[
rated PG-13 for some violent content, sensuality and adult language ]
[
based upon “Knight Rider” aka “Knight of the Phoenix” by Glen A. Larson ]
[
project start date: July 25, 2005 ]
[
project complete date: October 17, 2005 ]
[
proof read by Michelle Gardner ]
[
final word count: 32,770 ]
[
Knight Rider and characters are © 1982, Glen A. Larson and NBC/Universal ]
[
Las Vegas and characters are © 2003, Gary Scott Thompson and NBC/Universal ]
r e b o r n
“Big Ed” Deline tried his best to navigate
the casino floor without his hosts or Miss Mancuso seeing and stopping
him. There was way too much on his mind
to deal with comps or the new owner’s bullshit.
Not only was the
Montecito playing host to the United States Defense Contractors Conference, an
absolute security nightmare that spelled out many long shifts for Ed and his
staff, but the FBI, not the most favorite people of his and the feeling was
definitely mutual, came to him a week ago and informed him they were planning a
sting in plain sight in the middle of this damned conference.
By all rules and
definitions, this story is considered a crossover with Las Vegas. But for real intentions, the characters and
the lovely Montecito were used mainly as a jumping off point for the action. More on this below…
He had to run that
through his mind once more. In the
midst of the Defense Contractors Conference, a national security event at his
casino where he had to work with the Secret Service to ensure complete
security, the FBI was planning a sting to bust a group of people with their
minds set on industrial espionage.
The new Montecito had
been stretching her wings and getting back on her feet since her rebirth. Thanks to new owner Monica Mancuso, this
hellish event was thrown onto Ed’s plate as she decided such a conference would
breathe new life into the Montecito.
Yeah, great
event. The casino had virtually been
taken over by the Secret Service to prepare for the conference, and during the
conference, all attendees had to wear computerized badges, and any public
patrons of his casino had to pass through metal detectors and were subject to
random searches.
Ten floors of the
resort were closed and reserved for conference attendees.
Worst of all, the
topless pool was going to be closed down during the conference.
Ed dealt with people
scrutinizing the security of his casino, despite millions of dollars worth of
security, surveillance, anti-theft and other pieces of equipment that made the
Montecito the most secure casino on The Strip.
That wasn’t good
enough for the Secret Service.
This line was originally
referring to some plans I had to write the complete story as to how Ed and the
rest of the Montecito staff had to prepare the casino for the Defense
Contractors Conference, and dealing with the Secret Service and other agencies
to make the casino the most secure spot in the country. I had some pieces of this part written, but
realized that this story would be almost twice as long, half Las Vegas and half
Knight Rider… I decided that it might be more pleasing to the KR fans to get
right into the action. The above lines
and some pieces below were modified with the cutting of the prelude story.
And now… the FBI was
here to conduct a covert mission in the middle of it all to prevent the leak of
sensitive information.
How could this day get
any more hectic?
“Ed!” yelled a voice
he was trying his best to avoid. He
looked to his left and Monica was hurrying to catch up to him, “I got wind of
something big going down in the middle of the conference,” she said, “do you
know anything about that?”
“I am on my way to
find out now,” Ed lied, “An agent from the FBI is waiting for us.”
“That’s where I’m
going too,” Monica said as they walked, “where’s Danny and Mike?”
“Dealing with
something, they’ll meet us there,” Ed said.
Monica stopped Ed,
“Dealing with what? I thought we agreed
I would be kept in the loop
when I took ownership.”
Ed turned to Monica
trying his best to keep an annoyed look off of his face, “I’ll keep you in the
loop, Monica. I will forward every
incident report to you my staff deals with, from purse thieves to old ladies
falling down the brand new stairs that are claimed to be up to code. Shit, I’ll even give you the reports that
come out of the new parking garage you built that is supposed to be safer with
wider spots. You know we’re holding
bets to see if dings or bums rank higher in the garage?”
Ever since rich-bitch
Monica Mancuso took over, the Montecito wasn’t the same.
Monica looked at Ed
straight-faced. With that face, he knew
Danny would want her on his poker team, “Well it looks like we have everything
under control,” she said.
“Yes, we do,”
Ed replied beginning to walk again, “although it seems the Secret Service has
all but fired us and taken over my facilities.”
“Oh relax, Ed, I gave
up ten floors of rooms, the topless pool, most of the casino and our new
conference center, you can stand to share your surveillance office,” Monica
said.
“That reminds me,” Ed
said before going into the conference room, “I’ll be sure to give you a report
of any illegal activities my team might have missed because we are baby sitting
the nation’s secrets.”
Ed and Monica pretty
much hated each other, and this hate comes to a point in an episode of Las
Vegas shortly after this story was published.
The two were at a
standstill for a few moments before they walked into the room.
Two of Ed’s staff,
Danny McCoy and Mike Cannon were already sitting in the room watching the FBI
agent begin his presentation.
Danny and Mike would
have had a much bigger role in the extended version had it been written.
Ed eyed the FBI agent
suspiciously. One would think an FBI
agent in charge of a security sensitive mission in the middle of one of the
nation’s most public places would be in a suit with his badge proudly hanging
from some piece of cloth. Instead, the
man was in business casual attire with a hairstyle that might be reserved for
someone ten years younger.
Next to the man, on
the massive screen on the front wall of the room was the face of a middle-aged
man with a rough-and-tumbled look. No
smile, if there were any muscles in such a hardened face to produce the
expression.
