The evening was sweltering slightly but not enough to prevent him from hanging around the shallows of the lake. He waded a little further from the shore, sure to turn over the larger stones along the bottom that seemed promising. So far he'd collected about a little over a dozen crawdads. In the beginning, he'd not been that good at finding them but after asking around and experimenting he'd gotten the art of crayfishing down.
The water was up to his shins and the bucket he was lugging around was getting a little heavy. It was a good sign, meant he'd have a good day at the local market tomorrow and would probably make a sufficient sale — enough to keep an easy flow of cash into his pockets; he could only hope. He continued to silently pace the easy-flowing waters. Dismissing the smaller crawdads and picking at the larger ones. Though he'd make constant use of his net, there were times he'd simply use his hands and pick the little critters with his bare hands. The crustaceans were delicious no doubt but could occasionally pack a punch.
He waded further and further down the bank, squinting his eyes as the sun's reflection flickered back at him. He picked at the stones until he finally made it to a little area of significantly deeper water. Here he searched the water's surface for the buoy he'd left to mark his traps. Inching toward the bank he left his bucket on shore before diving head first into the cool waters and resurfacing. Swimming toward the bobbing floater before snatching the line and pulling it toward the shoreline.
He was content to have found a bountiful catch in his trap. It was only a matter of keeping the mini-lobsters alive until the day of the market. Satisfied and slightly tired, for he was starting to take on some age; he emptied the trap's contents into the bucket before baiting the trap and setting it back into the deeper end of the shallow waters.
He chose to trek back through the tree grove rather than wading through the shallow waters now that the temperature was starting to plummet. He grinned mischievously letting the water roll down his back from his weighed-down curls, walking barefoot over the grassy ground. While growing old was mandatory, growing up wasn't — He'd wander back along the water's edge from time to time getting a bearings of his location before he stopped dead in his tracks.
He glanced around the thick forest, letting his ears pick up on the constant whistle of an engine. Whatever it was — it sent a shudder down his back. It sounded so evocative, making his mind wander into the grey areas that contained little to nothing. He continued to listen to the howl of the engine slowly retreating up and over hills — steadily traveling down the dirt road several meters away.
He crouched, setting the bucket down. Ran a hand through his damp hair, studying his face in the reflective ever-moving mirror below. Why was it that when he slept, he'd dream with a different face? Why was it that whenever he stared into a mirror he trembled – and flinched at the backfire of an engine every so often? He didn't really know — but he'd learned not to pay much attention to his ever-fidgety mind. He wished he could do so now, the fading whistle of the mysterious engine traversing the landscape was making him shiver. He hugged himself listening to the birds chirping in the canopies and diving over the smooth surface of the waters.
He knew he'd lost the entirety of his former life, the doctors had said it was nearly impossible to regain. Ben had said so too — The accident had been near fatal but whenever he closed his eyes and thought very hard, sometimes he was sure it'd not been an accident but rather the result of an assault of some sort. He was able to envision an unaccounted explosion somewhere in the dark...Ben always told him he was speculative — that it was the fabrications of a brilliant mind like himself. The degree under his name that was neatly laminated in his living room always pulled to that fact; he was supposed to be inventive. He could only agree mindlessly, avoiding the long and tiring arguments with Ben about this. It didn't matter how many times he walked into work trying to blend with the scientist or the engineers; it just didn't feel right. He didn't belong there, he just couldn't sit and work the desk job; at least not anymore. He was always missing work — always stowing away for a fishing day or prepping his project car for a long journey to the beach. It didn't matter how many times Ben tried to hand him his past — he simply could not fit back into his role. He was fishing, he was hanging out in the outdoors — he was trying to restart because he didn't know where he'd been…and knew little less about where he was going.
He stretched his legs, sighing; sitting over the sandy shore littered with leaves and twigs. Shoving the bucket safely away wanting to drown out the rustle of the dozens of little critters attempting to escape the bucket; he leaned back. Laid calmly over the messy grasses, staring at the darkening sky.
Closing his eyes he picked up the gentle whistle again, a whirr echoing over the lake.
A steady oscillating red light flickered in the midnight storm of his mind.
