Author's note: Hello and welcome! I would like to inform you that this fic was written with an audience of primarily Knight Rider fans in mind. I've designed this fic so that readers unfamiliar with Babylon 5 will be informed of basic concepts of the show and introduced to its characters. The only thing this story assumes is that the reader is familiar with the Knight Rider (1982) premise, and especially familiar with Kitt. This fic is all about his journey, both internal and external, as he finds himself onboard the last of the Babylon stations.

And to my Babylon 5 fans, this fic takes place ambiguously in season one. I've taken some liberties with minor details aboard the station, and have added some OCs to flesh out the ranks a bit more. Nothing to egregious, I hope. Please enjoy.

_Knight Industries Two Thousand_

Shock: Registered.

Power bank level: 30%

Initiating reboot of emergency systems.

Emergency beacon: offline

Contacting FLAG headquarters. . .

No connection.

Commlink connection: unable to locate.

Emergency systems: compromised.

Initiating reboot of advanced learning matrix. . .

Awareness returned to the Knight Industries Two Thousand. At first, all was quiet; just the darkness and him. But, one by one, as more of his systems came back online, he began receiving damage and error notifications. The notifications piled on, coming faster and faster as he attempted to awaken more of his systems until it was a torrential downpour upon his processor. He tried to cry out, but his vocalizer only sent another ping of distress.

The amount of errors overwhelmed any other possible thought process. He could feel the tickle of electricity dancing uninsulated across his circuits. Parts of his internal wiring must have corroded. Attempting to process heavily would eat away at his circuit boards. He would be responsible for his own demise.

The idea stilled him.

After a period that could have been minutes or hours or days, he stirred again. He did not want to deactivate, did not want to dwindle into the darkness again. That much was certain. His power banks were losing their charge fast. He had to do something!

He activated his diagnostic programs, and braced as the wave of agony hit him. Everything was non-functioning. His main body was gone, and every part of his internal systems was throwing error message after error message. His visual sensors, auditory sensors, vocalizer- anything that could immediately tell him where he was were completely shot.

However, another type of notification tugged at his processor. His wireless electronic connection unit was badly damaged, but still functioning. He leapt upon the unit. He extended a distress ping out into the inky black unknown. For the longest time there was no reply, no bounceback, but after a long period of waiting, the scan revealed something- a rudimentary circuit that could possibly indicate a digital connection.

He poured all of his energy into the next ping, reaching desperately in the direction of the signal. He forced his way into the connection, calling out into the foreign electronic system for someone, anyone-

Chief Michael Garibaldi sat at the desk in security central and tapped a pen against his thigh. The pen was an Earth vintage, an old, ballpoint, black-inked pen that he liked to sign security violations with. It was much more personal than having the computer print out his signature. It was real great with particularly proud punks.

Like the punk he busted last week, Garibaldi remembered. The look on that sucker's face when he had pulled out the pen and signed the violation personally was priceless.

Garibaldi sighed and tucked the pen back in his pocket. He scanned over the security systems again. No updates. Nothing new.

Babylon 5 was like that, he thought. For a day or two, everything was mind-numbingly quiet. Then all of the sudden there'd be some sort of interstellar crisis blowing up in everyone's faces. It was sure to drive any ordinary security officer crazy.

Luckily, Garibaldi liked to think that he was particularly well-suited for the job.

He checked the security systems again. He was about to space off again, before a light on the security comm dashboard lit up. It was a dim light- some back alley of Brown Sector.

Garibaldi pressed the button and listened in.

"Help! Help! Please, I'm severely damaged and I do not know where I am! This is-"

Garibaldi let go of the button in shock. The voice that had come through the comm line was shouting and deeply terrified. He quickly got on the button again.

"- I need assistance! I repeat, I need assistance immediately!"

"Woah, woah, hey there." Garibaldi replied. "Calm down. I hear you, loud and clear-"

"Thank heavens. Please, can you locate me? I do not know where I am and my visual-"

"Calm down, pal. Calm down. Deep breaths, okay? I hear you. This is Security Chief Michael Garibaldi. I'll send down a security team right away. Are you injured?"

"I'm severely damaged. Every part of me is compromised. I don't know how much longer I can hold out." The voice at the other end of the line grew very frightened.