“This man,” said Agent
Paul Taylor speaking with a slight Southern drawl, “is Fred Wilson, the chief
of security for Northrop-Grumman, which just happens to be one of the Armed
Forces defense contractors. Wilson and
his staff will be accompanying Grumman’s CEO, Mr. Charles Acton to the
conference to provide security.”
Taylor pressed a
button and a picture of a man and woman came on the screen. “The man here is Acton. The girl in the picture is his new
girlfriend; a girl named Tanya, we believe.
But we all know who
Tanya REALLY is. This is setting up the
fact that the FBI has got it all wrong and should have been concentrating their
efforts on Tanya.
“Unfortunately, Wilson
isn’t interested in any kind of security at all, instead he is infiltrating the
company from the inside out. He’s hired
his own staff and after tomorrow night’s opening ceremonies for the Defense
Contractors Conference, him and his staff will rip designs for the Tomcat-X,
Grumman’s newest jet-fighter to replace the Navy’s Tomcat fleet.”
Northrop-Grumman is the
company that produces the F-14 Tomcats for the US Navy. They are also the same company that built
the Apollo Lunar Landers. I wanted to
show that Tanya and her staff weren’t afraid to go after anyone, and especially
in the midst of such a “secure” event.
“What the hell is
going on, Ed?” Danny whispered, “don’t we already have enough going on?”
“We have too much
going on,” Ed replied, “This is going to be a nightmare.”
“A small team of
agents from the Bureau will be conducting the takedown tomorrow night,” Taylor
said, “We plan to allow Wilson’s staff to carry out the theft and we will
conduct the take down before they leave the resort.”
“Where will you be
taking them down?” Ed asked.
“Two of our agents
have been able to infiltrate the team.
According to their intelligence, Wilson and his staff will have a
limousine waiting for them at the main entrance. We will take them down before they get to the limo. Six agents from the Vegas field office will
be waiting in taxicabs for one of our agent’s signal. Their fare lights will only be half lit, so warn the bellmen not
to hail these cabs.
“You can’t miss
Wilson’s staff, he will be giving them orders the entire night. Warn your teams not to approach
Wilson or his staff.
“If all of you
understand tomorrow night’s operation, I expect you to field out the necessary
information to your teams,” Taylor said, “Do not tell the bellmen who is
in those taxicabs, just make sure they don’t hail them. Do not approach Wilson and his staff,
and for the love of God, do not get in the way.”
Ed shifted in his seat
and was about to say something. Monica
placed a hand on his shoulder and looked it him. It was obvious she hated that comment as much as Ed did.
Fans of the TV show will
note how protective Ed is of his casino.
This is also a throw-back to the cut prelude where the Secret Service
said the same thing to Ed.
Taylor continued, “In
addition to the two undercover agent’s on Wilson’s staff, there will be one
more agent in the resort in the guise of a support staff member, and I will be
going back and forth between the casino floor and the surveillance office. Are we all clear?”
Everyone nodded. Ed was fuming.
“My team and the
agents have already been briefed, and consider yourselves briefed on the
information you need to know.
Dismissed.”
“Dismissed,” Ed
whispered to Danny and Mike, “it’s like we’re in the friggin’ military.”
“That briefing makes
me feel a hell of a lot better,” Mike said, sarcastically.
“Are they crazy to be
doing this now?” Danny asked, “Why does it have to be during the conference?”
Ed watched Monica leave
the room, “I think Miss Mancuso is having second thoughts. Look, we’ve had our share of attempted scams
during conferences before—”
Danny interrupted Ed,
“But we were the ones that stopped them.
Working with the Secret Service to provide security for the conference
is one thing, but now the FBI is here and they are ordering us to allow
a scam to take place?”
“Any other day and any
other conference, Danny, I’d tell that bastard up there to go screw himself,
but I don’t want to think what would go wrong if we took control.”
“Nothing would,” Mike
said, “that’s the whole damn point.”
Ed looked out at the
busy casino floor and let the noise fill his mind for a bit, “I hate the
government.”
Ed has a distaste and
problem for government security agencies.
This goes back to his sordid and enigmatic past before he ended up in
Las Vegas. Also, Danny, Mike and Ed
might have had bigger roles as the sting was taking place, but this idea was
dropped as I wanted to focus more on Michael and not shift the action back and
forth to too many places.
Michael Long walked
into his bedroom and dropped his empty duffel bag on his bed. Quickly on his heels was his live-in
girlfriend Stefanie Mason.
The choice to include
Stevie in this was an easy one to make.
In the original pilot, and most of the series for that matter, we never
really get to see what Michael is leaving behind. He acclimates to his life as Michael Knight pretty easily. In the next story that I am writing, you
will see what happens to Michael when the adrenaline from this story wears off
and he faces the fact of his erased past.
Stevie was a very
intriguing character with almost no back-story except the fact that she was
once Michael Long’s fiancé. Until White
Bird, we never heard of her, we never saw the side of Michael who realized what
he was torn away from. This way, you
(the reader) get to experience it too.
On screen, Michael Long
literally had his 15 minutes of fame.
Here, we get to see him a little bit more.
Stefanie, whom Michael
liked to call Stevie, sat down on the bed and looked up at Michael. If Michael did not have his back to her, he
would have quickly noticed a definite sparkle of fear emanating from her
striking blue eyes.
Michael was filling
his dopp-kit and did not look at Stevie once as he turned to place it in his
duffel bag and moved over to his closet.
He was in his early
30s, and standing at 6’2” moved gracefully with long strides of legs Stevie
playfully said never ended. He kept his
light-brown hair well-trimmed and spiked, never once letting go of the military
hair regulations that seemingly followed him since his discharge from the Army
four years after the first Gulf War ended.
