He had collapsed from exhaustion. Slipping into safe mode from the pull and shove of the parasitic program — It had been too much…but it could have been much, much worse.

He shuffled a little in place, somewhat surprised with himself. A part of him was attempting to perk himself up, gazing around the dark and finding the small glimmer of hope at the end of the tunnel.

— but could there really be hope?

Seeing Michael defenseless, unable to help, move, or do anything. It had been a wake-up call — Somehow removing the blindfold briefly from him.

He was grateful for it, it was a small victory; the fact he was "himself" at the moment.

Albeit locked inside his CPU but "himself" nonetheless.

He internally frowned, wondering how this could have happened because by all accounts he should have been subjected under the parasitic programs influence and held hostage much longer than this.

He presumed the extent of the situation had probably hit his system like a giant plow; knocking him out cold with it. Ironically, thankfully.

His system taking a dramatic short nap (downtime) almost as if for eternity. Trying to make sense of what was happening and sending the parasitic program crawling.

This should have been another victory to archive away but instead all the sorrow of his current impotent state pooled to the profound silence of his semi-awaken processor — Sending a violent shudder down his motherboard. He was just simply…defeated…"himself" but utterly defeated.

The affliction was just enough to push Hasson's program further into a crumbled mess, away from the barrier between them, fortunately for now. The program exiled from the more profound depths of his mind, allowing him to glimpse much clearly, catching onto what had and would probably occur very soon.

However, the momentary salvation was at a cost — he was trapped within his mind — Moving any further than the processor or safe mode, and his safety net, would be removed. The secondary program would cease his mind all together again; envelope and devour the last drop of truth he'd found here in the secretive warmth of his CPU.

— Trapped — In a nightmare, that had turned into a reality; loathing with every tick of his chronometer the entrapment —The truth had hit him rather hard – Things were a mess and well it seemed they had been for a long time…Michael was alive and in good health, but he'd been tampered with — So had Kitt.

Kitt internally shuddered, feeling the fever of anger simply bounce in his mind replacing some of the helplessness, instead turning into a knot somewhere within his "voice".

He needed to awaken — Wipe Hasson's ignorant smile clean off his face but his odds calculator dictated this wasn't plausible. For once, he found himself shunning the probabilities — He wondered if this contributed often to Michael's own rejection of the odds when the two had been caught in dire situations.

Somewhat surprised over his own notion, something sank; he figured it was his electronic heart — Michael was in danger.

'Pal, I need you.'

Kitt internally slouched, slipping tightly into the shadows as though wanting to disappear. Somehow unable to shake the lethargic sensation gripping his being. He needed to find Michael but…it seemed hopeless. He was stuck.

The possibility of the invasive program rebooting and re-gripping his mind was a high possibility. Kitt however knew that to fight it and regain control, it could possibly lead to further damage to himself. His flywheel was already compromised and ultimately he conclusively just wanted to mourn. — Lament what he could've done differently. There was no going back — If only he'd insisted fervently to Michael. If only he'd retreated sooner before Hasson had appeared at Michael's cottage.

The most he wanted to do now was to stop thinking about Michael — All his energies were depleted — he wanted to rest — too much had occurred in so little time and his fever was running high.

A headache was coming on too, Kitt internally winced while a shudder of pain quietly vibrated within his cumbersome CPU. Safe mode seemed to be a relatively weak alternative to escape the infuriated parasite regaining its strengths and banging outside his protective barriers but it would have to suffice. Rebooting was out of the question.

Kitt sighed thinking of Michael again. Having found his driver he thought things would get better instantly somehow, but things hadn't, not entirely. Michael was alive, he had this relishing relief. He was more than ecstatic to know Michael was alive — but, Hasson wanted to keep Michael away from him, at all cost — perhaps to the extent of destroying Kitt.

Selfish, that's what it was. Hasson was selfish.

Kitt curled into his processor listening to the little of the outside world still seeping through his protective walls.

"Help me out, this clunker has the e-brake engaged."

Kitt grinned faintly, hearing the few words cut off and echo outside. Yes, he'd managed to engage his hand break, a last-minute effort he'd gotten away with.

"How do you plan to get this up?"

Hasson's voice smoothly asked parting the dark, speaking to someone Kitt assumed was one of the tow drivers who'd finally arrived at the site.