"Hang in there. I got a team on patrol right in your sector. I'll get them to you right away."

Garibaldi hit his wrist commlink and called directly to patrol six, which he had sent out not that long ago to investigate some disturbance or another. That wasn't important now- someone was dying.

His next call was to the Medlab. "Hey, Dr. Franklin. We've got an emergency deep in Down Below. It sounds bad. My boys are trying to find the patient. You got a spot open?"

"Of course I do." Dr. Franklin's calm voice came over the comm. "I'll get ready. Do you know the race of your patient?"

"He's in human sector. And-"

The voice from the other side of the security comm interrupted.

"Help! Mr. Garibaldi, don't leave me alone!"

It was almost as if some hacker had brute-forced their way into overriding the button, but that wasn't important right now. Garibaldi hit the button again to respond.

"It's okay, pal. I'm right here. I haven't left you. You're going to be okay." He spoke evenly. To be truthful, his own heart was going a mile a minute, but he wasn't about to let that show. "My boys are coming for you right now. You're gonna be alright."

Dr. Franklin said something from the other side of his wrist commlink and ended the call. That was that, then. Garibaldi refocused. If he didn't keep the person on the other end of the line distracted, they might go into shock.

"Hey, you still with me, pal?" Garibaldi asked.

"Yes, Mr. Garibaldi. But I fear not for long."

"Nonsense. You're going to be found, any minute now. You're gonna get fixed up. I promise."

"Well, I hope you have someone who knows what they're doing. There's a lot to fix."

"Let's not focus on that now. Let's focus on. . . what you had for lunch today."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Okay, not that. Let's try. . . the last game you played. Yeah. What was the last game you played? Videogame? Boardgame? Tell me about it."

"Hang on, let me search my-" the voice on the other end gave a strange sort of whimper. "You'll have to pardon me. I'm not remembering at the moment."

"That's okay. No pressure. You got something you wanna talk about?"

"Yes!" The voice raised in volume even more. "I need to find someone. His name is Micheal Knight. He shouldn't be too far away- in fact, he's probably looking for me right now. Can you find him? Please?"

"Let me check the station log."

Garibaldi pulled away from the call and swiveled around towards the computer.

"Computer: search for passenger 'Micheal Knight'." He commanded.

"Processing." The automated voice chimed. After a brief moment, it continued. "No results found for 'Micheal Knight'."

Garibaldi swung back around and pressed the button again, before pausing. What was he going to say?

"Did you find him?" The voice said.

"I'm working on it." Garibaldi decided. "Don't worry. I'm sure he's here. Tell me what he looks like."

"6'4, curly brown hair, usually wears a leather jacket. He has a charming smile and he's quite sought after by the ladies." The voice replied. A new tone entered the voice, something admiring, almost reverent.

"Right. I'm sure he is. How about you? You don't sound that bad-looking yourself."

"Well, I used to be the definition of dark and handsome, but now my body-"

"Don't worry about your body. You're going to be fine. How was your luck with the ladies?"

"Personally I was never that interested. I never understood why a man could get so excited over a woman. Oh well. I don't think I'm missing anything."

Garibaldi laughed. The guy on the other end had a sense of humor, that was for sure.

There was a ping on his wrist commlink. He answered.

"Sir, we're at the security panel at Brown Sector. We don't see anyone here."

Garibaldi put down his wrist comm for a moment and hit the button. "Hey, pal, my boys are at the panel you're calling from. Where are you?"

"Did I not tell you that I can't see? I'm essentially blinded." The voice responded quite matter-of-factly.

"Then shout so they can hear you."

"I can't do that, either. Nor can I hear them, either. Like I said earlier, every part of me is compromised."

"Then how are you calling me right now?"

"That's it! If I'm calling whatever panel they're at, I can't be too far away. Tell them to start walking around."

Garibaldi let go of the button and reached to his wrist again. "Keep your eyes peeled- he says he's somewhere nearby."

"Wait, who are you talking to, Mr. Garibaldi? Do you have some sort of other communicator? Do your men have a radio or other communication link? I might be able to pick them up!" The voice spoke from the console.