He sat up briskly, gaping over the water's tranquility. There it was again — faint relics of his former life.
He stood up, hastily picking up his bucket. He picked up the pace, letting water slosh out of the bucket from time to time as he hurried along to his home. What was it with him? What did this all mean? It was a wonder why the doctors hadn't declared him insane —
Kitt hurried along the narrow road. Breaking a little inconsistently on the sharp turns and running over the centerline. He was anxious and it didn't help that the program was overrunning his thoughts now. Progressing down the lonely road the intensity of the beacon increased and a sinking feeling had begun to assault his CPU. His CPU felt parched and heavily overwhelmed with the endless odds that he dared not consider as he reeled in closer and closer toward the road's end.
"The phoenix lives." He said out loud in the privacy of his cabin. Attempting to soothe his already plummeting mood. Karr had warned him, and Kitt had considered it a possibility. His journey and determination to locate the beacon and reunite with Michael could all easily be a setup. There was nothing that completely guaranteed he'd find what he was looking for at the end of this long line after all. If the first was true and Michael was deceased Kitt wasn't sure how he'd deal with this either — he slowed down at the base of an incline, gently applying the brakes before motionlessly gazing over the bulge of the reasonably sized hill.
The program shoved him, urged him but suddenly Kitt wasn't sure he wanted to pull through with this. If he was wrong and his crazy intuition was just a hopeless illusion — how was it that he could go on without Michael? How could he step away from what he'd ever known and just simply continue? Was it possible? He'd never forget Michael, that was undeniable…but could he rebuild a life outside the parameters that had once been? There was no more FLAG so being a field car was out of the question…Unlike Karr he didn't entirely have to go into hiding — so what then? What was his purpose now? He supposed he had his family to fall back on and protect but this fact alone wasn't enough to quiet the ever-forming tormenting storm of sentiment drilling a deeper hole in his already wounded heart.
He revved the engine and agonizingly pushed himself unwillingly to the top of this hill. He stopped to examine the breathtaking panorama of the landscape. A small compact oasis in the middle of rolling desert hills and leveled highways.
He put aside his thoughts — He couldn't be speculating now and a little less uselessly wondering about the "what if's" when he'd not discovered Michael's true fate yet.
If Michael was gone then he'd recollect himself and simply prepare for what was to come. It was most logical. Besides he had Devon, Bonnie, RC, Karr, and even Kipp the newcomer to aid him during this troublesome transition now. Then thinking it over, it wouldn't be that easy — on paper, it was reasonable, even for a highly advanced computer like himself. However, with his accepted emotions renting havoc over his circuitry and computations; this added factor only gave everything a different depth he'd been largely avoiding for the longest time in his youth. Now being able to "feel" much freely, it was easier for his world to topple over — it just wasn't a matter of odds and percentages now…Seeing what is there all exactly pointed out, labeled, and documented…It was now being able to "feel" the effects of what he was seeing, and experiencing — feel the effects of the consequences of what he'd lose or gain.
If Michael still lived — the computer system did a little internal barrel roll, giving Kitt the equivalent of electronic butterflies in his hard drive — then his life would be complete. Perhaps things wouldn't exactly mend to how they'd been so many years ago…but the reward of reuniting with his best friend was worth these changes. The two could get on with the journey that was life and the car only hoped that the questions involving Michael's disappearance would be answered reasonably. Kitt resolved he'd accept Michael with open doors, letting the losses regrow if necessary. He'd have his driver finally, Michael would be safe and he'd continue forth fearlessly.
Kitt did a quick burnout thrusting himself down the small hill, leaving a small cloud behind as he took a sharp turn incredibly fast. It would take getting used to — taking his very own emotions into consideration when it came down to it. His lightweight frame shuddered as he ran over the centerline. The excitement in his motherboard mixed with the prospect of sorrow and loss — the mixing of emotions making him ill and incredibly unstable on his wheels. He slowed down to a crawl, he felt like at any moment he'd blow a gasket or lose a brake pad. It hurt — it hurt not to know but it spooked him, even more, to come to know the truth.
He had to stop multiple times, his engine stalling from time to time as he unconsciously almost turned off the engine.