Michael, of course, had
to be modernized. If we had a Vietnam
vet, we’d have a crimefighter ready to collect pension in a few years. Naturally, things were modified for the new
2005 timeframe.
Around this time in the
story (early September, 2005), Michael was 33.
He joined the Army in 1990 as soon as he turned 18 and was shipped
directly to Iraq.
He had a chiseled
face, as if Michelangelo sat down and spent three decades crafting it
himself. His facial features were
imposing, giving a natural glow of leadership and authority. He had piercing green eyes that would often
change to grey when he was either angry or concentrating…
Concentrating on anything. Which is why Stevie would often request
illumination during their love-making.
Her eyes followed
Michael as he darted around the room in preparation for his red-eye flight to
Las Vegas. It was a full five minutes
before he noticed her sitting there. By
the time he did, he could see the look in her eyes.
“Stevie?” he asked
with a touch of concern in his voice.
Michael loved her – it was obvious.
In his heart, he knew he would do anything for Stevie.
Almost anything…
“I don’t want you to
go to Las Vegas,” Stevie said, looking at him while slowly spinning the
diamond-ring Michael placed on her finger two weeks ago.
“I can’t do that
Stevie,” Michael said as he packed his bag, “we’ve been working too hard on
this case,” he stopped and turned to her, “We’re going to break it wide open
tomorrow night. We are going to catch
them. Besides, I don’t have a choice. I’ve been in communication with the
criminals for a few weeks now, and I am supposed to meet them in Vegas to be
one of their new musclemen.” He flexed
and Stevie laughed.
Michael grabbed his
wallet and dropped it. The outer flap
flipped open to reveal his FBI identification.
Stevie picked it up and looked at it.
“When we first met I
had you pegged as a loser… a career Army man with nothing left after the
service. No good ole war for you to
serve in, the glory days spent in the desert over… I couldn’t have been more
wrong. I never would have thought that
you were a G-Man,” she said.
“You never were good
on first impressions,” Michael teased, “you thought my brother was my father.”
Stevie laughed
again. She stood up to face Michael,
despite her forehead just reaching his nose.
“I have a bad feeling about this.
You know I have these sixth sense feelings about things.”
“One visit to a
soothsayer at the Delaware State Fair and you are convinced you are one,” Michael
said, smiling. This time, Stevie
wasn’t.
This sets Michael’s
current location to be Washington DC, instead of the West Coast. This was done to also show more of Michael’s
history, and the life and climate he is losing. (Because we all know that East Coast residents can’t survive on
the West, haha!)
She put her arms
around his waist and hugged him tightly.
“I still don’t want you to go.”
“I know,” he said with
a voice that melted her heart, “but we can’t afford to lose this case. There is too much riding on it.”
He kissed her.
“What am I supposed to
do while you are gone?”
Michael picked up his
full duffel bag and stood in his bedroom doorway. “Well when you go into work at the Pentagon on Monday, tell those
generals not to let the defense contractors have conferences in Las Vegas.”
“Just barge right into
the general’s office?”
“This isn’t the 80s,
babe. Send an email,” Michael said with
a wide smile.
This was a subtle jab
illustrating that this is not your old Knight Rider.
Stevie grabbed
Michael’s backpack and walked with him through their Victorian-style townhouse
and out to the street.
Once his car was
packed, he went to her for the dreaded traveling-goodbye.
“I love you,
Michael. Please be careful,” she said
while hugging him tightly. She could
feel Michael’s head pull back in a way she knew he would exactly tell her that
he would be fine and for her to not worry.
Before he could, she stopped him.
“Please Michael… please be careful.”
Michael kissed her on
the forehead. “If I got out of Desert
Storm alive, I am sure I will get out of an FBI sting in Las Vegas.”
A foreshadow,
perhaps? You’ll read later about
Michael’s wounding in Desert Storm… this kinda sets the two stories side by
side and illustrates to us the fact that Michael IS a survivor.
He got into his car
and started the engine. Stevie quickly
kneeled beside the driver-side window with a look of concern still in her eyes.
“I left something for
you in the kitchen. I’ll be back in a
few days. I love you, Stevie,” Michael
said.
Stevie put her hand on
the door in a last ditch attempt to somehow stop Michael. Or at least slow him down.
“I’ll be back. I promise,” he said. He kissed her again, a few seconds longer,
and put the car in gear and drove away.
Stevie let a single
tear escape her eye before she walked up the stairs to their Georgetown home.
Sitting on the kitchen
counter was a bouquet of fresh roses of all different varieties and vibrant
colors. On their third date, Stevie
told Michael she never could pick a single rose to enjoy and loved them all.
Also on the counter
was a slim white box. Stevie opened it
and gasped. Inside was a gold
heart-shaped necklace. On the inside of
the lid, Michael left a note for her:
Something to remember me
by.
The scent of roses
lingers... always.
This of course is the
necklace that we Stevie wearing in the original series. Once again, this is more sappy stuff
foreshadowing and illustrating Michael Long’s departure, and Stevie’s
apprehensive feelings, knowing that something is wrong.
Four hours later
Michael was in one of the Montecitos’s standard hotel rooms overlooking the Las
Vegas Strip. He was the last agent to
arrive to the sting as Lonnie was already in place with their target, Muntzy was
undercover with the resort staff, and Taylor was the agent-in-charge,
coordinating their operations with hotel security.
