He retreated slowly through the deserted streets under the moon's pale rays. Homing in gradually closer and closer to the depot cautiously making good use of back streets and alleys. He kept nimble on his treads as much as possible trying not to unnecessarily increase the racket he was already making, ignoring any shout or attempt to call him over by any passerbyers. No use in making a fare in this state.
Scanning his vicinity on the double, he strayed into the nearest shadows, blending into the dark as a fellow cab drove past.
The long chain was creating enough of an unwilling racket to his case. Summoning to his heels a widespread crowd of stray dogs.
Granted, unable to make effective use of his speed, he made do with his far-ranged stamina to outrun them. However, given the extent of the "jaw" attached to his tire, it would be foolhardy to push his turbine any further with such a burden stressing his drivetrain.
Eventually, he made quick use of a rather messy jump. Without thinking twice he turbo-boosted on top of a forsaken building and nestled on the rooftop of the abandoned structure. He found himself yelping the moment he was momentarily airborne. Aware it had been years since he'd made use of a good jump — He had stayed clear of its use for as long as he could remember. Unsure if damage would ensue, after all, the required equipment for this ability had been uncared for since as far as he could remember.
Unwilling to be seen "limping" and made the laughing stock by all the electrics again, he reasoned he would make an exception. Either way, he still had faith in Bonnie's handiwork and figured he was going to be okay. The building's roof was protesting far more than his suspension and turbo boost system combined. An equally worrying matter if he was being honest. Perhaps it would be best to roost elsewhere.
He internally, and faintly grinned.
Frankly, it seemed his systems seemed relieved in a way. Content to be made of use…He sure was happy to have felt that familiar rush of excitement through his processor. Especially now that his spirits were running by the dumps.
He kept a thoughtful eye on his surroundings down below. Choosing to settle down eagerly and let his engine cool down. He would get moving shortly; and find a better-suited place but first "rest". Albeit he figured he would get quite a little.
Still keeping on his "toes" so to speak, he jerked internally, startled as a few cabs drove down below with the rustle of leaves trailing behind them.
His auditory sensors peaked momentarily and then in the next moment, a brush of warm air escaped his engine in relief, more than pleased to see them continue their way. Unaware of his whereabouts. He wished more than ever not to be seen…
There were probably worse things to be made a fool of, however,— But being right in the worst possible way was of a demeaning nature. The last he needed was to bump Prow first into any figure of authority in the pit of the night and elaborate how he was indeed "right" and yet "wrong". Very wrong to have not followed the dictated word of the "Elders" or the Matriarch. He was older than all of them and yet he'd given a step in false proving in a twisted and rather dejected way that he could not be trusted to be a leader…not even a Kingpin would be a worthy title now —
Finally slowing down his thoughts and finding himself steadily "breathing" after the close encounter he'd just endured he came to the realization he wasn't feeling himself at the moment, his chassis having shaken unnaturally for a long time from every few rotations of his tire tightly gripped by the jaws of the snare trap threatening to never let go.
He crept away from the roof's ledge, and darted from one shadow to the next, unable to keep a steady pace to avoid the loud creak of the aged steel — uneasy at the thought of calling unwanted attention again. Or completely falling through the structure and getting stuck. That was also a problem.
He was vulnerable, physically and emotionally. Had that other car attempted to kill him? He did not know, but it had been a long time since someone had gone after him with a malicious attempt. — A very, very long time…
He grumbled, finding himself overly stressed once more and finding little comfort in the silence of the comms channels. Everyone was at the depot and those few who were not, were making a prudent point to keep weary of the channels. The night owls had it rough enough finding at least one passenger during these dangerous hours and competition was fierce even between company vehicles.
The trap and chain were unnecessarily stressing on his drive train now even as he creeped slowly along the roof of the old warehouse keeping an eye out for signs of danger. The components of his differential protested, making it clear he needed to receive care right away if he was planning on keeping a differential at all.
He sighed, continuing to crawl along the rooftop edge.
Everywhere he went the sound of the metal banged and clinked beneath him or struck hard against his chassis making him wince.
He would be fine overall, with no need to worry about "severe" damage so long as he reached the mechanics by dawn, but the interior havoc of his mind was having a hard time accepting that. Surely, there couldn't be damage, his mind was just being overly dramatic but even so, it did not constitute how incompetent he felt.
It had seemed as of late that he'd not been listening to the dwindling sound advice of Michael's voice and wisdom the man had fondly passed to him prior to his passing.
He tried to ignore this painful realization, trying to bury his awful judgment, and squeezed the man's kind voice gently collected at the bottom of his drives.