He couldn't! No, he couldn't! He thought as the beacon grew in strength across the invisible gap, dwarfing him in comparison. He couldn't face it! He could not face Michael's death like this — alone he could not and he doubted he'd leave unscathed…tension was building up within his systems, unsteady temperatures assaulting him while his fans attempted to compensate. They were struggling to turn, aching to turn —
His scanner flashed wildly and Kitt internally slapped himself.
He needed to get on with it. He was being foolish! He'd never know if he didn't pursue this goal and get it over with, he had started this journey and he was finishing it! He recalled how he'd faced the music at the mansion and now it was time again to face the crescendo of the spiraling resonance of the music blaring over him, threatening to squish him…break him…
He finally leaped into action, letting his engine whistle loudly as he charged the last hills over in agony. Drowning in the corroding motherboard-wrenching sensation pulling at his electronic mind sagging to a side. He felt close to soundlessly crashing but as he peeked over the tip of another small hill all the worries flaked off as autumn leaves caught in the near winter breeze.
His system slipped up and for a moment Kitt thought he was dreaming — hallucinating after all his sensitive electronics were being overwhelmed with excessive energy draw.
He watched the silhouette trek across a clearing toward a small structure that looked so frail under the late evening rays of gold the light alone could have possibly pushed it.
The silhouette was different, it was robust and formidable. While the form was obviously touched by time it remained clearly the same. Bending the light however it pleased, fashionably clothed in what the man had accustomed for years. Sure the jacket was gone, but the t-shirt and shorts over the worn chassis still edged nostalgia. Kitt didn't know it could hurt so bad. Kitt slowed down his scanner, putting aside the programs that could have told him expertly even the makeup of the very soil he stood on but he wanted to find out for himself. He wanted to feel.
"The phoenix lives."
He was a few feet from his house, careful to avoid large groups of sharp stones scattered along his path. Panting a little as the bucket began to get heavier. He rounded a corner, biting his tongue — he shouldn't have settled for so much water for the crawdads. Then again he was starting to suspect he'd be fired rather soon from the agency, wasn't like he was being much of use now. With every passing year, he was getting greatly disinterested in what had been his line of work. In the end, the Crawdads needed to be pristine and in great condition if he at all wanted to gain a profit from his solo fishing gig to maintain himself.
Thinking over these things and more he stubbed his toe while stepping up the porch, hissing under his breath from the pain. He sat the bucket down — fumbling with his screen door wanting to retreat inside as soon as possible to rest his aching foot. He stopped for a moment, his sight latching onto the pendant waving in the breeze hung from the wall.
Who'd even given it to him? A long-lost love? A friend? Or was it some sort of self-bought gift? Whatever it was he found it to be an exquisite piece of his past and yet another mystery that kept him awake at night. He didn't mind surprises but he dreaded secrets — while he wasn't sure if he'd been that way prior to his accident, it was something deeply wired into his mind now.
He shook his head pulling himself from the endless rabbit hole that was his past, jerking a little as his small compact cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He'd taken the precaution to seal it in a watertight plastic bag prior to going out on his rounds. He found it difficult pulling it out of his pocket when it was all drenched, however, making him question if it was even worth hauling it around like this, to begin with. Promptly answering, while fiddling with his failing lock he groaned as Ben's voice boomed over the minuscule speakers.
"Michael! Laura just informed me you've missed two weeks of work! — Two! Michael are you alright?! Where are you?!" Ben clamored, clearly agitated, something Ben rarely ever did.
Michael sighed, scratching the back of his head. Frowning at his door, wondering if Ben had seen it coming or if the older man had simply been delusional all these years — thinking he'd pick up from where he'd left off and go about his life like usual.
"I'm at home," Michael murmured, sounding a little anxious. "How about you? Are you still at the office?" He asked, trying to come off as casual.
" — Course I'm at the office." Ben scoffed. "Where else would the agency director be? Michael, look. You can't stow away from work like that. Your position is of immense importance and you contribute greatly to the team."
Michael yawned, pounding lightly on his door. He should have invested in a newer lock sooner.