"The drive train sounds like a safe choice…" They replied with an obvious grin embedded onto their lips.

Kitt internally trembled.

He was taking his chances by simply staying immobile, not that he wanted to but he couldn't do much else. Not while Hasson's program had him locked into override. He knew the needed preparations to move him had arrived and if he wasn't planning to do anything about it right now, his opportunity would most likely not arrive later...if ever.

He attempted to listen to himself breathe, and relax. Regain control and create a plan — Find a sound solution amongst the chaos. He wanted nothing than to drown the unnecessary shriek of a saw attempting to cut his drive train; it was doomed to fail but in a way, it didn't really matter. He was still stuck.

He covered his "ears" harder, drowning the racket outside, and listened in to his own dwindling heartbeat — Hasson's voice summoning old memories of when he'd been esteemed. He figured it was also the parasitic programs doing, tapping into his drives just enough to push these memories through his tight-knit barrier.

Regrettably, the memories approached the surface of his mind and made him unintentionally smile — Hasson had been a "good" friend while he had been lost in the thick mental fog.

He could almost hear the man's inviting whistling as he'd go about the lab collecting tools before digging deeper into the engine bay and commencing repairs to his breached frame.

— But the fog was Hasson' doing, purposely inflicted on Kitt's mind — Frankly; it had been nice to have a friend like this during his extensive repairs but it wasn't entirely genuine.

Hasson's curiosity was real, but his companionship perhaps on the edge of artificiality, a tool just to calm — pacify the computer. Allow him to maneuver and snatch what rightfully belonged to FLAG from under Kitt's hood — Dig deep past the roaring pistons and whirring turbine — Look past the firewall — and crawl right under the dash — Obtaining a grip on Kitt's inner workings. Recreate the bloodline that made him tick and barbarically forget him once having obtained the necessary data, discard him altogether — this man wasn't a friend.

In contrast, Michael had been his TRUE friend.

— Would always be.

Michael had been at his side at the ready when Kitt was afflicted by real monsters. Some like giant trucks that could actually hurt him, and others in his head like fear of severe injury.

Kitt jumped in his processor in self fright…

— Now it was Kitt's turn to feel selfish.

Was he really giving up? Like this? Just like this? So close and yet just giving in to his own grief. Would he really let them take Michael from him a second time?

'But there is nothing I can do…' Kitt plainly stated into the dark palpitating space of his processor. Wincing as the temperature continued to rise, pricking his many extending cables, "veins". His sensors tingled along his "skin". Was this how it felt to be feverish? He presumed so.

Sniffling back a gasp as his fans began to struggle to keep up with the increase, he enumerated a reasonable amount of reasons why he couldn't do any more than he had (Franky that too hadn't helped much) — One significant reason was his damaged flywheel and possibly his clutch. Achieving fluent movement would not be easy. Even more, he was incapacitated, shut out from his alpha circuitry. He couldn't really move either way —

He gazed over the thin barrier keeping out the parasitic program. Its blows were getting louder and the barrier was beginning to dent inward. It was coming —

Thud.

Kitt curled in a corner, sinking into the excessive warmth of his CPU.

'The Phoenix lives…'

Would he for long?

Was it too late?

He felt the sudden blow of data penetrate the barrier between him and the intruder, gently crumbling and slowly being breached…a few connections falling through the gaps surprisingly untouched.

He grabbed them.

He didn't dare fall victim to the monster without at least giving a fight of sorts.

"Jim, c'mon! Load her!" A voice echoed over the jabbing wheeze of the tow winch struggling to pull the stubborn "bird" that'd managed to figure he still could — minimally — apply the handbrake.

The car's temper had risen quite significantly in the last hour and Hasson found it nearly impossible to get him to do anything from inside the cabin. The entire dash acting no more helpful than a calculator if anything else. The computer was locked within itself. A worrisome factor if one thought about it superficially but Hasson knew better. His program was working and most likely redirecting most of the car's power to a tactical ambush.

— But the computer had other plans.

— Ever since Michael's presence had vanished into the cool strokes of fog gently rolling off the hills, Kitt had made it inaudibly clear that he wasn't going to cooperate with anything. That he would fight with every last optic fiber of its being to stand its ground. A detrimental objective with few odds of success but one could never be too sure.

