanket off of the crate.

Michael had to exercise all self-restraint to keep from squealing with joy. Inside the metal crate was a tiny German Shepherd puppy.

Bonnie opened the crate and the little guy padded out. His coat was thick and glistening with health. Both of his ears were so big that they flopped (adorably to the side). Jet black fur covered most of his small, yet well-framed body, except for tawny legs and patches around his cheeks, eyebrows, and one ear. Around his neck was a peculiar collar: resembling an electric fence collar with a radio receiver on it, but with an LED screen with a red bar flashing back and forth.

"Officer Knight, say hello to your new partner!" Dr. Barstow exclaimed with pride. Michael immediately bent down to scratch the little guy behind his ears. The puppy's mouth dropped open and his pink tongue lolled out.

Chuckling, Devon spoke up. "This is the K9 Intelligent Talking Tactician." Michael didn't hear a word his boss said; he was preoccupied with the pup, who was batting at the cop with an oversized paw. Bonnie looked at the tiny animal, beaming with pride as though she were its mother.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Bonnie cooed. Michael gave her a strange look, then continued petting the dog.

A strange, computerized voice squeaked out of the dog's collar. "I am the voice of the K9 Intelligent Talking Tactician. K.I.T.T. Kitt, if you prefer."

Now Michael's jaw had dropped. He stared blankly at the puppy, who only stared back with wide, dark-brown eyes.

"Did that dog just talk?"