"Wrong, I'm nobody on the team. Look, Ben, maybe several years ago I was a genius and I know I've hit a new time low but I think it's time to face the facts —"
"Michael, it's unreasonable to conclude that there is no fix to this —" The older man sighed.
"I'm not that prestigious "Michael Stormur" everyone knew and loved anymore, I hardly KNOW who I am right now. I appreciate you as a friend, caring boss, and all that but It's time for me to move on and make a new life for myself — not fit into somebody else's shoes." He gulped, surely Ben was getting hassled on his end. The man was intent and determined to help him fit back into his role no matter the cost but Michael knew he couldn't, he'd burned out chasing the ashes of a former life that honestly just wasn't his anymore.
"Michael but they ARE your shoes! Look I'm going to drive by so we can talk this over at my place." The man replied smoothly, trying to regain calm. "Can I pick you up in an hour? Better yet! Why don't you spend the rest of the week at my place? Hannetta plans to make lasagna tonight but she'll be leaving for Maine to visit her parents soon. So the house will basically be empty!"
Michael rolled his eyes, managing to get the doorknob to twist a fraction. Getting the door to squeal slightly open.
"I prefer not to be a bother." He uneasily answered.
"Michael!" Ben shouted in forced insistence making Michael shudder. What was wrong? Sounded like he was dying to have him come over. "Remember Amelia? Well, guess what?! She's coming back to this branch of the agency rather soon and perhaps you could give her a tour of the town while you stay over."
"I'll pass." Michael smiled cleverly. "No offense but I think your dog hates me — I'm more of a ca —" He froze his hand stiffening letting the house door swing freely on its rusted hinges, the knob striking hard against the house wall…"What the —?" The small Nokia slipped out of his hand and bounced off the board flooring while Ben's voice rattled over the speakers.
A black Pontiac Firebird had silently pulled into his driveway while he'd been busily prying at his door. There were no occupants. The smooth glass-like vehicle stood elegantly over the gravel driveway, silently beating the strangest light he'd ever seen — He squeezed his eyes, rubbing them before swinging them wide open. Where had he seen that before? — the image came back to him for a moment and his stomach flopped limply like a dead fish —
"What!?" He mumbled under his breath completely astounded, listening to the active drone of the horizontal strip of lights illuminating cautiously one by one.
"Michael?" A voice called out timidly, no — expectantly. Fondly — Lovingly — !?
He took a step back, outstretching a cautious hand trying to keep the intruder a ways apart.
"Michael, It's me! Kitt!" The vehicle whirred to life, the engine sounding off so strong that Michael felt the warmth caught under the hood brush briskly by him, standing the hairs behind his neck on end. He took a further step into his home unsure what to do, the vehicle hurrying forward before nudging its nose onto the first step of the porch making the structure tremble. "Michael! I knew it! I knew you weren't dead! Michael, I'm so happy to see you!" The voice energetically called out, the Trans-Am trembling vigorously as though the engine had come loose from the engine mount. Complete euphoria soaked into the soothing voice. The horizontal strip of lights broke into two waves of light beating back and forth against each other in utter blazing crimson.
"God, I must be going crazy…" Michael's legs trembling, threatening to give in. "Oh God —" He tried to keep himself upright against the door frame.
"Michael everyone will be so excited to have you back!"
Michael raised a brow, coughing as the smell of gasoline fluttered through. It wasn't his imagination, the car was speaking to him. There was no one around and the cabin was empty —
He darted left, taking full-blown flight like the chicken that flees from the hawk, knocking over the crayfish bucket in effect letting go of a cascade of critters riding the small wave. Mildly hissing under his breath he managed to clear the porch's side railing and brace the landing.
The drone of the engine followed closely behind with the crunch of gravel and the man realized his mistake! In running he was simply encouraging the thing to follow suit and in doing that — he'd lose!
He made it to the muddy bank, digging his heels to avoid a wipeout into the water. He glanced over his shoulder, the car was coming at a crawl. Calling —
Michael tensed ready to do a mad swim across the lake if it was necessary but the car stopped. The lights on the prow slowed down until they dissipated to darkness.
"Please don't leave me, Michael." The voice woefully remarked.
Michael continued to stand his ground, ready to dive to safety but the tone of the vehicle was gut-wrenching. Did it sound, injured?
