Perhaps it was the confinement, and absence of sun or the medicines that were finally making his mind hurt. He didn't really know…but he wasn't feeling too well —

He could hear the bustle of the doctors and the whirr of busy machinery at work — partners in crime producing the productivity the doctors needed at the click of a switch.

He understood that — that unflattering reliability from a machine one could expect…unless there's an error, a bug, hounding the machine.

He covered an eye with one of his hands, letting out a gust of air. Trying to keep his thoughts even as the panic momentarily overwhelmed him. He glanced toward Devon's slumped form, fast asleep over a small foldable armchair. He wouldn't press the man for more questions, he understood – and he knew there was nothing he could do…

— but he wanted to know…He wanted to dream that he was wrong — they were wrong…

He curled his fist and glanced toward the white rays of light filtering through the partially open door…Once more homing in on the hurried voices of the doctors pacing outside the rooms and making orders just as quick.

Michael sighed, looking over the IV he was hooked to hoping that the genius that was Bonnie could glue the mystery together. There were far too many factors and simply some things he did not understand when it came to the functionality of his partner.

Anyone in his place would have felt furious — he wasn't, because reasonably he understood it hadn't been his partner's fault.

He sunk into the bed, looking at the ceiling…to the little splotches of colorful light emitted by the machines nearby.

He needed to sleep but he couldn't — he gritted his teeth and leaned forward, careful not to strain himself any more than he was.

He managed to pull the phone toward him and hastily dial Bonnie's direct extension at the mansion.

It rang and the tone made Michael shudder. When she did pick up he could pick up the concern of the engineers as something heaved, pulled, and roared. He tried to keep it serious, he tried not to let the raw emotions take him over in his search for answers.

"Bonnie," He started weakly. "How's —?"

"Michael, you should be sleeping." The woman persuaded, over the murmurs of what he expected were the engineers busily at work.

"I can't – I won't! Bonnie, how's —?"

The woman sighed tiredly on the other side.

"It isn't him anymore —" The woman regrettably replied. "The 'parasite' did considerable damage to his core matrix and it's near impossible to get near him right now. He's gone completely hysterical —"

Michael punched the air, feeling the flex of his muscles as his temper flew over the ceiling — the day he caught the culprit he'd…

"Can I talk to him?"

There was a shared silence over the line before Bonnie meekly replied.

"He wouldn't know who you are — Michael, please don't make this harder on us. His condition keeps worsening and at this pace, there won't be anything left of him to ground him to us. Michael —" now the woman sounded firm making the man sob as he awaited the final blow. " — we plan to deactivate him tonight…there is nothing we can salvage with him actively attacking the terminals and computers. He's gone into a blind rage…he won't listen." The woman gulped. "We've calculated that after deactivation we'd at least have 20% left of Kitt's memories to recover and perhaps a little more of 32% of his personality intact."

Michael shouted under his breath, before slamming the phone down. Nearly sending it tumbling over the bed stand. He turned to the open door, to the little light slipping under the bustle of a few dozen doctors.


Devon wheeled Michael around the lot. The man gloomily frowned over the pavement, catching glimpses of burnt rubber trails leading to the repair bay out back.

He reached over the armrests of the chair, stretching his hands over the side of the pavement feeling the prickly surface of the wild grasses as they slipped under his rough hands. Devon raised a brow but chose not to say anything as the two continued in expected silence.

At the bay, Michael noted the lack of engineers and technicians…the marked sign that Bonnie had gone forward with the deactivation.

He grumbled, shriveling up in his wheelchair feeling the loss bite at his gut.

Devon patted his shoulder, opening his mouth to say something but it seemed the words jammed and he said nothing.

Devon entered the passcode into the padlock and the two pushed forward into the stuffy room. The Trans-Am was silently standing, devoid of that cheerful life that'd have welcomed the sight of its driver's homecoming in one piece.

Michael patted the tail lights as Devon continued forth where Bonnie sat over her computer. She didn't let them progress too far as she stood and walked over to the pair.

She shook her head, looking from one man to another.

"We couldn't save much —"

Michael closed his eyes, using his hands to wheel his chair to the prow, and placed a singular hand over the damaged scanner from where the cursed "parasite" had been shot up.

"Any ID on who manufactured the projectile?"

Bonnie shook her head, a shiver running down her back at the sound of Michael's pained voice.

