Hey everybody! Thank you so much for the positive reviews. Sharing my stories is great, but it's even better when I know others enjoy them. Here is the next chapter, which is a little longer since I couldn't split it up. Please continue to leave reviews, I really appreciate it! Update coming by the weekend, most likely!


"Well, not the dog per se," Dr. Bonnie Barstow piped up. "Kitt has a microchip implanted in the residual speech center of his brain, which we altered to be much larger than your average canine. The microchip picks up on Kitt's linguistic "thoughts" and transmits that to the voice transponder on his collar. With intensive training, we have made him as fluent as a college professor."

Michael responded only with a blank stare. The veterinarian rolled her eyes. "Yes, Michael, the dog talked."

"Kitt is about 6 weeks old, and he still has a lot of training to do," Miles began. "But we feel now is the right time to introduce you to this process. Get you two accustomed to working together. Once this training is done, we expect you two will be the most important asset that we have here at the LAPD. What do you think?"

I don't even know what to think, Michael paused. I wanted a police dog. And I wanted to be more involved in the field. So why do I feel reserved about this? I should be jumping with joy. His eyes flashed to the little pooch at his feet. The dog looked just as excited: fur on end, mouth hanging open, tail wagging. He tilted his disproportionately large head and stared at his master with even larger eyes. Kitt was playing tag with Knight's heartstrings, and it wasn't hard to determine who was winning.

The officer cleared his throat. "I'd love to be involved." The vet, the lieutenant, and the dog all smiled broadly.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Knight," Kitt said from under the table. He extended his paw as if wanting to shake.

"Aww, he knows tricks!" Michael had to exclaim. Immediately, the German Shepherd puppy withdrew his foot.

"I do not do tricks," the puppy growled. "I am a multimillion dollar veterinary achievement. Not some lap dog." Michael looked as though he'd been slapped across the face. The dog's a little touchy. He didn't dare say that out loud, though.

"Anyway," Devon butted in before the dog started an all-out turf war. "The next couple weeks, we'd like you to abandon your desk job- which I'm sure you'd be glad to."

"And you'd be damn right about that."

Devon chuckled, then continued. "Yes, and you'd be working on various exercises with Kitt, learning about each other and the protocol that we have written for using deploying in the field. It's important that you understand each other's' limits and know when to push beyond them."

"Kitt has been bred and biologically designed to be, for lack of a better word, 'better' than other dogs," said Dr. Barstow. "He is stronger, faster, smarter… and there's still progress to be made. With a lot of hard work on his and your parts, Kitt will be a K9 officer the likes of the world has never seen before."

All eyes fell on the puppy underneath the table. He had closed his mouth and curled his tail up underneath him, trying his best to adopt the stance of a regal and mature hound. Despite his efforts, Michael still saw him as just a puppy. Granted, German Shepherds were way above average in pretty much every evaluation category- that's why the police force used them- but this barely month-old animal was anything but intimidating.

He couldn't help but feel proud of the little guy, though. Maybe because he was finally getting a promotion, and the dog was just an added bonus. Why did he want a dog in the first place? Michael was a notorious bachelor and while he searched for a worthwhile woman, he needed a buddy to keep him company. A "friend," I guess.

"So when do we start?"

Well, now regret had caught up with him. His shrieking alarm clock quite rudely alerted him that is was 5 AM, on the dot. Why the hell do I have to report for duty at 0630? That is ridiculous! On most days, I don't show up at the station until 8 at the earliest!

Letting the silky sheets fall off, he slunk out of the bed and hobbled into the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, nothing greeted him except a half-gallon of skim milk. He signed. Looks like breakfast is gonna have to be a bowl of cereal. Again.

Michael tried his best to make his grotesque, early-morning zombie figure at least somewhat palatable. He ran his fingers through his fluffy, curly bed head, splashed some water on his face

He'd only been given a new address to report to: no dress code. So he put on his standard navy uniform, taking special care to straighten all the buttons and patches. Whereas yesterday, he loathed his predictable career, he was now legitimately for the unknown day ahead of him. Now, Michael was by no means a philosopher, but he couldn't help but smile at the way life toyed with him.

Nobody in the apartment complex was awake when Michael stepped out of his door. He took care to close and lock the door quietly and tiptoed downstairs to the complex garage.

Sitting in his parking spot was his best friend: his car. Just like your average macho man, Knight had a preeten-like obsession with classic muscle cars. So, after scraping together enough savings, he bought himself a 1982 Pontiac Trans Am. Black, sleek, angular, and powerful, just like a car should be. Since he never used it, his squad car was sitting and gathering dust in the station lot.