"How — who?" It was difficult to articulate, he was speaking to a car that could flatten him to a sheet. He had justifications for being frightened but he wouldn't let it be his last means of defense. "How do you know my name? And what in the world are you!?" he curled his fist…puffing his chest. If it worked on bears could it work on a one-ton car too?
"I'm Kitt, the Knight Industries Two thousand…" there was a hint of disappointment. "You don't remember?"
The man shook his head briskly. Taking a step toward the water.
"I know your name because we were friends. You and I are —" the voice broke into a whisper. " — you're my driver…"
Michael gaped over the car, replanting his feet as he began to faintly sink in the mud.
"I've never driven anything like it…" He felt a little dizzy while he gently leaned on his heels. His heart was pounding eagerly in his chest. He ducked, preparing himself for his retreat.
The car jolted back.
"I'm not an It Michael." The voice broke into a static whimper. It sounded hopeless. "It's my fault —" the car called out suddenly.
The man loosened his fists…turning to gaze at the vicinity. Feeling his heart pound in his ears now.
"Look car, I think you got your people crossed…" What was he doing? He felt his mind pull to the water. Escape! Run! But he couldn't pull the immense hurt of the voice away. It sounded — friendly and rather familiar.
The vehicle stammered.
"I don't think so…" It replied weakly.
The man chuckled out of anxiety.
"Look, don't take this wrong guy but uh — I'm not interested in driving — a talking death trap…no offense —"
"Michael, what's happened?" The car inched forward making the man step back further anxiously. Urgency slipping past the sorrow. "You don't remember me."
The man opened his mouth unsure what to say — then…
" — but you remember me…" The man frowned before a little grin slid across his face. "What exactly do you know about me?" He figured he could get the car to chat a little longer, idle it enough to give him a breather before scampering across the lake.
The light flickered to life, making his stomach turn once more. The crimson beat from side to side — he closed his eyes for a second. Trying his hardest to pull from the grey what was missing! He knew that light! He'd seen that light, he'd dream of it!
He opened his eyes and stared over the confusing pulse of the narrow strip. So familiar, yet so distant. Ben had never mentioned a talking car having been part of his former life. He'd never worked on one either — he knew he'd had his share of high clearance jobs but Ben hadn't been shy about sharing the ones he'd worked on prior to his accident.
"Listen," he scratched his head. "Did I build you?" It seemed a little logical, he'd been a crafty engineer prior to the accident, after all, hadn't he? Perhaps age was getting to the old man, or Ben had thought such details were just not that important for him to have mentioned and retold.
"I beg your pardon?" The car asked a little dazed.
The man paced.
"Look, I was in an industrial gas accident while doing some work-related stuff some years ago and I lost my memory." He went on rolling his wrist. "I remember an explosion…" Would he regret opening his thoughts to a car? "Do you know anything about that?"
The car's light blanked out and Michael was almost sure the thing was about to run him over in a rage. Touchy motor perhaps?
"Something's wrong…" the car trembled. The light beat quickly before pulsing as one. "I remember you were pinned under debris. The explosion happened to me…"
The man ran a hand over his moist hairline.
"I was building you and you blew up in my face?"
"Goodness no! " The car shouted alarmed. "We were investigating a site and we were ambushed."
"Ambushed? Why would I be ambushed, at work?" He took a few steps toward the car. Admiring its bodywork…It'd been a while since he'd seen a good-looking Trans-am.
"Michael, I don't think it's safe here." The car lowered its voice. The engine sounded off.
The man rolled his eyes. Something about the car —
"You were there!"
"Indeed." The car sounded rushed. "Michael, please I beg you we leave immediately…" The vehicle getting a little restless.
The man put a finger up, the little pieces and bits lodged in his brain shifting from the gloom. He tried to concentrate letting the bits come back, and settle into place but it hardly seemed to go anywhere. He looked over the Trans-Am once more. Yes, he was sure he'd seen this car before.
"Ben says the explosion never happened." He finally recalled. He'd never been fully convinced of this — He trusted Ben but it just seemed off that a mixture of experimental gases would have caused him to lose his memory so easily.