"Uh Michael," Bonnie bit her lip. "Before —" She clasped her hands over his, taking a seat on Kitts prow hugged under the shadows of the dim garage bay, say for the small rays of glowing orange coming through a ventilation window. "When Kitt was still conscious and aware he asked I do something for you — He knew he wasn't going to recover and —"

Michael put a hand up, unable to bear the thought of Kitt's last words.

"Michael," the woman frowned as Devon came from behind and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. " — Kitt was entirely infected…" She pushed on…" but he managed —"

A little sliver of hope escaped her voice and Michael craned his neck as he turned his attention to Bonnie, a small smile pulling at his lips.

The woman smiled faintly.

" — he managed to recreate a small copy."

Michael's smile faded.

"I don't want it —"

The woman gaped back at the man, in utter bewilderment.

"Michael, Kitt left this so —"

"I don't want it! If it isn't Kitt then what's the point?" The man banged his fist against the vehicle's hood, letting the shudder travel along the empty shell.

"Michael," the woman leaned into the hood trying to face the man's terror, his rage. "Kitt wanted you to be happy and went out of his way to prepare this for you before he lost recognition and cognitive function. He wanted you NOT to be alone —"

Michael wheeled back, making the woman flinch and step aside. Devon stepped in and secured the chair.

"Michael, listen to Bonnie." Devon gently murmured, the reddish of his eyes shimmering as tiny silver beads rolled down his cheeks.

The man groaned.

"Don't expect me to work with it — don't expect me to even work at all! I quit."

He was about to thrash out of the bay but Devon pressed on.

"Bonnie plans to insert the few memories that were salvaged from the original into the copy for a sense of authenticity."

Michael rolled his eyes.

"What if the virus contaminated those? You're all mad!?" Michael shouted in utter frustration. "I prefer the scrap metal as is — It couldn't take Kitt's place if it even tried."

Bonnie shook her head.

"Michael it isn't meant to be a replacement for Kitt, it's meant to be a support for you."

"And Michael, Kitt knew you too well —" Devon chuckled nervously before breaking into a cough. "Tell me if I'm wrong but you plan to stow away tonight. Isolate yourself, forget about this —"

Michael angrily glared at Devon.

"Will you show me the worthless rip-off already? Yes or no?"


Bonnie brought a small box, with a small wrinkled ribbon wrapped around it. In between the ribbon and the box was a small letter as the woman passed the box to the man she gave him a hopeful smile.

Michael in turn grasped the box tightly, ripping away the fragile ribbon and letting it slip soundlessly to the ground while sliding the card into his shirt pocket for later examination. He glanced up to Bonnie a little vexed as he opened up the box to reveal what appeared to be a miniature Trans-Am.

The man shoved the box away and gave Bonnie a disapproving look. The woman gaped at him for a moment before sighing and crossing her arms before returning an equally cold stare.

"Michael if you won't pull through with this — I can take the replica." The woman answered.

Devon, who was sitting nearby over Kitt's former windshield, gloomily observed the two. Michael sucked in air through his teeth as he pulled the remote-controlled-sized Trans-Am out of the box.

"And this was Kitt's idea?" He finally asked, daunted.

The woman nodded.

"Programmed to respond to your needs." She emphasized.

Michael shrugged.

"Kitt was programmed to respond to my every need, this, this is just a fraudulent imposter of the original."

The woman rolled her eyes, taking the small Trans-Am from his hands.

"Before I turn it on understand that —"

The man put his hands up in defeat, before slapping them down on the armrest.

"If I get bored of it I can always give it back to you."

The woman's eyes nearly blew out of her head.

"Michael! You're seriously going to reject the little Kitt left in his memory!? He would have been more than content to have known he left you in good hands — and you're honoring him like this!?"

The man reached forward, yanking the miniature Trans-Am from her grasp.

"This is simply an imitation of Kitt — This is just a coping mechanism of some sort for me…when I'm through with this chapter in my life — This — will either stay with you or Devon, because I sure as day don't plan on keeping this around." The man grumbled, turning the decently sized vehicle in his hands before opening the under panel and switching it on. He then placed it on the floor promptly, awaiting the awkward machine to boot. When it did the chime of its voice sent a shudder down Michael's back.

"Hello, Bonnie." The voice warmly approached. A sense of relief and contentment blossomed over the woman's face as the little creature gained recognition.

"Hello, K-Kitt." Her smile wavering ever so slightly, unsure what other name the small fragment would go by. Michael on the other hand seemed rather upset, reaching down and briskly picking it up — the small Trans-Am emitting a quick yelp with a timid flash of its small scanner.