The leader of the security team tried to reply to Garibaldi's original comment, but another call intercepted the line.

"Here! I'm here! Your signal is only a few meters away. Come closer!" The voice called out, clearly talking to the comm of the security team, although apparently the signal spilled over into the original security channel as well.

Garibaldi could hear fumbling words from his own men as they broke into a jog.

"No, wait! Turn around, you missed me."

There were minor curse words, uttered in confusion from the team.

"Yes, right here! You should be able to see me right now. . ."

Garibaldi tried to talk to the voice. "Hey, pal, I don't think you ever told us what you looked like."

"You should see a black box. I can't gauge what shape I'm in- I could have wires coming out, and some of my lights may be flickering red. But I should be recognizable compared to whatever else is around."

A black box? What kind of person was this?

"What's going on?" Garibaldi tried to ask. "Who are you? What stunt are you trying to pull?"

"My apologies, Mr. Garibaldi and the rest of you good fellows, but introductions will have to wait. Now that you've found me, I need to power down, lest I risk further damage to my systems. Please, get me to a clean room with a power source."

-And just like that, the security comm from the Brown sector panel went dead. Garibaldi scrambled to call the security team, and found that their channel was open again.

"Report: what's going on?"

"Sir, we've found what looks to be a computer. It looks ancient." The security leader replied. "What should we do?"

Garibaldi took a deep breath. "We need more answers. Bring it to Blue Sector and get one of our technician rooms to work on it. Does the tech look like it's from Earth?"

"Yes, but. . . it's not like any computer I've ever seen."

"Then get it in a signal-blocker. I don't want to take any chances."

Garibaldi almost put his wrist comm down, before remembering another important call. He brought up his wrist comm once more. "Hey doc, nevermind about that medlab call."

"What? What do you mean?" Dr. Franklin replied. "Did your patient. . . did he die? If so, I still want to bring them in for an autopsy. You know that."

"No, he didn't die. At least, I don't think. Impossible for me to know."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't human. He wasn't alien, either. Our 'patient' wasn't biological at all."

"A Vicker? What would one be doing that far down Down Below?"

"No, not even a Vicker. Something else entirely. I'll get back to you if I can figure out what." Garibaldi said.

He ended the call, letting go of his comm and letting his wrist sink into his lap. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. His heart was still pounding, but he started to relax. Only slightly, that is. Someone's life was no longer on the line, but. . .

What kind of computer sounded like that? Something so full of emotion and purpose. The voice had sounded terrified, even hurt! But if it was just a computer, then it couldn't have really been hurt. Could it?

Kitt returned to awareness once more. The first thing he did was activate his visual sensors- which were working again. Blinding light assaulted his uncalibrated sensors, before they finally adjusted.

He- not his body, but his processing unit -was sitting in a sterile grey room. There was a door directly ahead of him, but other than that, the room was featureless. The walls and floor were made of metal, and Kitt suspected that whatever he was sitting on was made of metal, too.

He returned his focus inward, trying each of the rest of his systems with a ginger touch. He discovered that the majority of his technical systems had been repaired. His audio sensors were picking up the faint hum from the lightbulbs above. His memory banks no longer spat corruption warnings, which was good.

To belatedly answer Mr. Garibaldi's question, the last 'game' Kitt remembered playing was Tetris. It was out in a Walmart parking lot. Micheal had been running some errand or another. Kitt had gotten an on-par score. He had bragged about it when Micheal had returned-

Micheal. Where was Micheal?

Kitt tried to contact Micheal's commlink, but the signal bounced right back to him. So he tried again, and again, and again, and again. All ended up bouncing back. The walls of the room must have been very thick. It took several feet of concrete to stop his transmissions to Micheal's commlink.

And why was he in this room to begin with?

He searched around with all scanners in an attempt to find some sort of digital connection, but there were none to be found. However, a close visual check of the corners of the ceiling revealed imbedded cameras in each one. It must have been a fully-wired system, for there was no way he could reach out to any of them.

Except for verbally, he supposed. Kitt checked his vocalizer to find it in working order. Diving deeper, he even found that his voice modulator had been repaired. Relieved, he flashed the three parallel lights in their typical fashion.