"Who's Ben? The explosion really did happen Michael. It's the whole reason we were separated."
This spoke volumes to Michael right away.
"Why would we be separated?" He asked a little curious. Prior to the accident, he'd driven a van for whatever reason. A Toyota Previa that supposedly he'd been attached to. He'd promptly traded it in for the neighbor's non-running classic car the second he realized he didn't really — like it. "Ben never mentioned I drove a Pontiac."
"Michael, who's Ben?" The T-top asked once more, sounding critical.
The man shrugged.
"If I know you, why don't you know Ben? I've worked for him for years now. He would have told me about you —" Michael raised a brow. What if Ben was lying? A shiver went down his back. Michael was convinced it had been an explosion that had sent him off his rocker…and Ben insisted that it'd been an experimental gas breach he'd been working on at the time within the labs. Where did this, Kitt — Fit in —?
"Michael, I'd feel a lot better if we left immediately." The car urgently pressed. "It isn't safe here." The driver's door swung open gently as the engine steadied itself.
Michael bit his lip. No, how could Ben be lying? The man had done so much for him! He had always assumed that there was a misunderstanding as to what had knocked him out the night of the accident but he didn't think Ben would have been capable of lying straight to his face. The man wasn't that type of person. He was honorable. He'd made many rights and had even removed many wrongs from the agency complexion.
The man balanced on the balls of his feet, wiggling his toes letting the moist mud squeeze between.
"Let me call up Ben." He said out loud taking a step forward hoping the car would allow him to move past.
Surprisingly the car allowed him to move past, closing the driver's door and giving him a little comfort as he tried to stroll past. He got a quick glimpse of the cabin while he pressed on a little timidly. The second his eyes drew over the dash he nearly tripped over. He stopped, stepping toward the car instead as his jaw dropped.
"What kind of car are you?" He asked, completely astonished.
The car hummed its scanner in contentment.
"Allow me to show you." The car beamed once more, opening the driver's door to reveal the plush yet simple interior.
Michael took a step back, afraid of in fact falling for "candy" as they say. He gazed from a safe distance, watching the gauges sweep from side to side and illuminate in various hues of green, red, and even some yellow. Goodness, there was even a tv screen inside.
"You're a handy car I see," Michael replied, curiously admiring his disheveled reflection on the gleam of the tv screen. The better of his curiosity got to him and he inched a little closer. The car was very stunning. "So you know me, huh?" He finally mused, placing a singular leg inside the vehicle. Felt the tickling fibers of the car mat beneath his partially wet feet. He bit his tongue, freezing in place for a moment.
"Michael," The car piped up. The man's eyes were drawn to the curious red bars rising and falling as the car spoke. "We were friends…illogical of me to hurt you." The car comforted him.
'Screw it.' He thought as he sat abruptly in the comfy seat. The instant he sat down, he instinctively reached for what appeared to be a yoke; he felt childish but definitely in a good way.
"Do you fly?" He asked running his fingertips over the many glowing buttons, caution was thrown into the wind.
"Really, Michael…" The car groaned, making the man frown. Somehow that tone —-
"Keep —" He stuttered, smacking his lips together. Looking about the cozy cabin — feeling the light brush of the a/c passively functioning in the background. There was something…" — Scanner peeled — Keep your scanners peeled…pal?" He cocked his head watching in awe as the dash pulsed while the few remembered words bounced inside the cabin and the car blacked out momentarily in response. Scanner. Wasn't that what the light in the front was called? Michael leaned back in his seat still grasping the yoke as a playful grin formed on his face. It was true then, he knew this car…He couldn't exactly remember how but something about the cabin made him feel — at home.
He closed his eyes, feeling the smoothness of the upholstery under his skin.
"I could literally sleep in here." He blurted out loud, feeling unusually safe inside the vehicle
"I wouldn't mind if you did." The car replied cheerfully.
Michael then jerked in his seat, leaning forward over the yoke. Searching the dash madly in the spur of the moment. Then he saw it, a red marked button to the side of the yoke.
"This is amazing!" He ran his fingers over the cool of the button, reliving a faint fragment of the past. The car might have not been able to fly but he could somehow remember something about gracefully gliding; touching the ground after a huge blast into the air. It was almost surreal as he gently gripped onto more shards of memory he still had.
