AN: I just wanted to say, for disclaimer reasons, that I borrowed some small concepts and part of a conversation from the movie "Knight Rider 2000." The bits of conversation I used were, in my opinion, some of the best words shared between the two sources in that movie (which I'd like to note, not exactly my favorite movie because of what they did to that beautiful car).
Chapter 3: A Memorable Reunion
The following morning Michael met Devon at the same diner he usually met Will and Steve at. They ate a big breakfast and reminisced about the past. The excitement to do something that he hadn't done since the Foundation had come to an end swelled through his stomach the more time went on, but moreover he couldn't wait to be reunited with an old friend—someone he hadn't shared a single word with since he took a cab to his new condo on the other side of town when FLAG was written off.
The two men used Devon's Pontiac Bonneville to drive to FPLI headquarters, a modern, glass building a few miles away from the down-town area, where unfortunately, they first had to meet with Edward Stants himself. Michael was barely able to stomach the man when they were introduced at a farewell banquet to Jennifer Knight, and he doubted that the feeling would be any different.
What angered Michael even more, however, is where they would be heading after that meeting. Devon warned him that there had been many changes, many of which Michael would no approve of. Mainly, Michael's biggest problem with Stants was the decision he made to permanently park K.I.T.T. in the grounds' storage building, since the Knight Industries Two Thousand had "outlived its usefulness."
He knew before it happened, though, what K.I.T.T.'s fate was. People who didn't work with the car, who didn't understand what he was all about would think nothing of pushing him aside like an old taxi cab or something to that nature. Putting him in away, though, must've hurt K.I.T.T. beyond anything else. Michael, along with Devon and Bonnie, had known that K.I.T.T. may have been a computer, but he was able to develop himself into a computer with a human-like personality—there was just nothing else like him.
"Devon!" A cheap-friendly voice called from down the main hall that led to the lobby.
Michael frowned to himself and put his hands in his pockets as he and Devon stood in place while Edward Stants walked towards them. He was a shorter man of his late thirties, dirty blond hair and sharp brown eyes. From afar he looked like a decent man, but his attitude was clearly stated through his stride and how he carried himself. Wearing a dark, three-piece suit, Stants extended his hand to Devon and shook it like they were high-class business men.
"I got your message," Stants replied and then glanced at Michael.
"You remember Michael Knight," Devon asked stepping away from the two.
"Of course, Mr. Knight," Stants said and shook Michael's hand. "I'm glad you could make it."
"Well, seeing that I asked Devon to arrange this, I wouldn't miss it," Michael said forcing himself to give a friendly smile in return.
"Ah, yes," came the reply. "Well then, how about a drink in my office? I should fill you in on what's been going on around here, Michael."
"No, that's okay we just came from breakfast," Michael said. "How about you just take us to K.I.T.T.?"
"Yes, it's been a while since we've talked to him," Devon added cheerfully, though Michael knew he was putting on an act—he knew something more than what he was letting on. If Stants wasn't present, he would've asked.
Stants became a little pale when Michael stared him down. He shifted his weight uncomfortably and gave a small smile. "I'm sure," he said a moment later. "I can arrange a golf cart to take us to the bay."
"Oh, it's that far back, is it?" Michael said, trying to make the guy feel more uneasy. After all, it was the least he could do after what he did to K.I.T.T.
Stants said nothing as he went over to the girl at the front desk and asked her to call one of the roaming security guards. He returned a second later and tried to act cool and calm. Michael, though, pretended the man didn't exist. Devon, felt torn between both of them and remained silent as to not seem to favor one over the other, (though Stants wasn't favorable company).
Within five minutes a white golf cart rolled to the entrance of the main building and Stants led the way to it. The security guard said nothing to any of them, but he seemingly knew where they had to go. Michael looked around the contemporary architecture of the building and the landscaping. It was nothing compared to the scenery that surrounded the Knight Foundation back in the day when he lived in the large, mansion-like house that was FLAG's headquarters.
"Just a little further!" Stants called over his shoulder to Michael and Devon. "I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear from you again!"
"Yes, I'm sure," Devon said, but Michael made no comment.
The golf cart stopped in front of a ware-house like building that was fairly small and not well kept compared to the main building. Michael looked around and saw how dismal the area looked; it seemed that once you stepped behind the scenes of FPLI the elegance it pretended to own wasn't as remarkable in the lower sectors.
Stants led the way, pulling out a small keychain with several bronze-colored keys hanging from it. He smiled at his company as they followed while he unlocked the regular, seven-foot tall door. Michael walked up close behind and scouted the interior of the building once Stants turned the overhead lights on. He wasn't surprised at what he saw; boxes upon boxes towered several sections of the floor, along with old office furniture and what seemed to be a newer shipment of decorative potted plants still sitting in partial shrink-wrap off to one side.