Agent Lonnie Sullivan
was the first to know the main details of the operation. She was the first to infiltrate Wilson’s
team once the FBI heard of the planned coup from a Grumman insider. The Bureau hadn’t heard from Lonnie in a
month before she sent a quick text message to Taylor, warning him to get
ready. She was going to be the one
responsible to steal the designs for the Tomcat-X.
In the original script
of the Pilot, Lonnie was Michael’s partner, instead of Muntzy. It was also implied that her and Michael
were lovers too. I wanted to explore
the original partner premise that was changed in the final version of the 1982
Pilot. Here, we get to see how the
agents infiltrated Tanya’s outfit (or as they think, Wilson’s) and how the
operation was supposed to go down.
I wanted to convey the
fact that Michael was uncomfortable that Lonnie was in so deep into the
operation, but I don’t think that came through here as strongly as I hoped.
That was two weeks
ago. Lonnie was easily able to pull
Michael into the organization to be part of Wilson’s security staff. No one on Wilson’s staff except for a man
named Gray, Lonnie, and Wilson himself were to know about the operation. Michael and the other security officers were
supposed to be extra beef to give the illumination of a security officer caring
about protecting the company.
Here it is explained how
Michael was able to get into the organization.
Michael looked out the
window at the Strip. He could make out
the Luxor beam amid the neon glow of resort hotels. He took an assortment of cards out of
his wallet and studied his new credentials. He checked into the hotel and was known among
Wilson and his staff as Michael Roesler, an ex Green Beret turned mercenary of
fortune.
Michael just settled
in to fall asleep when a heavy knock sounded on his door. He quickly got up and grabbed his FBI issued
Beretta 92FS and walked over towards the door.
He looked through the peephole and saw Lonnie standing outside with
another man. It was Wilson. He stuck the handgun behind his back through
his belt and opened the door.
“Michael!” Lonnie
said, bouncing in and giving him a big hug.
“Play,” she quietly whispered in his hear. She released him and looked at Wilson. “Mr. Wilson, this is Michael Roesler, your new security guard.”
Michael nodded and
looked at Wilson. “Good to see you in
person, sir,” he squarely said.
Wilson, to Michael’s surprise,
extended his hand. Michael shook
it. “Shaking this hand, Mr. Roesler,
you’ve just accepted a contract and agreed that the only orders you follow come
from me, and just like the Army, you follow the orders without question. Understood?”
“Clearly, sir,”
Michael said, tempted to salute.
“Good,” Wilson said,
“The conference’s opening ceremonies begin at 6 tomorrow night. From there on, everyone will be mingling
about in the casino. Your job is to
work with Gray and the rest of the security staff keeping a close eye on Acton
and looking around for anything suspicious.
Also, Mr. Roesler, Acton hates to cash in his chips from gambling if the
casino is crowded, so if he insists on taking them up to his suite, you stay on
his heels until he does, understood?”
Michael nodded.
“We begin tomorrow,
report to me in room 3019 for a final briefing with the security staff,” Wilson
said. He turned to leave and took
Lonnie with him before Michael had a chance to speak with her.
Michael hated the fact
that Lonnie had been out of touch for so long.
She must have been kept so close to the operation, or had the feeling
she was being closely watched, she couldn’t have given them any more
information than what they were working from.
There’s some of Michael’s
uncomfortable feelings toward Lonnie being so buried and out of touch.
He had half a mind to
go look for Muntzy, but decided against it to avoid blowing the agent’s
cover. Muntzy would be in place in
front of Acton’s suite to keep an eye on Lonnie as she went in for the
theft. He would give her a two-minute
head start before he moved to the casino floor to assist in the bust.
Once Lonnie had the
Tomcat-X designs, she would return to a specified meeting point with Wilson and
Gray, and they would leave the casino, ditching Acton, his girl, and the
oblivious security staff.
Michael, Muntzy, and
Taylor would be in communication with each other on a coded frequency. Once they found Lonnie, Muntzy would tail
her while Taylor and Michael would wait at the front entrance. When they reached the limo, Michael would
give the signal to the agents waiting in the cabs and the operation would be
over.
Michael went to sleep
that night thinking the operation would be absolutely fool proof. He didn’t know he would be completely wrong.
That last line seems
unnecessary and cliché now that I read it again.
After the opening
ceremonies of the conference, there was a mad dash to the casino floor, mainly
poker tables, craps tables, and blackjack tables.
Michael walked around
the casino and observed the action at the tables. The essence of the conference was a poker game in itself as there
were many players from either side trying to be dealt in, some begging to be
dealt out, and others just simply watching.
Contractors from numerous companies mixed business and social talk with
representatives from the Department of Defense as they played a few hands of
the games.
Agent Jordan Muntzy
was a short black man around the same age as Michael. He wore maintenance clothes and carried a toolbox in one hand,
and a ladder in another. He was walking
down the hallway when he noticed a security guard standing in front of Acton’s
suite. Unwavering, he kept walking
until he reached a lighting fixture one door in front of the suite. He flashed a smile to the guard and began to
set up shop.
Lonnie and Muntzy never
had first and last names respectively in the TV pilot. Here, I gave them some. I wanted to flesh the characters out a
little bit more here as well, so in the next couple scenes, we get to see some
things from their points of view.
Here you get to see
Muntzy at his finest, presented with something he wasn’t expecting, and walking
straight into it without flinching.
“That light looks fine
to me,” the guard said with a suspicious tone in his voice.
“It looks just fine to
me too,” Muntzy said, “but we’ve had reports on it flickering over the past few
days.”
“I’ve never noticed
anything,”
“I’ve been up here
five times to fix it and it looked just like it does now. It must be an electrical problem, so I may
as well look at it before it turns into something worse.”