" — and hello to you too, Michael." The small computer greeted, timidly.

"It's Mr. Knight to you." Michael grimaced, before raising a brow and glowering at Bonnie. "This isn't Kitt."

Devon sighed as he came from behind, rubbing Michael's shoulder thoughtfully.

"It isn't meant to be my dear boy. It's just a friendly reminder of what Kitt once was…"

Michael turned away, placing the Trans-Am back into the box, sealing it shut, and setting it aside before gingerly standing up and stretching his legs. The wheelchair becoming a hard burden to sit in any longer. Clutching the box, he left…storming to the cottage — listening to the eerie whirr of the scanner beneath the cardboard.


He placed the box down by the door and took a seat on his couch turning to the white noise of the television in the bright morning light showering over his windows. It didn't take long for the little bootleg edition of the 2000 to leap free of the box much like the original.

"Micha – ." the computer began as it made its way to the living room cautiously. Detouring around a few shoes tossed randomly about. The small rubber tires squeaked over the dusty wooden floor panels. "I would highly suggest…" the small scanner began beating rapidly.

"Listen here," Michael turned sideways menacingly from the couch, making the miniature freeze in concern. "You're not Kitt, so you have no right to exist. You're only staying with me until the dust settles down. My terms are this: number one, I don't want to hear a peep out of you while you're here. Number two —" He paused taking a quick gulp of air. "I expect you're supposed to hand my progress to Devon, is that right?"

"Yes." The computer weakly remarked. "Mr. Miles made it clear to me that I was to keep records of your emotional state and report my findings to the doctor for further examination."

"Well I expect to give them a rather good report — and two don't expect me to call you by Kitt's name…"

"Mr. Knight, I know it's a little bizarre the occurrence in which we've been brought together but the Knight 2000 made it clear that I was to care for you. It's my purpose —"

Michael grumbled clasping his hands.

"Yeah," he curled his lips. It did sound like something Kitt would do. " — I'm not obligated to keep you though."

"No, you're not." The lil' Trans-Am remarked, agreeing. " But given the fatigue and wear in your persona, it's safe to assume that a little companionship will do you well while you deal with the grief of losing — Kitt." The computer lightly answered. Whispering the last part to himself.

Michael ran a hand over his head, feeling a little upset over the tone of the copy's voice. It just sounded so much like Kitt— The fact it knew him and the others, was unsettling. How did Bonnie know this was a handstitched copy made by Kitt in his last hours rather than a fragment of Kitt himself? Was there a difference?

He glanced down over the black gleam of the small aesthetically pleasing Trans-Am.

"What else did Kitt tell you?"

The small scanner beat in time before the distinct voice broke the silence.

"The business involved in copying oneself is a little disorienting, to say the least. It wasn't like he told me but rather WE thought it." The voice mumbled a little static before continuing. "Frankly, I do consider myself Kitt — I share many…"

Michael stood up from the couch, shaking his hands and heading toward his bedroom unwilling to listen.

"Good night," He called out in spit.

"Good night Mr. Knight."


Michael was in bed, the summer heat was getting to him as per usual and his desk fan was whirring incredibly loud. Even so, he managed to find occasional sleep amongst the zigzagging thoughts pulling him over his lost partner. Faint echoes, blurred colors playing over and over again as he lost his partner one too many times. That same explosion — the awful crash and the incoherent laugh of someone out in the dark fog amongst the thickets; watching —

Eventually turning over to his back, and staring at the ceiling he caught sounds bouncing off the walls. He'd been sure to leave the small Trans-Am outside the bedroom but he was quite sure he could make out the frightened hums that he'd associated with Kitt for the longest time.

He jerked in bed a little, choosing to face the wall and try to drown the hums with the fans' turbulence. It didn't work.

Busting out of bed he managed to contain his growing panic but not enough to ignore his need to prop the box open in a single sweep catching the AI's sharp shout over the buzz of the air-conditioner in the living room.

"Mr. Knight –" the miniature Trans-Am lifted its pop-ups illuminating Michael's face in bright white. " — may I help you?"

Michael crouched down giving the car a fierce stare.

"How did you get back in there — never mind, you were talking in your sleep?" He pointed out, noting the timid glow of the scanner.

" — And I awoke you?" The computer asked rather perplexed. "From what I recall not even the loud siren of the blue and whites could get you to rise." The AI chatted matter-of-factly.

Michael frowned.