'KITT, keep one thing in mind: I could switch you to a game show."
He internally sniffled. Wishing more than anything to switch his mind off now — drown out his regrets somehow at the click of a button as though one wanted to change the channel and watch something else — but so it seemed he was doomed to watch himself struggle over the asphalt as though he were some mad injured animal, unable to be solaced.
He came to a slow stop along a worn edge. He identified a few lone silhouettes watching from the shadows down below on the more "presentable" side of the building. Some belonged to squad cars, stationed under the lush cover of overgrown trees growing up the side of a nearby building. These vehicles were of the few that had drivers. All government vehicles did. Though at the moment they seemed not to have any occupants.
He gazed over the horizon, the sun was due in a few hours and he only had until then to stamper his way back home with the cover of night if he wished to keep this incident in wraps.
He needed to get down.
He needed to get going.
He grumbled unsure if he could do that now. Somewhere deep within him he just wanted to stay on the rooftop and sulk. What use was it anyway to return to the mechanic? Wouldn't they rat him out either way? The other cars would get wind of his predicament. But what use was it to just stay in an "incident" like this?
His drivetrain would thank him if he went home, be it embarrassing or not. Yes, he had lost or dented his pride but it would come back wouldn't it?
He continued to gaze at the horizon, noting quite distinctly the cityscape that lay close by to the depot. He was far closer than he'd been a few hours ago, it was progress.
He needed to get there, though deeply maybe he didn't want to.
He internally sighed, deciding on the matter. Collecting the remains of his pride, he leaped a final time.
He couldn't hold the rush of excitement and freedom wisp by as he became airborne once more. Again, a few systems complained but nothing major as his treads bounced off the payment. Though worried about damage, his systems and hardware proved to be hardy against disuse once more.
— But the excitement quickly dissipated as he still had a long trek remaining back to the mechanic's depot. A slow, noisy trek.
He felt sheepish; eventually running out of shadows and forced to limp across an intersection.
He made the observation late, but a state patrol car lingered on the street shoulder.
Kitt felt his hard drive skip a beat, but it didn't prevent him from quickly scurrying to the next shadow to avoid the driver's gaze inside.
The officers inside managed to spot him before he could blend into the shadows, they frowned in his direction and pointed him out like a sore thumb. The last thing he needed was to be impounded — spend the night there and have the company mechanics pick him up in the morning. Even before word of his case would reach them, all the land yachts would have made it their sole mission to spread Kitts' distraught fate to the world. It would be something tremendously difficult to live down. Therefore he could not be allowed to be towed if he was determined to hang on to some of his self-esteem. He would rather limp home than spend the night in an unfamiliar place.
So he kept going, ignoring the squad altogether and thankfully it seemed they ignored him too. Perhaps they figured he was on his way home anyway for help. And since he was still mobile, that solidified their conclusions even more.
So he continued to journey deeper into the city. Darting down lanes and streets in a hurry and always claiming up in the shadows and alleys when another cab presented itself.
The hours came and went and finally, he gave a last rush of his engine as he collapsed over the cold concrete in the mechanics bay.
He must have shut off immediately from over-exerting himself because his mind wandered extensively over the night's events, twisting and rewriting what had happened. He must've started dreaming, he figured…and he let it slowly emerge playfully before it sank its fangs into him and turned overwhelming. But he still slept — too tired to be frightened and too exhausted to stir.
And so while the mechanics did their handy work above him, or below him (depending if they placed him on a lift or not). He dreamed of the GTR-E giving chase and hissing at him with every brake check and push he gave her in an attempt to escape her presence. She'd land hits on him occasionally that would turn into huge orange gouges on his side…he felt a tingle of panic. But his dreams shifted away from that wretch almost hastily to the more favorable Matriarch he'd met that same night.
For some reason, he couldn't recall her name but that wasn't important as he watched her rushing in side sweeps and elegant drifts along the streets. Breaking into j-turns and skilled one eighties, the hard concrete slab of a city brushed away by the wind and turned to pearly tan sands as she continued to skillfully drift undisturbed. Waves approached and lapped the land with a thunderous clamor that excited him. The Matriarch finally approached him with a light gleam in her headlights, her mirror image caught on the wet sand — She came to a nimble stop, suddenly drawing him to the digital domain. He joined her, queasy about what she'd say to him — but the world burst in colors as she landed an electronic kiss that melted him into a puddle. The kiss ran through him — and for a moment he wished it were real.
Was this how it felt for Michael when he'd land a kiss for Stevie?
If so, it justified how much he'd loved her. 100 percent!