The Trans Am purred with delight when Michael turned the ignition. Its headlights snapped up and the transmission caught right away. Like a well-trained dog. With finesse, the pair backed out of the space and started towards the address Devon had emailed him. It was in a rundown industrial neighborhood, pretty much abandoned by the city planners. Not much went on there. Nothing good, at least.

The address directed him towards a worn-down warehouse sort of structure. The discolored beige paint on the outside chipped off in great scales and the metal garage door was rusty and creaked in the faint summer wind. Nevertheless, Devon's undercover cop car was parked in front. Michael parked alongside him and hesitantly left his car.

He entered the building through the gray steel door next to the giant garage door: unlocked. What he found inside did not match the drab exterior of the building.

Light streamed in from great windows all along the walls just below the ceiling, supplemented by dozens of fluorescent panels. Just like the floors, the walls were immaculate concrete. Scattered around the glossy concrete floors were various obstacles: a target dummy, hoops of various heights, vinyl tunnels, balance beams, and a tall wood panel that the army used to train soldiers to climb. This looks like something you'd find in Area 51 for training alien gymnasts, Michael thought.

Devon, Bonnie, and Kitt were there to greet him. This time, the pup was dressed in a navy blue vest to match Michael, loaded with pockets and even a tiny badge. Just like Michael's name tag read "KNIGHT," the dog had one reading "KITT." He would have been cute, if the dog didn't have such an intimidatingly serious look blazing in its eyes.

"Good morning, Michael," all three said in unison. The dog curled its tail tightly beneath it to hide that it was wagging with excitement. The officer nodded and walked up to pet the dog. With a look of disdain, Kitt allowed it.

Devon began yet another one of his infamous grand soliloquys. "Dr. Barstow has prepared for Kitt a rigorous obstacle course to test his enhanced abilities. She's devised a brilliant training regimen of agility, stamina, and power, all of which to push Kitt to his designed biological maximum. As such, she has taken various equipment from our K9 program in addition to obstacles from traditional agility courses. This will be Kitt's first battery trial, so we'd like you to observe."

"You ready, Kitt?" Bonnie asked the puppy in a chipper tone. He yipped back and stood, taking on an attack stance. His small yet powerful muscles bunched up, rippling his coat, and his fur stood on end. A daring snarl waved across his mouth. He held this form for several seconds. Michael looked at Bonnie, waiting for her to give the order. She stared back.

"You're his partner, Michael," she urged. "He takes direction from you."

"Oh," the cop started. He continued without grace. "Uh, Kitt," the Shepherd's ears swiveled to hear his master's voice. "Go!"

Kitt's speed was unprecedented. When he ran, he galloped like a horse, with all four paws off of the ground. His sheer speed flattened all of his hairs flat against his skin, giving his coworkers a fantastic view of his pumping muscles. His eyes never left his target: the dummy looming in front of him. Baring his teeth, he leapt right at the mannequin's exposed neck without hesitation. When he snapped down on the jugular, the momentum of his swift body sent him spinning around the body; however, Kitt had anticipated this, and whipped his neck at the exact right moment, landing gracefully on the ground with a ragged hunk of fabric and stuffing.

Michael was in awe, while Bonnie had a smug grin on her face. Next for the dog was a rapid series of hoops, getting progressively higher. Kitt leapt through the first one with ease. His front paw pads landed softly on the concrete, and all the energy transferred from his front half to his back half as he sprang back up with twice the height. Devon gasped audibly.

As Kitt pulled a hairpin turn at the opposite end of the warehouse, he shot an overjoyed look at his fans. Michael gave him two thumbs way up. The puppy snaked through several tunnels and leapt onto the balance beam. He didn't even break his stride and did not waver as he pelted down the beam.

Now Kitt was approaching the final obstacle: the climbing wall. It stood about 10 feet tall, completely flat and giant stacked pieces of lumber. Even Michael would struggle to make it over the top. Of course, his canine companion made it look easy. The dog bunched its legs for the final time and leap about ¾ of the way up the wall. His claws dug into the soft wood and he scaled up the final quarter like a cat. With his tail high and wagging, ears perked and chest heaving, Kitt came to a screeching halt in front of the cops.

Bonnie took the stethoscope from around her neck and bent over to auscultate the animal. "Perfect," she beamed. "He didn't even break a sweat! I mean, if he could sweat."

Devon was speechless. Michael was not, however, and dropped to his knees to praise the dog.

"Kitt," he breathed. "That was amazing! I mean, just incredible! I've never seen a dog do that, let alone a puppy!"

The Shepherd nodded curtly. "Thank you, Michael. I doubt you've ever seen a dog quite like me, though."