The guard grunted.
Michael found Wilson
and Lonnie, walking the casino arm in arm posing as a couple, and keeping a
close eye on Acton and his girlfriend who Michael met earlier that night. Her name was Tanya Walker and there was an
air about her Michael couldn’t place.
He looked at them again and noticed Lonnie was watching Tanya more than
Acton himself.
Here is some
foreshadowing showing how much Lonnie knows and how desperate she is to try to
convey the message to Michael without blowing her cover. Lonnie knows that Tanya is in control, and
she is powerless to do so.
I tried to do a few of
these where Lonnie tried to inconspicuously grab Michael’s attention. I think I ended up keeping two.
“What’s going on,
Michael?” Taylor asked over Michael’s virtually hidden
earpiece.
Paul Taylor, a new and
original character, was supposed to be a behind-the-scenes man. Originally, I did not plan to have him more
involved in the story later on, but as I was writing these initial pieces of
the story, he came out stronger than I anticipated and deserved a bigger role.
This works to my
advantage as we see a changed man when he meets Michael later. Instead of calling the shots from behind the
curtain… well you’ll see.
Wilson’s security
guards did not have any kind of communication equipment, as they were all
watching Acton in close or distant proximity.
Michael had to turn a certain way and pretend he was examining a slot
machine to reply. He looked up and saw
Wilson whisper to Lonnie. He handed her
a card-key and a piece of paper. Within
seconds, Lonnie left his side.
“Wilson just sent
Lonnie somewhere,” Michael quietly said, “can you get her on camera? Where is she going?”
“She’s headed towards
the elevators, I think she is headed your way, Muntzy.”
Michael looked up and
saw Wilson put away a cell-phone. “I
think Wilson just called someone.”
There were a
few seconds of silence before Muntzy’s voice came over the
band. “He must have called the
security guard in front of Acton’s door, because that dude just left. Said something about going to the casino
floor.”
“It’s happening,”
Michael said, “Wilson just cleared the way for Lonnie to get the designs from
Acton’s safe.”
“Be careful down there
Michael, you’re in a bed of snakes,” Muntzy said.
You’ll see some
throwbacks to the original pilot. In
all actuality, I did not write this with the TV pilot playing in the background
so I could keep grabbing quotes and story ideas. I used a very small bit of it for some reference points, and used
the Fourth Draft and Ninth Draft scripts over at http://www.knightriderarchive.com
for reference as well. I picked up some
scenes that we didn’t get to see on TV, modified others, and kept writing as
much as I could.
In essence, Knight of
the Phoenix is a stable platform to really launch the series. I wanted to pay homage, but also realized that
it has a strong plot and virtually a timeless setting.
“Not as much as Lonnie
is, Muntzy, keep an eye on her.”
Lonnie felt
overdressed for such an occasion, but nevertheless, looked stunning in her
violet gown. She had long flowing brown
hair that ended in curls and was accented against her white skin. She saw Muntzy working on the light in the
hallway but didn’t say anything–didn’t even look at him as she opened Acton’s
suite and entered.
She quickly moved to
the safe in the walk-in closet. She
took out the piece of paper Wilson handed to her and entered the
combination. The safe instantly popped
open. She took out four mini CD-ROMs
from the safe and set them on a shelf.
She opened her purse and grabbed a portable CD scanner/data storage.
Does this technology
really exist? I’m not sure… but it sure
as hell is a lot better than a tiny 1980’s camera, lol. This also shows how deep Tanya wormed her
way into Acton’s life… she got the combination to a top secret safe and gave it
to Wilson.
It took her just a few
minutes to scan the discs and save the data.
She put the discs back into the safe and made sure she didn’t disturb
anything. She took out a cell-phone and
called Wilson. “I scanned the discs, I
have it all.”
I took out the whole idea
of the walkie-wrist talkies out of the scene (if that’s what she was talking
into in the TV pilot) and, again, modernized it. Now that cellular phones are popular tools and some can be
scrambled to be untraceable, it made sense for Lonnie to place a call.
While futurized
technology is what made Knight Rider pretty cool, I wanted to set a few
limits. For awhile, I was thinking of
replacing Michael’s wrist communicator with a cell-phone… but… nah. I figured a watch with BlueTooth would work
the same. Hehehe.
“Excellent work,
Lonnie. Did anyone see you?”
“There’s no one around
except for an electrician in the hallway.”
“An electrician?”
Wilson said with alarm.
“It’s fine, I’ve seen
him around here before, don’t worry,” Lonnie replied.
“Okay, well meet me at
Acton’s craps table, you can’t miss it once you get to the casino. The bastard’s winning big.”
“See you soon,” she said.
Muntzy was still
working on his light when Lonnie left the suite. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
Lonnie smiled and looked up at him. “You could say that,” she replied, walking
down the hall.
The exchange here
between Muntzy and Lonnie was much longer and was entirely said in code. It would have Muntzy asking if Lonnie was OK
and assuring her that they were watching her, and Lonnie telling him that she
was just fine. Muntzy would then tell
her to get ready for the bust.
I took it out because it
was too complicated, and if I left it in, people would wonder why she didn’t
tell Muntzy in code that Tanya was the boss, not Wilson.
Muntzy wasn’t
comfortable giving Lonnie the original two-minute head start, so he counted a
few long seconds before he started to follow.
“I’m on her tail,” he said.
“Be careful, Muntzy, I
lost Wilson,” Michael replied.
“Relax, Agent Long, I’m
the original man of steel,”
“Wilson’s at the craps
table with Acton and Tanya. Acton’s
winning big, look for the giant cheering crowd,” Taylor
said.