The Trans-Am was also more than content to annoy the crowd of workers trying to hitch him to the flatbed with his vexing loud honk. Something that ordinarily had never taken to the computer's fancy but now courtesy was out of the question.

Hasson had thoroughly thought to pull the horn's power supply by now, after his staff members were about ready to pull out their hair, of course — Having triggered Kitt's complex disposition, the car had also managed to keep the hood tightly sealed and away from prying hands.

Hasson figured Kitt was gnawing at the vehicular override function that he was under, allowing only a few hours to relocate the vehicle before Kitt managed to dislodge this command altogether and defeat his program.

The computer was far stronger than he was credited for.

Hasson grumbled. An oversight he was not too proud of.

He had done his research, and all papers regarding the 2000 had not entirely described how fierce he could get under so much pressure — and definitely not cornered.

It wasn't something one could test so easily anyway. Not without hurting your own creation in the process — It was far more effective to simply give the computer a fighting spirit rather than to test its limits. Hope its strong character will suffice and overcome. One would note it on the margins of a paper, keep it close to mind, and move on.

This posed a danger to Hasson —

Untested waters could be of versatile gains for the computer. Despite the hardship imposed, Kitt could grow —. Into what? That was precisely the problem. The computer was not known to attack, or harm but if pushed too far — Would the computer resort to violence? There was no telling what damage it was undergoing while it was in direct attack by Hasson's program. Yes, it was meant to subdue him but if the computer did not comply the program would continue to suffocate the computer to its breaking point —

What would become beyond this point? He still did not know nor wish to find out. The computer would 'either die and deteriorate or get out of hand. He did not wish for any of these to occur. He needed the car's mind intact for his final project…for the final nail in FLAG's coffin and push toward greatness.

"Jim —" Hasson called to the men re-tightening straps and cautiously trying to lift the car to the flatbed with blunt force. "Perhaps —" The man theorized, leaning down and giving Kitt's hood a gentle pat. He found himself sighing as it continued to get hot. " — We should figure out if we can unplug the construct first."

So it had come down to this —

He hadn't wanted to, the computer was under much stress, and turning it off would be enough to send it off its rocker anyway and affect its next bootup quite significantly. Albeit it was a sacrifice he was willing to make — rather than allow the breaking point to be reached.

With the moon vanishing on the horizon and solar strokes of blue highlights having begun to glow in the distance, Hasson knew he needed to get Kitt moving before the local traffic caught a glance of the Trans-Am, drawing unwanted attention.

Jim crossed his arms in front of him, still thoughtfully gripping the straps with his hands.

"You're the genius here, you do it. Don't want to be blamed if the computer's main components get barbecued." Jim tensed his shoulders thinking over the possibility.

Hasson nodded.

"It's just pulling a few cables from under the dash, that would be it." The man explained helpfully. A grin spread across his face in relief as he made his way toward Kitt.

Jim shrugged, furrowing his brows.

"I don't know, this computer is something else —" The man lingered nearby for a while before finally striding back to work and hauling the reluctant car up the flatbed without further comment.

Hasson sighed, running a hand over his sweaty temples.

'Kitt is something else…' He privately agreed but what other choice did he have? If he wasn't quick enough then…

Hasson ducked his head as a chain rattled loose from under the car and recoiled back, hitting the flatbed hard enough to shatter bits off several chain links.

Several mechanics shouted in frustration, taking a quick count of personnel and ensuring everyone was alright from the sudden 'blast".

Hasson watched from his spot as the car began to jerk and heave away from the flatbed. The scanner had finally come to life and was pulsing irregularly.

By some wild instinct, Hasson flung himself into the Trans-Am's cabin digging his hands under the dash and pulling cables by the handfuls. There was little time to plan an organized "attack" on the computer, the possible consequences worth the risk.

"St…op…" Kitt hissed, his voice was raspy and quiet, the dash flashing in dark colors. The chassis lunged backward and yanked on the remaining chains while Hasson continued to shred the cables beneath.

Someone screamed something at the top of their lungs, the flutter of several chains being cut loose echoing in the night.

Kitt registered it.

The turbine suddenly powered on and the car began to gently back up from the flatbed over the yells of a few dozen workers, Hasson bit down on his lower lip. He found his handiwork an overall slow progress on debilitating the computer.