"You remember that?" He drew closer to the box. "Do you genuinely remember that?"

The small car was hesitant to reply but after a few blows from the A/C, the imitation 2000 replied precisely.

"Mr. Knight I remember a great deal but that doesn't make me Kitt now does it?"

Michael got down on his knees, sighing as he gazed over the sad-looking popups staring blindly back at him.

"Did Kitt —?" He cleared his throat unsure what to say. "Did Kitt say something else before —?"

"In death, he made it clear to me that we're the same…"

"Pfft, of course, you're not."

"I'm not talking about the original 2000. He proudly acknowledged that I was the perfect sequence of alternative code he could safely produce to look after you. Consequently, my sequence of code is altered and there are but a few differences between us — but I share a great deal of what was and remains to be: Kitt."

Michael scoffed, crossing his arms as the white light carefully bulged his cheeks.

"You aren't Kitt."

"Perhaps — but it is what you truly choose to believe Michael."

The man slid backward, his eyes trembling at the call of his name by a friend that was no more.

"I greatly apologize — ." The car sadly interjected, catching the grief wash over Michael's ashen sweaty face. "Something else you might need of use?"

"Did Kitt just program you to do that?" The man poked the car's mockup windshield.

"I don't understand," The car buzzed.

"That — you sound so…"

"Automated, would be the better word — Yes. The few sound bytes that I sampled for my voice were of impaired nature. I simply didn't have enough time to put this all together while my mind was vanishing before the dozen more technicians attempting to free me of the virus's clutches. It shouldn't be but a few days until the imperfections vanish."

Michael raised a brow.

"You mean Kitt."

"Yes. Yes, that's what I said." The car smoothly remarked. "I do think some sleep is in order, Mr. Knight."

The man curled his arms around his knees, continuing to gaze down at the small Trans-Am blanketing him in its warm glow. He felt like a child, a sneaky child opening a gift before the date of the reveal. It looked awfully cute he couldn't deny that.

"How about you?"

"What about it?" The fake t-top replied.

"Do you sleep?"

The two sat in silence before something clicked beneath the chassis and the car spoke once more.

"I power down much like the original."

"Ah." Michael nodded before standing up and carefully using the rays from the lights to guide him back to bed.

Once the door was closed, he settled under the thin sheets. He caught the light's power off just beneath the door frame. He closed his eyes.

It would be so easy to just accept the duplicate into his life — but he wouldn't. It was his fault anyway and if a part of Kitt still lived inside the miniature he planned to hand the responsibility to someone else. He wouldn't get Kitt killed a second time over —


He was cooking eggs, albeit they were overdone but eggs nonetheless.

Every so often he'd peek around the center island countertop toward the cardboard box settled by the door.

The duplicate hadn't stirred since their last chat from the night before and Michael wasn't too eager to awake the clone. Albeit he was sure it was still functional and alive given the faint hums of the scanner while the little electronic creature rested.

Finally, after accidentally stubbing his toe against the counter island corner and making a racket, the little duplicate leaped over the cardboard box in elegance. Making a hurried way toward Michael propping his foot against a shabby cupboard door before giving to the pain and jumping on one foot.

"Ice Mr. Knight, Ice is better suited than that." The computer purred its brushless motor as its suspension adjusted between the wood floor and linoleum divider.

Michael rolled his eyes, reaching for the refrigerator. Pulling a pack of hotdogs from the freezer.

The duplicate mildly hissed his scanner, noting with distaste the expiration date on the package.

Michael could have cared less. Taking a seat and shook his leg while he tried to overcome the pain shooting back and forth over his nerves.

"Should I call a doctor?" The Trans-Am finally mused noting some inflammation was starting to kick in.

Michael placed his foot down, confident he was alright — sadly that was not true. The second he planted his foot the pain shot back up again. Jumping once more over one foot, the grown man headed for the couch in the living room with a rather worried Knight unit after him.

"Michael if it hurts that bad then we should call a doctor!" The computer clamored as it leaped taking a seat next to Michael before whizzing its scanner from side to side incredibly fast. "Fortunately it isn't broken nor fractured but very much bruised." He reported calmly, wheeling slightly forward careful not to slip off the uneven surface.

Michael clenched his jaw turning to the Trans-Am more than upset.

"I'm fine –"

"Mr. Knight I would greatly appreciate it if you wore sandals or some form of footwear next time. Better yet remove that unnecessary hardware in the middle of your kitchen!"