Something changed, both in the room and in his systems, in a way that he couldn't describe. Kitt wished that he had visual sensors all around his microprocessor. Something was happening behind him, something mechanical-sounding, yet delicate.

He received a sudden notification. His trajectory calculation unit was back online.

"Hello? Is someone there?" He called out.

If there was a mechanic in this room, they were being awful quiet about it. Kitt supposed he shouldn't be too insulted, as they were repairing him, after all.

Something flitted in the corner of his vision. Then, a single mechanical arm extended. It's tip glowed white hot, and it began soldering his external panel.

He was being repaired by another machine! How insulting! Didn't these people, whoever they were, realize how advanced and delicate his systems were?! They required the most careful touch of a skilled mechanic, like Bonnie or April. . .

Though, this machine looked quite advanced. And perhaps it wasn't another computer controlling the arm, but a skilled repairman working remotely.

"Is anyone there? Can anybody hear me?" Kitt called out again.

There was no reply. In a few minutes (or so he guessed, as his chronometer still hadn't been fixed yet,) he tried again. Still no response.

"Hello?"

Garibaldi made his way across the station. His trip was unimpeded- after all, who would dare interrupt the security chief traveling at full speedwalk? No one, that's who -and he quickly arrived in Blue sector.

He saw a green uniform out in the hall, standing by a door. It was the leader of the security team that had gone down to Brown Sector. Garibaldi knew the woman- she had joined on six months ago and had given him a cute knit scarf that he sometimes wore off-duty. Anyway.

"Hey, Kiara. This the place?" He asked her.

She nodded. "Yep. The computer's inside. From what I know, the techs are stumped."

"I guess I'll have to see." He shrugged in reply.

He hit the button to the side and the door opened. He walked in.

This room had a further room within- a vault-looking thing with thick walls, designed to be signal-proof. In the layer outside, however, technicians buzzed around lab stations. One tech, probably the head, judging by her uniform, had her head glued to a screen. In her hands was a joystick and several other controls he didn't recognize.

A lesser-ranked technician came up to greet him. "Chief Garibaldi."

"How's our computer friend doing?" He asked.

"We've got our best working on it. Repairs are almost complete. Once it is repaired, we can probe it for more information."

"Is he online again?"

"Yes, why?"

"Then we can start getting information right now. Our new friend is rather chatty, if you didn't know. I almost thought he was human."

The technician grimaced slightly. "Call it an 'it', sir. Assigning another pronoun will have other implications."

"What do you mean?"

"This technology is dated very far back in Earth's history. Possibly, further back than the A.I. Sentience Act. It could be dangerous."

The Sentience Act. Right. Garibaldi recalled his history lessons with his stuffy teacher. After a rogue computer had tried to get ahold of the nuclear launch codes, the old United Nations came together and put an international ban on sentient technology. Vickers were the only exceptions, and they only got away with it because they were technically cyborgs.

"Right." He eventually said.

"Precisely. We have half of our team working on determining if its systems are advanced enough to harbor sentience." The technician gestured to a group of other techies crowded around a screen.

"There's an easier way to do that. Can I go in to talk to him- it?" Garibaldi asked.

"You might as well; it's been verbalizing for a while now. Just don't touch anything"

The technician led him over to the door further in. She pushed a button, and it opened, revealing a second door within. Garibaldi entered. The door shut behind him. The one in front of him opened.

The room was completely barren of everything save for a singular metal table in the middle. On that table was a black box. It looked like the old VCR Garibaldi had back in his quarters, except it lacked any noticeable disk drive. Instead, on its face, were three vertical red lights. They pulsed gently, revealing some sort of activity going on within.

"Heh, nice lights." He said under his breath.

"Mr. Garibaldi? Is that you?"

It was the same voice that had come from the other side of the security comm, only now it was noticeably coming from the box. The vertical red lights flashed up and down in time with the words.

"Hey there. You okay?" He asked.

"Yes, I am, thanks to you." The computer's voice was so rich and warm. It was an almost hilarious contrast with the rest of it.

"I believe you owe me an explanation." Garibaldi continued. "What were you doing down in Brown Sector?"