Gazing momentarily out the open driver's door, he leaped out taking a mad dash toward his house at a moment's notice. Naturally, the car followed cautiously behind.
"Michael?"
The man slowed as he stepped up his porch, scooping his phone up from the dusty floorboards. Glancing over his shoulder at the car.
"I think – I actually remember you." He smiled dreamily. He was just about to dial when he turned to face past his driveway, the sound of crunching gravel far-off catching him off guard. Taking him a moment to recognize a black limo struggling to slow down as it descended toward his home.
"Michael, we should go." The car urged pulling closer toward the house and keeping itself between the man and the limo descending unceremoniously down the slope.
Michael furrowed his brows before a smile broke across his face.
"That's Ben." He grinned, galloping off the porch toward the limo but the car suddenly burst forward blocking the way. The man stepped back, unsure of why the car had suddenly changed in attitude.
The limo parked hurriedly, kicking up dust over the dying chirps of birds as the sunlight began to diminish. An elderly-looking man burst out from the car, nearly kicking the door off its hinges as he hurried toward Michael. Kitt felt tremor travel along his frame, revving his engine to warn off the stranger. Something for sure had happened to Michael and while Kitt wasn't sure what — he'd feel a lot better if he got Michael into safer hands rather than trusting someone who could have fed Michael; for lack of a better word: lies.
"Michael." The man sounded agitated, while he gingerly stepped over larger stones with a perspective trudge. "I came a lot sooner, I was under the impression you got company, and well —" The man eyed the car expectantly. "I see you found Kitt." The man smiled cordially.
Kitt felt something rupture within him. If it was his radiator he had no clue — but what he DID know was that this man was giving him the creeps.
He was neatly dressed in a dark blue suit, hair drawn back embellished with hair gel that seemed roughly applied. While the man's smile seemed genuine, his vitals betrayed him. Kitt could pick up on the tall tale of extreme anxiety that by any account was most unlogical unless — the man knew what the automobile before him was capable of. This didn't check out because well, Kitt simply had no recalling of this particular man.
Michael however waved in greeting, casting an intimate smirk at the man.
"Ben Hasson! Look what I found myself! Looks like something slipped out from the labs and found me once again." The man cheerfully exclaimed, placing a cool hand over Kitt's t-top. Unknowingly tranquilizing Kitt's jumpy artificial "nerves".
Sadly it was short-lived, Kitt felt his heart sink the second he realized that Michael esteemed the man for whatever reason — Michael really didn't remember him all that much if he thought he was involved with this Hasson man Kitt had never seen before.
The man stopped, clasping his hands together, and mindfully called out to the vehicle.
"Uh, hello Kitt." The man gave a smile full of teeth in an over eagerly manner.
Kitt just felt a jitter emitting somewhere in his engine block. Who in the world was this? And how did they know him?
"Well, uh Kitt." The man approached the car — the t-top sending a warning rev from the engine redirecting the man, tumbling in reverse. "Kitt, settle down, We're all friends you know that?" Hasson gestured to the car to calm down.
Michael placed his hands over his hips.
"Ben," He finally cocked his head mindfully, taking in the sudden comment with puzzlement. "Why didn't you tell me about this car sooner? It remembers me and I think I remember him too." Excitement slipped into the man's voice. "It's like — I used to do something other than engineering, did I?" He pressed on, making Kitt a little nervous while the older man tried to walk around the Trans-Am.
"Michael," The man spread his hands trying to move him to advance toward him. " — well I had meant to tell you eventually because I thought you'd get yourself into a whole deal of trouble while it was restored. You were also a very skilled driver back in the day and this was simply your uh…car so to speak." The man put it diplomatically. "Let's say I wanted it to be a surprise."
The second Michael tried to step around the Trans-am in search of more answers, the car jerked forward doing a premature burnout and sending rocks flying in protest.
"Stay back." The car hissed, directing an angry drone from the scanner toward Ben.
In response, Ben took a step back in retreat with his hands in the air. The color of his face completely bleached from his skin.