Lonnie showed up by
Wilson’s side at the table. Michael
started to make his way over.
“There’s been a change
of plans, Lonnie. Take these keys and
go to the top level of the parking garage.
There is a silver Z. Get into
the car and wait for us to show up,” Wilson said.
This scene was up for
some question as to whether or not Wilson knew that they were being
followed. My intention was to show that
their outfit was pretty much ready with any kind of contingency plan and never
shared all the details.
Lonnie nodded and
started walking towards the parking garage.
Michael passed her as he just arrived to the craps table. She looked at him and then back at Acton… or
Tanya. Before he could process it,
Wilson approached him.
“Acton’s winning big,”
Wilson said to Michael, “so stick with him.”
“All right,” Michael
replied.
The table cheered as
Acton rolled a seven. “I can’t lose
tonight,” he said.
Acton’s girlfriend,
Tanya Walker, a platinum blonde stunner with dark-brown eyes that looked out of
place, warned him against jinxing his luck.
“I make my own luck,”
Acton said, kissing her.
Wilson stepped away
from the table and began walking towards the parking garage. Just ahead of him, he saw a black man in a
utility jumpsuit dash out of an elevator and into the parking garage. “Damn it.
Gray, they burned her. A
maintenance man is on her tail, take care of him.”
Michael watched Wilson
disappear around the corner. Apparently
Taylor watched the same thing on the cameras.
“All units, get ready. We
have a broken play; they are headed towards the parking garage. All other agents, wait for my signal.”
Michael was anxious to
run to the parking garage to back up his team, “Muntzy, be careful, I think
they’re on to you,”
Lonnie opened the car
door when someone called out her name.
It was Muntzy.
“Lonnie! It’s time, we have to—” Muntzy was cut off
by a gunshot. He fell to the ground,
dead with a bullet in his back.
Lonnie screamed and
looked up. Gray was standing behind
Muntzy, holding a gun.
The gunshot came over
loud and clear over the radio. Michael
flinched well enough for a few people to notice, including Tanya. There was too much at stake for Michael to
remain undercover, and he blew it in front of Acton and Tanya by speaking to
the agents on the other end of the frequency.
“Muntzy? Muntzy!”
“Man down! All agents to the top level of the garage,
man down!” Taylor yelled.
Michael wasted no time
in ditching Acton and Tanya and darted off to the garage.
Acton looked
pissed. He yelled after Michael. “Where the hell are you going?”
Tanya took off,
running after Michael.
By the time they got
to the garage, Lonnie, Gray and Wilson had just sped out.
Michael ran over to
Muntzy who was face down on the cement.
“Oh God,” his voice trembled as he approached his partner,
“Muntzy?” He examined Muntzy’s bloody
wound and felt for a pulse. He never
found one. “Shit!” he yelled, slamming
his hand on the concrete.
At that instant,
Michael knew Lonnie was in grave danger.
He leapt across the
hood of a cab and flashed his FBI badge to the driver. He got in and noticed Tanya was behind him
in the backseat.
This is supposed to be
one of the cabs that was going to be used in the bust in the porte-cochere of
the Montecito. Here we get to see
Michael’s sense of loyalty and diving into a situation to share his partner.
“All agents hold off
pursuit, they’re mine,” he said.
Michael turned to Tanya, “Get out.”
“Michael, what the
hell is going on, you’re being paid to protect Charles, not ditch him in the
middle of a casino.”
Instead of replying,
Michael opened his wallet, ripped out the phony credentials and held the window
of his wallet with his FBI badge up so Tanya could see.
“FBI? You?
What for?” Tanya asked, surprised.
“I’ll explain tomorrow,
damn it, now out!”
“No, I’m going along,
you may need some help,” she protested.
Michael sighed. There was no time to argue, he hit the gas
and hoped he could find Lonnie before it was too late.
“Tell me now,
Michael. What is happening?”
“Acton’s Chief of
Security just ripped off Grumman of the Tomcat-X plans. Or at least he thinks so. Lonnie and Muntzy are FBI agents too, she
infiltrated the team months ago on a tip we received, and he’s undercover as
hotel staff. We have six months in this
and I was supposed to be right behind them,”
“No. I don’t believe you,” Tanya said.
“Your boss killed my
partner back there, I was supposed to be covering him, Tanya! Add murder charges onto industrial
espionage,” Michael yelled.
“There they are!”
Tanya said, pointing at the windshield.
Michael could see the
tail-lights of the Z in front of him.
They must have been caught in traffic considering the distance advantage
they had over Michael, and now he was able to catch up to them in the Vegas
outskirts.
Do something, Lonnie,
Michael thought as he pursued them deeper into the desert. Lonnie must have sped up or hit the brakes
because Michael’s vision was obscured by a large amount of dust in front of
them. He had to squint to see through
the cloud. Michael knew he couldn’t
catch up with her unless she slowed down.
His Dodge Caravan taxicab was no match for the Z she was driving.
The newly redesigned
Nissan Z was one of the final candidates for the new KITT, which you will see
later. Since I was a fan of the car, I
put it into this scene, and only realized that in the original pilot, Lonnie
drove a new Z as well.
His concentration was
broken when his cell-phone
rang. Taylor was on the other end
wondering where Michael was. “I have
Lonnie in my sights right in front of me.
Turn on the taxi’s GPS and send backup,” Michael said, not taking the
time to talk any longer. He put the
phone in his coat pocket.
It’s subtle here, but I
wanted to show that Michael left his phone on.