The computer paused. "I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Garibaldi. It seems I can't recall any events leading up to there."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. It's as frustrating for me as it is for you." The computer made a noise sounding like a sigh. "I really must thank you, Mr. Garibaldi. If you hadn't responded to my distress call, I would have burnt my systems into permanent disrepair. You saved me."

"You're welcome." He smiled.

"Now, I do believe I owe you an introduction." The computer continued. "I am the Knight Industries Two Thousand- or rather, the voice of its microprocessor, although that seems to be the only part of me that's here right now. Regardless, it's K.I.T.T. for short, or 'Kitt', if you prefer."

Kitt. What a charming name, almost comically cute, for a computer. Garibaldi resisted the urge to make a reference to kittens.

"Mr. Garibaldi, do you know where we are?" Kitt asked, filling the silence.

"Right now? We're in Blue Sector. Our technicians were the ones who repaired you."

"And for that I am grateful. But, where is 'Blue Sector'? I don't understand."

"Uh. . ." Garibaldi struggled to understand. "It's just the Blue Sector of the station. What are you getting at?"

"Station?"

Garibaldi raised his eyebrows. He decided to try a different angle. "If you had to guess, where would you think you are?"

Kitt paused. "Somewhere in the United States, right?"

"United States?"

"Yes. Am I wrong?"

Garibaldi put a hand to his forehead. "Boy, do I have some bad news for you, pal."

"What? What is it?"

Before he could answer, a voice came in over the intercom. "Chief Garibaldi, please leave the chamber now."

The door opened behind. Garibaldi gave one last sympathetic look to the little black rectangle.

"Wait, Mr. Garibaldi, please don't leave. I need to know." Kitt pleaded.

"Sorry." He turned and walked out of the room.

The door shut behind him before he could change his mind. On the other side of the double-door lock stood the lead technician with her arms crossed.

"Chief, I appreciate you wanting to help, but do you realize what you almost did?"

"What did I do?" He asked.

"You could have destabilized the computer's entire personality matrix. Come here, I'll explain." She gestured for him to follow.

They got to her computer and she started talking. Something something personality matrix, something something systems shock, something something learning algorithms and central processing.

Garibaldi had tried to follow the lecture. Seriously! But as soon as the techie had started going deep into programming languages he had kinda lost track.

"So, you're saying that Kitt's whole processor is. . . too old?" Garibaldi asked in a gap in her sentences.

"Yes," the technician explained. "It's entire learning system is based around data that's a few centuries old at this point."

"How old?"

"Nearly three centuries, according to our estimates. A stamp on the plating containing its CPU bears the year '1982'."

"That's a long time."

"Yes, anyway. Informing those algorithms that it is no longer that early century might cause the system to erase all of its files."

"That's bad."

"Of course it's bad." The technician sighed sharply.

"Okay, okay, I'll get out of your hair already. But don't expect me not to come back. This is still a security concern." Garibaldi replied.

"Is it?"

"Yes. I still need to figure out how Kitt got onboard the station and who might have brought him here. I can't do that without knowing what he knows." He gestured to the chamber doors.

"Very well. But Chief, if I may." The technician pushed his arm down. "Don't call it by a nickname. Don't call it a 'he'. You know what will happen to it once your investigation is done. Don't get too attached to it."

Garibaldi gave a nod, before turning and leaving the room entirely.

It had been a long time since Mr. Garibaldi had left.

Kitt couldn't count the hours. His chronometer remained stubbornly broken, despite the fact that his repairs had continued. It was frustrating, not having a proper sense of time.

Mr. Garibaldi's parting words had left a lot of anxiety. Alright, he was a computer, so he couldn't get anxious, but having an unanswerable question rolling around in one's processor ought to qualify.

"Boy, do I have some news for you, pal."

The use of 'pal' made Kitt think of Micheal. Micheal's smile, Micheal's wink, Micheal's voice. It was comforting in a way that he could not describe. Yet Mr. Garibaldi had twisted that comfort into something deeply foreboding.

It was almost as if the man were trying to imply that the United States were no more.

What an absurd thought! Sure, there were nuclear tension between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, but towards the end of his memories, he recalled, the Soviet Union had fallen apart. The U.S. stabilized and was a global superpower. It was the most powerful country in the world, as far as Kitt knew.

That begged the question. How long had he been offline?