Why wasn't he slowing it down?

He found his heartbeat sucked into his throat the next moment when the final chains slipped off the car and clanked to the ground effortlessly. The car spun away from the flatbed without a second thought.

Hasson only had enough time to suck air through his teeth the next moment when he suddenly became airborne with a fistful of cables.

He hardly registered the impact against the ground. His eyes were more occupied with tracking, from where he'd fallen inside a thicket, the labored movements of the Trans-Am taking toward the dark. The hard wheeze of the turbine as it fought to stay alive.

He tried to shuffle to his feet but his arm ached in protest from the hard impact.

He should have been horrified, but in a twisted way there was something remarkable in the computer's endeavor to fight to its last "breath." It was stunning — A sophisticated work of science…something he planned to recreate in his own progressing works.

He silently watched the silhouette flee — mystified by the raw beauty of survival. He felt almost saddened by his own greed. Not long ago he'd help Kitt recover from a similar fate and now he'd turned on the poor and helpless creature…Was it worth it? Was his overall goal to recreate the car's legacy on his own accord worth the suffering he'd inflicted on the poor computer?

His mind raced in circles as Kitt grew smaller and smaller toward the fog.

He couldn't agree on an answer, not before the turbine let out a shrill scream and a plume of smoke exploded toward the sky. The car's silhouette caved in toward the ground. Pinned by a thick "pole".

"Noooo!" Hasson found himself shouting in pain from the thickets, struggling to get to his feet. Had the shot penetrated the car's core? It's CPU?

He hardly had time to question these possibilities either as he was raised to his feet by Jim.

"I called in an air strike on the monster." A wicked smile was evident on the man's shadowed face.

Hasson hardly had an answer as a knot formed in his throat. His eyes glued to Kitt's struck form. There was a loud howl from the engine and a push of black smoke as the frame violently shook — The car was still pushing? Was he that determined?

Hasson admired the crumpled silhouette against the brightening sky.

"Take him to the lab." He gasped. "Take him right away." He urged.

There would be much to fix but plenty more to save. He couldn't allow Kitt to die out here for his own sake. There was more to this silicon being than he'd initially thought.

Jim answered with a nod of his head, but the gleam of his eyes disappeared. Hasson held the gaze, unsure if he was registering the man's eyes slowly transitioning to a solem dark stare of undenying fear.

A second turbine answered in the distance. A long roaring vibrated along the base of trees as its echo pounded over the Earth.

"Karr." Hasson squeaked, swallowing hard with a shaky hand reaching to his swollen arm.

Jim yanked the man, basically dragging him gravelly from the shoulder toward the nearest vehicle.

A panic swept over the crew, every man for themselves…each and everyone jumping into a vehicle and racing away in the opposite direction.

"No, wait!" Hasson ordered, determined to bring the remains of the 2000 with them even if it killed him.

Jim shook the old man by his collar.

"We're all gonna "get it" if we stay around." The man scoffed under his breath.

Hasson shook his head, letting his lips tremble as he was overcome entirely by the realization.

" — an air strike. Second one…" He pointed to the sky weakly. His voice jammed as little needle-like jabs ran up his aching arm.

Jim grumbled.

"I'm not waiting around Hasson!" He shouted over the uproar of the tow truck whirring to life. He lifted the man up the steps and shoved him into the passenger seat.

They backed up and scampered away from Kitt's fallen site.

Hasson caught only a last glimpse of Kitt's chassis sink closer to the ground in silent defeat—a twinkle of sparks jetted out from beneath.

Had he survived?

Hasson curled his hands into fists.

"Jim!" He hollered in anger.

Jim snapped at him from the driver's seat.

"I called in a second air strike! Now stop your complaining old man! You should be thank –"

There was an explosion, a bright line of solid crimson parting the tree line making sharp contact with the lingering helicopter in the distance — Hasson clawed at the passenger window, sticking his head outside into the brisk cold winds as he tried to get a better view of the flaring "bird" in the sky. He found himself praying for the soft plump umbrella parachutes whisked away by the wind quietly uttering farewell to the fallen machine.

Jim yanked him back into the present, pushing the old man back into his seat.

"I plan to get out of here in one piece." He warned. Deeply aware Hasson wished nothing more than to go back and see for himself what Karr really was capable of.