Michael rolled his eyes.

"I'll keep that in mind, pal —"

He bit his tongue, standing up abruptly. The sudden impression in the couch reflated sending the Trans-Am tumbling onto the floor.

"A little assistance would fit right about now." The t-top implored, coming to a stop upside down over the throw rug spread before the television set.

Michael ignored the Trans-Am's remark entirely as he marched to the kitchen, protesting under his breath as he turned his eggs in the skillet to reveal a complete carbon black side.

"Ugh!" His morning was going up in ashes. Taking out the egg he paired it with a piece of toast, took a troubled seat at the kitchen table, and gulped the meal down with a glass of orange juice.

The Trans-Am went with a quiet approach and allowed the defeated man to finish his meal before piping up again and pleading for help.

"Mr. Knight, I'm sure you are aware of the laws of physics, and sadly I'm unable to put myself up as I have no means to apply any physics to this circumstance."

Michael set his glass down, listening to the complete dread in the voice.

"What's the deal with being upside down?" Michael answered, still seated at the table.

There was a slight whirr from the vehicle's back tires, a crackle of static revealing the voice.

"It's rather demeaning for me Mr. Knight."

Michael shrugged sitting back in his seat.

"You know," He smiled mischievously. "I just remembered I have something very important to do today." He looked up at his kitchen clock beating itself to death day by day.

"How jarring —" The Trans-Am lamented as its tires continued to spin in the air, aware of the plan indifferently growing in Michael's head.

The man stood up from the table, quick to dump his dishes into the sink before jogging away to his bedroom.

"Mr. Knight?!" the car called suddenly suppressed by dread.

Michael barged out of the room, dressed up in his usual attire. Waving goodbye to the completely loitering Trans-Am with its undercarriage exposed.

"Michael!" The computer shrieked as the man exited the cottage with no intention of setting the car upright. He secured the door and celebrated that he'd managed to rid himself of the car at least for a day.


Bonnie was not amused.

Kitt's entire shell had been shipped for further examination to the Foundation's sister branch Knight Industries and if anything felt a little undervalued as her life's worth of work and friendship rolled out the door that very morning.

So when Michael showed up more than excited and bouncing off his heels she knew that he'd done something terrible.

Eyeing him closely, and raising a brow the man simply tipped his non-existent hat in utter glee before the sudden disappearance of Kitt's chassis struck his slow-moving synapses.

"Where's Kitt?!"

The woman would have had the pleasure to smirk the second his mischievous nature melted right off hadn't the concern returned in a heartbeat.

"Devon thinks a thorough examination of the chassis could help us determine who was behind Kitt's murder."

The man gaped, turning to the empty space in the bay.

"Still no ID who ambushed us that night?"

"Nope." Bonnie sighed, pushing a stool nearby and taking a seat. " — Let's say we don't have that many suspects either."

Michael slipped his hands into his pockets.

"I promised Kitt It'd find who did this to him."

Bonnie shrugged.

"You shouldn't have Michael," The woman rested her head over her knees, curling up in a little ball. Letting her hair cover her face. "Perhaps that pushed Kitt into leaving his copy —" Her voice trailed off.

Michael cleared his throat. He recognized that tone.

"What about it?"

The woman straightened her head.

"What has he told you?"

The man grimaced.

"He's an altered copy of Kitt. Why?"

The woman jumped down from her perch.

"I was looking through the copy's source code and found something off —"

Michael crossed his hands, leaning his head back and glancing over the blank ceiling.

"There's a specific line, in particular, seems Kitt KNEW who did it but didn't have time to provide specifics. The suspect's name is completely encrypted and only the copy would "know"." Bonnie examined Michael's sudden stoic expression. "I think Kitt feared the suspect would come back — and finish the job." She pinned him under her stare in agitation.

Michael shook his head, irritation lining the wrinkles on his face.

"Kitt left the copy to protect me? That little derp is going to help me?"

The woman broke into a surprised face.

"Michael, why are you distancing yourself from him?"

"He isn't Kitt — that's where my case sits and where it will stand for however long I want it to be!" The man howled.

The woman leaned back on a bench, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Did it ever occur to you that he's hurting too?"

"What, the derp?" Michael mockingly smiled before pointing towards the door.

"Michael!" The woman shouted.

"Okay, okay. I know it has feelings — but I don't understand how a copy could get away and not the original!"

The woman rolled her eyes.