Kitt continued to dwell in the dream and followed the imaginary Matriarch teasing him for attention. For a dream it seemed so real — He wondered if maybe this had been the reason Michael had allowed him access to dreams at all. To live a second life every once in a while. Runoff from the realities that hunted him night and day. A place where he was loved…and could love.
He continued at the heels of the Matriarch. The two rushed along the beach line and soaked in the sun, the Matriarch sometimes bringing him closer in the digital domain and landing yet another warm kiss or wrapping him in a tight embrace.
He continued to fall for her.
Absolutely drawn to her when —
Ouch!
He awoke.
Gary gently strolled along the edges of the garage, picking out his preferred tools and lugging them toward the car lift with his new patient anxiously waiting above.
It was unusual to be called in so late for emergency repairs but this was as ridiculous as it came.
He reached upward and ran a hand along the car's rear tire. Certainly baffled by how these particular tires could take so much abuse and keep functioning. — If he was honest, these tires had stayed in use since the car had been commissioned to the depot. What's more, the treads showed no obvious changes in wear and tear since their first records. It was puzzling.
He smiled faintly, eventually running his hand along the smooth skin-like texture of the car's chassis. He found it somewhat curious that such an old car could continue to roam the streets given its age.
He returned to the tire however, his attention captured by its equally latest development, spinning it a few times, examining the rough and jagged edges of a steel "jaw" partially crushed and crumpled from the vehicle's weight. He had no idea how it had gotten there but thinking it over, though sincerely exhausted, it had been best to have come back and done this procedure as soon as possible. Especially since John seemed uneasy with this odd incident.
Gary picked up some pliers and a crowbar, running his rough hands over the smooth metal. Driving the edge of the crowbar into the steel "jaw's" throat and using his pliers to pull.
He wrinkled his brow as the vehicle emitted a low "sniffle" from its prow. Did it hurt? He didn't really know but this car was, along with its strangely made tires…different in almost every way.
A few minutes later, the steel jaw released its "prey". Gary wasn't surprised when the tire was reinflated and showed no signs of damage.
"Can I go now?" The car asked from above, the car's rich and friendly voice making him smile.
Kitt, as it was called, was a rare visitor of the repair ward, and with good reason. It had taken just a few oil changes and tune-ups to get the gist of the car's fear of coming here. Gary had mentioned it to a few coworkers but the intricate nature of the computer had been dismissed time and time again. While different…they weren't being paid enough to dig a little deeper.
John walked up to the black beauty, taking a quick peek at its undercarriage. There wasn't a speck of rust anywhere and it seemed overall in good shape. Turning to where Gary was standing, he approached and ran his fingers along the extraction area of the metallic "jaws". Inspecting it for any imperfections.
There were none.
Someone none the wiser wouldn't even have noticed a difference and thought them new.
He shook his head, eerie of saying anything else.
Gary nodded, aware of the man's thoughts.
"Yeah, in a bit Black Beauty." He regarded the automobile thoughtfully pacing beneath it like all the other times he had searched to find any clue of where this vehicle had come from.
Of course, like all the other times, nothing stood out. Not even the serial numbers along its frame could shed a singular word of its origins.
There were no solid records as to where it had come from. After the company had picked it up from an auction house, they hadn't cared much about its past. The company was just overly pleased that the car had performed beyond expectation. Experiencing no breakdowns in its two years of service and putting all the EVs alike to shame.
"Are we done?" The Black Beauty asked, somewhat unnerved.
Gary smiled, giving the prior afflicted tire a good spin.
"Yep." He answered. Still deeply intrigued about where the car had come from or who had made it.
He did a final walk-through of the car, running his fingers over sensors he couldn't identify and mechanical parts that had no place in a car. The car was a mystery that rattled his mind over and over again. No past, no records, no nothing — A car that didn't entirely exist.
He gave a final affectionate slap under the car's oil pan and lowered it onto the ground with a resounding smile.
"Thank goodness," Kitt answered as though recollecting his dignity.
'Very lively.' Gary concluded to himself.
"Thank you, goodnight." The car remarked politely before gently strolling out the bay, homebound to the cab depot just across the lot.
Gary crossed his arms. He shook his head as John approached to watch the Black Beauty retreat to the depot.
"What a mystery."
Gary nodded.
"Every car has a story, and I plan to figure this one out." He remarked, musing over a plan.
"What for?" John asked thoughtfully. "It wouldn't serve us much use." He shrugged.
"Ummm, no but I'd like to know," Gary replied, taking his leave, exhaustedly homebound for sleep.