I wrote a scene showing Taylor listening to everything and reacting to
the two gunshots (Michael’s and Lonnie’s) instead of showing them getting shot.
The tail-lights of the
Z suddenly brightened and then went out.
But right before they darkened, Michael could see a slight swerve. He knew Lonnie ran
the car off the road, and prayed she didn’t hurt herself in
the process.
When Michael reached
the Z, he was relieved to see it in one piece and upright. Gray was already out of the car, and Wilson
was pulling Lonnie out of the car.
I originally was going
to have the Z flipped upside down and Lonnie already dead. Michael would have discovered that she was
dead from a gunshot instead of the rollover.
Michael then wouldn’t have had time to react much as Tanya would have
shot him right there. I actually
preferred that method as I was trying to make this story more original and
unique… we would have seen more of Michael’s anger at finding out Tanya was the
mastermind from Wilton instead of the clichéd Hollywood revelation.
Michael hopped out of
the taxi and raised his gun. “Hold it
right there. If anyone moves, I
fire. Take out your weapons and toss
them over here,”
The two men did as
they were told and slid their guns towards Michael. Wilson’s gun hit Tanya’s foot.
He tightened his grip on Lonnie’s arm.
“Looks like we made a
mistake,” Wilson said.
“Just an
underestimation,” Michael replied, “what did you plan to do with the designs?”
“Sell them to the
highest bidder, of course,” Wilson said.
“I’d call that
treason. It draw’s the death penalty,
you know,” Michael said. He looked at
Lonnie. The light from the taxi flooded
the desert scene, including her face.
There was a look in her eyes that made him think she was trying to tell
him something. He had a good idea that
the two men were still armed, and it might be awhile before backup arrives. “Tanya, pick up that gun.”
“No Michael!” Lonnie
screamed. Wilson punched her and threw
her to the ground. She was out cold.
Here I wanted to convey
an “Oh Shit” moment. While fans who saw
the original story knew that Tanya was in on it, I still wanted to show the
anguish from both of the agents that they were chasing the wrong man
(literally). Lonnie realized there was
no real need to keep a cover and warned Michael in a last resort. It would have been a POV violation, but I
wanted to show that Lonnie knew she was pretty much dead at this point.
“Not necessary,
Michael. I have my own,” Tanya said,
taking a gun from her purse. She
stepped forward and aimed the gun close-range at Michael’s head.
Michael’s stomach
dropped and his mind raced.
He looked at them
again and noticed Lonnie was watching Tanya more than Acton himself...
Stevie laughed
again. She stood up to face Michael,
despite her forehead just reaching his nose.
“I have a bad feeling about this.
You know I have these sixth sense feelings about things.”
Lonnie nodded and
started walking towards the parking garage.
Michael passed her as he just arrived to the craps table. She looked at him and then back at Acton...
or Tanya.
“I believe the
underestimation is on your head now, Michael,” Tanya said.
“Give me that
gun. If you all cooperate, I can pull
some strings.”
“I’ve disappointed
you, haven’t I?” she asked.
I never really liked
this line. I don’t know why I kept
it. I think this line would have fit
better in the original pilot as Tanya and Michael knew more of each other than
they do here.
“Among other things,
Tanya. Give me the damn gun.”
Without a word, Tanya
pulled the trigger and fired point-blank at Michael’s face.
Here, I wanted to show
that Tanya was more cold-hearted and ruthless.
She didn’t hesitate as much as she did in the pilot with the “I intend
to line.”
A violent white flash
and searing pain consumed Michael’s entire world. He reached his hands up to his face only to discover he was
clutching just muscle, blood and bone.
The force of the bullet pushed him back onto the hood of the taxi and he
grotesquely rolled onto the desert floor, blood draining from his massive
bullet wound into the sand.
I wanted to describe as
much as possible without being too violent.
In essence, Michael has his face blown off. This is supposed to mirror what happened to
him in Iraq, which you will see later.
Michael described in
Knight Rider 2000 that his rebirth as Michael Knight was his second life. Here, I see it as his third life, because we
see him get wounded in a very similar fashion in Iraq later on in this story,
and leads a different path on life following that wounding.
Tanya tossed the gun
onto his back. “It’s all yours,” she
said.
As he was losing
consciousness, Michael could faintly hear the action around him.
“Where are the
designs?” Tanya asked.
“She destroyed
them. Erased the data storage.” Wilson
replied, “What should we do?”
“Get out of town
quick,” Tanya said, “what other choice do we have?”
“And what about her?”
Gray asked.
“Waste her,” Tanya
said.
The last thing Michael
Long heard was the gunshot that killed Lonnie.
Bye-bye, Lonnie. When I wrote this, I was considering showing
Lonnie regaining consciousness, and then erasing the data, exchanging her life
to protect the country’s secrets. But I
wanted to keep the action focused strictly on Michael and from his point of
view as he was dying.
Stevie’s tear-streaked
face was seen only in the street-lights that danced through the windows of the
car that was speeding towards the hospital.
“I told him not to go. I told
him,” she said in between sobs.
Taylor met her at the
airport after the FBI rushed her to Vegas.
Stevie was easily in a state of panic when he gave her the news. He would have preferred to wait to tell her
what happened until they got to the hospital, but when he called her 5 hours
ago, she screamed into the phone, demanding to know what exactly happened.
I wanted to do a scene
where Stevie gets “the call” but I didn’t.
Taylor was left
speechless in the wake of the tragedy, and tried his best to console her. Word of Agent Muntzy and Sullivan’s deaths
and Michael’s wounding reached the Bureau in no time, and everyone was shaken
up. Despite it being 4am in DC, a group
of assistant directors called a meeting.