"That's because Kitt was far too gone and corrupted. Even if we saved him he wouldn't have been the same — He'd be far worse than the time he fell into the acid pit. The copy is made up of sequences that hadn't yet been affected. Kitt couldn't directly upload himself and instead restrung the sequences to better resemble himself. He WANTED you to be happy more than anything! Michael why don't you get it!?" The woman sobbed.

The man turned away.

"Bonnie, I can't do this — I can't do it all over again. I can't reteach Kitt how to be Kitt."

"He doesn't need to be retaught. He knows he's a piece of Kitt, Michael. He's more than a copy. He's just restarting on a second life much like how you started here."

The man tossed his arm in rebuke, choosing to drown the woman's voice out of his head.

"Well, I'm going after the guy that did this to him." He darkly countered.

The woman shook her head, letting the tears roll off her cheeks.

"Well go —" She squeaked. "I'm not going to stop you."


The door flung open and Michael stormed toward the living room where the small mechanical creature lay.

Michael nearly panicked when he found it to be completely silent, and a lack of crimson.

"Hey?" Michael shouted, patting the side of the chassis with the tip of his toe. "Wake up!"

There was an immediate reaction. The brushless motors went off and the car barked up at him in outright resentment.

"Woo." Michael tried to soothe the flustered car.

"Mr. Knight this is quite juvie of you!" The voice of Kitt blew over the man like hot coals. He didn't hesitate to pick the car up but was cautious not to let it run off. Instead he held it high looking directly at the crimson scanner beating in extreme offbeat rhythms.

"Who killed Kitt?" The man asked firmly.

There was an immediate change — If Kitt had entrusted this reproduction to keep the secret then he'd forgotten that he {and probably applying to the copy} could not lie. —- The mockup's scanner faded before flushing out to complete black.

"I'm not sure what the point of this inquiry is Mr. Knight." The car replied dryly.

Michael smiled hopeful, grasping the car tightly.

"Kitt told you, didn't he?"

"I'm not aware of what you're —"

"So there's a guy isn't there? The projectile wasn't for you — uh, Kitt I mean — but me? I was the target the whole time?"

The miniature shuddered.

"Mr. Knight I'm unfamiliar with the subject —"

Michael pulled the vehicle closer to his face.

"What did Kitt tell you?" The man squinted, pinning the dark scanner under his brutal stare.

"Mr. Knight I don't think…"

Michael flinched, his hand releasing the car as a small electric shock ran up the body panels. The second the car touched the floor, he darted. Running circles around the living room while Michael jumped and pounced attempting to pin the ever fleeing car.

"Why won't you tell me!?" He shouted blocking the retreat under the coffee table with a throw pillow.

"Mr. Knight! I plead you stop this unnecessary interrogation!" The car reversed, Michael diving onto the throw rug and snatching a hand full of carpet instead.

" — So that's why Kitt left you." The man gasped standing up and watching the little critter stand a ways doing a quick "burnout" in the kitchen tempting him to keep suit. "So the guy is coming back then? How do you expect to stop him when you're literally no bigger than a rabbit?" Michael slowly approached the jumpy Trans-Am.

" I —" The vehicle reversed, bumping into a cabinet door anxiously. "The 2000 was yet to tell me that —"

"So I'm right?"

"Mr. Knight your unorthodox strategy to gain access to information is obviously questionable, but to share the truth — yes, you are. The projectile was meant to have Kitt turn on you….a freak accident that would have turned the board against the Foundation and a huge depression into Devon Miles."

Michael smiled mischievously.

"Who's the killer?"

"I can't — Mr. Knight?! I'm not crazy enough to let you run savagely amongst the streets and get yourself killed. Or worse — let you kill someone!"

The man shook his head leaning back against the back of the couch, feeling his blood beat in his head.

"Look, will you help me find the killer? Yes, or no?"

"I drive."

Michael cocked his head.

"Pfft, you're literally…."

"Oh, right." The car dove toward the door a sense of obligation radiating off the scanner. "You may drive Mr. Knight but whether we capture the killer is up to me — we pull out if it's too dangerous."

Michael raised a brow.

"I thought you knew —?"

"With no doubt Michae — M - Mr. Knight, It's just that I've obliged to discretion. I can't directly tell you without violating my main program."

The man approached the door, rubbing his forehead before reaching over about to scoop up the Trans-Am.

"I can drive Mr. Knight."

The man mischievously smiled.

"Whatever you say —" Opening the door for the two-stepping back into the heavy air of direct sunlight.