Michael took a defensive stance stepping in front of the car's prow and placing a confident hand next to the scanner catching Kitt off guard and freezing the middle bulbs in surprise.
"Hey, no." He shook his head. "He's my friend!"
Kitt felt his insides broil. No. This wasn't a friend until proven otherwise. Something was fishy with this man — and Kitt had a high suspicion that this man had something to do with Michael's amnesia.
The car shuddered under Michael's touch, the man flinching back and turning to Ben for guidance.
The man only sneered before exclaiming.
"Why, Kitt, you don't remember me? I'm Professor Hasson, I helped you." The man coaxed, heedful to approach the passenger door with an extended hand.
Kitt felt surrounded suddenly. Felt his systems kick into high gear. He was utterly confused. Michael trusted this man and Kitt doubted the man's intentions. Was there a valid reason to trust this stranger?
"I said, stay back!" Kitt fussed, emitting more hot air from his exhaust. Letting the engine breathe and howl. "I don't know you."
"Sure you do," The man crept forward. "It's me…you're old Friend, Professor Hasson…" He smirked curling his fingers around the door handle, sinister. Of course, naturally, Kitt did not unlock. "If it weren't for me…" The man smiled. "You wouldn't have reunited with your old friend."
The man pressed firmly against the fingerprint sensors beneath the handle allowing the system to scan over his fingerprint pattern…Kitt, confident the man would be rejected, allowed the system to carry on but instead — the lock disengaged making the car lose concentration and hinder itself panicked. Slamming the accelerator and reversing Kitt decimated a few scrubs before sliding to a stop. The fingerprints had been saved in his banks somehow, hidden files opening up, unlocked by the prints and allowing the scattering of new data involving this man— the question was however had they gotten there?
"It's alright!" The man smiled cautiously, catching the vibrating zipping beats of the car's scanner, putting his hands up in a sign of trust. Michael watched rather confused over the exchange from where he was standing. "Kitt, I know this is all confusing but — perhaps you owe me some gratitude…wouldn't be for me and you'd not be here with Michael today. You let the excitement get to you. Shouldn't have left without me, you know."
"You're lying…" the car muttered, Kitt's voice synthesizer having trouble articulating clearly.
Ben chuckled.
"On the contrary, I want to help you…Come with me and I will explain this all to Michael. I know you want to reunite with him…I know you do…let me help…you must have knocked a fuss or two on your way here, Kitt you sound so confused…"
Kitt swayed his scanner in weighted-down sweeps.
"Michael doesn't remember me."
"That's right." The man carefully reached and gripped Michael's shoulder. The man tensed from the sudden tight grip, frowning under the unease. "The accident was terrible, I know. Thing is, I want you two together just as much as you do."
Kitt swayed his scanner noting abnormal deviations in his readings. Then on short notice, the scanner fell to silence in a claustrophobic crash slamming violently against other programs. The car gurgled for help but his voice was twisted into incoherent static. Something was crawling out from the depths, squeezing him before pinning him and subduing him to command.
"Listen to me, Kitt." The man took a step forward, outstretching a welcoming hand.
Kitt's chassis thrashed beneath him, his main program curling from the pressure.
'No!'
"Come Kitt." The man suddenly put smoothly.
Kitt felt his chassis move toward the monstrous man — poison…it was gnawing at him…metamorphosing him into something else completely. The changes were taking effect faster than Kitt could nail the mysterious assault suffocating his main program wilting under the pressure. The program that had brought him to Michael taking action into its own hands and combating head to head with the "poison" but it simply wasn't enough — defeat. Between the pained heat rising uncontrollably and his failing fans, Kitt felt his opinion of the man considerably shift — "No, he's — he's the enemy! He's not someone I should trust! He's, he's — a — a — a"
Kitt leaped internally taking the desperate move to disconnect his audio receptors. If it resulted in him falling under the domination of this strange man, he best not hear a word and follow through with something that could injure Michael. Woefully the action was done too late and Kitt's mind was split open — soundlessly everything he'd ever cared for pulsing to the foreground…nothing seemed to matter…the computer's feelings went insensitive and greying into a partial state of consciousness.
"I'm happy to see you again, Mr. Hasson."