Knight of the Children
By Deona Lindholm
Full Summary: During a picnic outing in the city, all of the adults in the Foundation headquarters have been taken hostage by a mysterious terrorist group, leaving only 3 adults, one AI...and a slew of children. One of the hostages is Devon Miles. Marissa and the youngsters are about to send the terrorists a clear message: You don't take on FLAG. They don't call themselves the Foundation's Youth for nothing.
Disclaimer: The Knight Rider characters (meaning Devon, Michael, Bonnie, RC, etc) don't belong to me, but to Glen A. Larson. Marissa, Laura Mariz and others, though, do belong to me. Don't use them w/o my permission. If you want to, ask me.
Chapter 1: Knightmares
Marissa looked about her in alarm. She, Laura, as well as a few children that she had never seen before were in a park, having a picnic on a nice, sunny day. She could see the familiar form of a black car with a flickering human outline on the street, parked. There were three adults with them, watching over all the kids, as well as having some fun of their own…until she saw it.
A few blocks away, the scene abruptly changed (As though it were a block away instead of a long ways off) into her home, the Foundation headquarters. In that place, there was a dark shadow covering the entire grounds…and one by one, the shadow made each and every adult vanish…leaving only children. Well, some were actually children, below ten years old, although the rest were below nineteen.
The scene shifted from the park and the Foundation grounds…to a place she had only been once or twice.
On her left was Kitt…and in front of her, all of the children that had been left behind, including Laura Mariz and the others from the park. They were all standing at attention…and they were leaving the adults behind, by choice.
"All right, let's get going," she was saying, and in a voice that frightened her…a tone of authority, a commander, not the voice of a little girl.
As she said this, the line of youngsters grew…and these new arrivals were the kind of kids and teenagers you would see from street gangs.
In the far distance, she could hear menacing voices…ones that said that if she didn't obey them, they would kill her father.
A shadow appeared before her…a familiar one…and from the position, he was…Michael had called it a coma.
Marissa screamed for a very long time…and in the distance, she heard an urgent, yet gentle voice speak.
"Rissie…Rissie…up…"
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It was close to midnight when Devon had looked up from some papers that he was reading, namely one of the latest cases that had been completed. Michael and Kitt had gotten in earlier that afternoon and filed the results…as well as heard some news.
In Canada, the trial of Douglas Parkson had been completed, and the verdict had been guilty. The man would never see the light of day outside of a prison cell again.
Devon had to admit, he was relieved at the news, but whispered a quiet prayer for the man's soul. Verona would truly rest easy now.
He had been about to turn the lights out and go to bed himself when he heard a little voice coming from the other bedroom…and then a loud scream.
The Englishman ran into the room and turned the light on.
On the bed was Marissa, convulsing and screaming. Her face was truly pained and frightened at the same time…and her eyes were closed.
Swearing in a low voice, he hurried to her side, sat on the edge of the bed, gripped her shoulder and shook her firmly.
"Rissie," he said as firmly, yet gently, "Rissie…Rissie, wake up! Wake up!"
Her eyes snapped open and Devon could see the pure fear in them.
She started scrambling in on herself, into a little ball, whimpering, "M-Master P-Parkson, don't hit me, I didn't mean to bother you—"
He shook his head and said softly as he brushed her back with a hand, "Rissie, it's not Parkson. It's me, Devon."
She shuddered and looked up slowly as she asked, "F…Father?"
He nodded. "Yes, it's me, dear, your father."
Legally, Devon was Marissa's guardian and biologically her uncle. However, he loved the little girl as his own daughter and had serious intents on a formal adoption. She regarded him as her father, although it wasn't until Christmas time when she started calling him not "Uncle Devon", but "Father".
She nodded and made a small sound that was akin to a whimper.
"You sounded like you had a nightmare," he said quietly.
"Yeah, I did…a really bad one," she answered, "A black shadow's coming…it's gonna take all the grownups here and leave all the kids. Only three adults with us weren't taken…then you in a coma…"
Devon shook his head and wrapped his arms around her. No matter who had it, it would have been a frightening thing to dream about.
"Shhh, shhh. It's all right, little one. You're all right," he said quietly. "I'm not going to be in a coma anytime soon."
Even though he was tired, he stayed there like that, holding the little girl, until she quieted down and then fell asleep again. When she did, he smiled softly, got up, tucked her in, and then kissed her on the temple.
"Sweet dreams, Rissie," he whispered affectionately.
She murmured something unintelligible as a reply.
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Marissa was in a small yard, just outside of a hospital. She knew that upstairs, someone was in a coma. She had wanted to be up there with him, but Laura had explained that she had an important role in what was about to be…and that yes, it would hurt, but it would also safeguard the future.
In front of her was Michael. To her right, Laura Mariz was facing them both. A group of children surrounded the three of them…and at least one was from the street gang.
Her friend held a sharp knife in one hand. This is what she had meant by it hurting…but as she said, it was also necessary. It frightened her, but she saw the sense in it.
Laura had Michael hold out his hand and cut it across the palm quickly with her knife. He had flinched, but did not react as she thought he would.
The Mexican turned to Marissa's offered hand and made an identical cut across it, then cut her own hand.
Marissa gripped Michael's bloody hand with her own and felt a flash go through her. When she let go, her hand was whole, though now it had a scar. Laura did the same thing…and after a moment, she let go as well.
Michael and Laura's hands had identical scars…and when she looked up, she saw that the adult before her had changed.
He wore a white suit of armor that had two crests, one on each gauntlet, and a flame engraved in red on the breastplate.
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When Marissa awoke, she was sweating…and her hand stung, although she knew what she had seen was just a dream…or was it…?
She examined her hand and found no scar, nor any sign of blood.
"Yeah," she whispered, "Just a dream…"
She got out of bed and checked the sky outside. She found that it was gray, meaning that she had to be outside very soon if she was going to dance to the music only she could hear.