"Back here," Stants said as he led the way down the main isle. Michael tried to take in as much as he could and found mostly everything that was labeled was stamped with FLPI.
Michael's attention was drawn back to the reason why they were there when Devon poked his arm. The blue eyes set in Michael's face became narrow almost instantly. In front of them, sitting on four jacks, was the shape of a car covered by several dirty, old sheets. The blood rushed through Michael's body immediately when he could tell that his friend's tires were missing.
He didn't wait for Stants's permission to go ahead and reveal what was being hidden. Michael pushed the CEO aside and pulled away the first sheet his hand grabbed. Within a split second he was nearly heartbroken. What was once a flashy, top-of-the-line Trans Am was now a car that no longer had the sparkle jumping along its fenders. The black paint was faded from lack of care over the years; the hood was missing along with the fog lights that had been embedded within the bumper.
Michael walked around the body of K.I.T.T., a sense of anger and pain colliding in his heart all at once. Devon, though, wasn't impressed at the condition of his old friend's dream car. "I see that you made sure that K.I.T.T. wouldn't escape," he noted as he stared at the wheel-wells that no longer sported wheels.
"Well, they were a bit worn, Devon," Stants replied nervously.
Michael, though, didn't want to hear the excuses that would start pouring out of who he considered to be a jackass's mouth. "What the hell did you do to him?" He asked hatefully. "I thought it was agreed that he'd never be deactivated."
Edward Stants stood up as straight as he could, his fake smile disappearing. "He hasn't been; but the tires came off so the bastard—thing—couldn't decide to up and leave. The rest of what we took was used for fundraising."
"Oh that's real nice," Michael snorted. "Auction him off like he was nothing."
"Don't raise your tone, Mr. Knight—times have changed. Your car is over two decades old now; it wouldn't even fit in with the beautiful automobiles that are on the streets today." He looked between Devon and Michael several times. "Stay here as long as you like and catch up with the bucket of bolts; but don't come begging me to put him back together so you can go joy riding again."
Michael watched with fire in his eyes as Stants hurried off and left the building, not even closing the door as he disappeared. It didn't matter though; he had no regrets in anything he said—Stants had ruined K.I.T.T. and that was fact.
"I'm sorry, Michael," Devon said finally after the air seemed to be a little lighter. "I should've told you that Stants cared nothing for K.I.T.T."
"I figured you were trying to keep my temper low since I had to face that asshole," Michael said more calmly. "I just wish K.I.T.T. didn't have to suffer."
"Suffering is an understatement."
Michael glanced over to the front of the faded nose of the car to see the familiar red scanner flashing from side to side. A smile immediately came to his face and he returned to face the car completely.
"Ah, K.I.T.T.," Devon said joyfully looking at Michael.
"Is that you Michael?" K.I.T.T. asked.
"Yeah," Michael replied.
"You look like crap," the car said bluntly.
Michael snickered. "Well so do you, pal."
"At least I have an excuse! You've gone down the toilet since we last saw each other."
"Well just think of all that nap time you got," Michael said jokingly.
"If I had needed nap time, Michael, I would've been designed to recharge my battery with a giant plug that connected to any wall outlet," K.I.T.T. said. "Unfortunately, though, Mr. Stants didn't seem to take kindly to me and within three months I found myself lifted off the ground on these highly uncomfortable, average car jacks."
Both Devon and Michael chuckled; but K.I.T.T. went on. "Taking my tires was bad enough, but removing other parts plus my hood was rather rude, if you ask me. I can only imagine where they ended up."
"Well," Devon started, "I believe your hood was sold to a company that builds the presidential limousines in order to better structure those cars by using the molecular bonded shell that was, rather is part of your design.
"Yes and look at how dusty my engine has become," K.I.T.T. said in a shallow tone.
"Well, what's left of your engine, partner," Michael replied looking into the front body. "Don't worry though; you're days of hovering are over."
"Please, no jokes Michael," K.I.T.T. asked.
Devon looked at Michael knowingly. "I assure you it won't be easy to obtain him. Edward Stants won't give up his fall-back fundraiser option."
"Well that's too bad, isn't it?" Michael said with a smirk. "K.I.T.T., we're gonna get you out and fix you up like new. You'll feel like a million bucks."
"As grateful as I am with your words, Michael," K.I.T.T. said, "how do you expect to move me? I'm useless without a set of wheels."
"Minor setback, pal," Michael said. "I have some connections where I can get you brand-spankin' new sport tires in no time."
"And my hood?"
"Same connections," Michael said and patted the nose of the car.
"But how are you going to convince Mr. Stants to give me up? Like Devon said, I'm his main catch…"
Michael looked at Devon as if he already worked out the fine details. His mouth formed a devilish smile that only spelt out that no matter what, K.I.T.T. would be free once again.