The attending
physician in charge of Michael’s care was waiting for Stevie and Taylor when
they arrived at University Medical Center’s ER. He took the time to explain Michael’s grave situation.
“Michael’s in critical
condition. We have nurses and doctors
watching him around the clock. He was
shot point-blank in the head. The bullet
was on a trajectory that was headed right for Michael’s brain, but a metal
plate deflected it,” the doctor said.
“He got that in Desert
Storm,” Stevie said.
The doctor nodded
grimly. “That plate deflected the
bullet through Michael’s face,”
“Meaning?” Stevie
asked.
“Michael’s face was
completely destroyed, Ms. Mason. The
bullet shattered several bones, damaged a number of arteries, caused extensive
damage to his sinus system. We don’t
even know if he still has vision. We
speculate there is severe nerve damage but we can’t tell right now. We can’t tell half of the trauma induced
until his condition stabilizes.”
Stevie cradled her
head in her hands fighting back her tears.
“Ms. Mason, I’m sorry
to say this, but the odds of your fiancé surviving are less than 30 percent,”
That sent Stevie over
the edge. The lump in her throat
swelled to an extent that the only thing she could do was cry. She longed for all of this to be just a
dream, where Michael would wake her up, kiss her and tell her everything would
be OK.
This was no dream.
This is definitely a
radical move from the original pilot, where Michael was conveniently
intercepted by Wilton Knight and brought immediately to Knight Industries to be
treated. Here, we get to see how
Michael was being initially treated and stabilized and gives us a clue that
Knight was waiting for Michael’s condition to partially stabilize before
stealing him away.
This also gives us a
chance to see the new characters at their worst. Stevie, the anguished fiancé, facing the possibility of losing
Michael, and Taylor, the agent in charge who is and also feels responsible for
the botched sting. By the end of this
hospital scene, he will face the notion that an entire team of agents under his
command were killed. This leads to the
change you will see when he pops up later.
I like this version
better because once again, we get to see more of Michael’s world. I am sure time constraints was a big issue
for the writers in 82, but of course the beauty of the written word is that
there are no limits. You aren’t bound
by a running time of 90 minutes plus commercials and I took advantage of that
freedom.
Michael was moved into
the ICU 72 hours later. Taylor walked
in and found Stevie dozing at Michael’s bedside.
It was hard to look at
him. For the first 36 hours, Michael
needed constant watch as his facial wound kept bleeding and his dressings
needed to be changed. Tubes and
machines were connected to him in every
which way imaginable.
Stevie looked
horrible. Taylor chided himself for
thinking that, but she hadn’t slept
since she arrived in Vegas. He tried,
but maybe caught 4 hours in the past three days. Too much was on his mind concerning this case and Michael’s
condition.
His bosses were not
pleased that despite the fact Wilson and his team were foiled in their
attempts, two agents were killed and another was seriously wounded.
Michael left his
cell-phone on the entire time. Taylor
heard everything, and was fuming to find out Tanya Walker was the mastermind
behind it all. His supervisors were
just as elated as he was.
Here is where it’s
verified that Michael left his phone on.
Leaving his phone on made it possible for Michael and Lonnie to be
found, and the fact they knew Tanya was the boss.
Of course, some of you
may wonder… If the FBI now knew they were after the wrong person, why didn’t
they issue warrants because now they were wanted for murder and accessories for
murder, and they had proof of industrial espionage? Well, going public with such a crime would embarrass the hell out
of the Secret Service, and the FBI of such a screw up, and after such
embarrassments such as Ruby Ridge and Waco, they would rather say covert about
Tanya and her staff and look for them quietly.
And now that Tanya and
her team were nearly busted, they learned to be a little quieter when they
moved to ComTron.
He kept wondering what
the hell went wrong. Had Walker and
Wilson known all along? Did Muntzy jump
the gun by following Lonnie too soon?
Or were they never planning to meet at the front entrance, just in case?
Too many what-ifs were
running around in his mind.
“Hi,” a voice said
that broke him from his thought. It was
Stevie.
“Hi,” Taylor replied,
sitting down across from her on the other side of Michael’s bed.
Stevie could sense
something was wrong, “What is it?”
“I’ve been suspended,”
Taylor said.
This also begins the
degradation of the once strong agent in charge.
Stevie began to cry
again, “No,” she said. “You can’t be
suspended, Paul. Who is going to find
them? Someone has to find them! You’re the only one who knows who they are.”
Before he could
answer, the room erupted into chaos as a bunch of doctors and nurses burst into
the room. They pushed past Stevie and
Taylor and surrounded Michael, all speaking at once.
A nurse quickly came
and escorted Stevie and Taylor out of the room. Stevie strained to try to hear what the doctors were saying, but
all she could make out was medical terminology mixed around the words
“crashing, trauma, bleeding out, emergency surgery.” Before she could catch what was going on, the swarm of doctors
was wheeling Michael out of the room.
“What’s going on?”
Stevie asked, frantically.
“We got a signal at
the nurses station,” a nurse said who Stevie didn’t recognize, “they’re taking
him up to emergency surgery.”
This of course is a
nurse from Knight Industries. The
doctors are too. It’s implied but not
explained that they were able to infiltrate the hospital’s night shift, trigger
a false alarm at the nurse’s station and then rush to Michael’s bedside.
“Oh God,” Stevie said,
rushing after Michael.
A female doctor
stopped her at the elevator doors. “We
need to take him upstairs right away,” she said, “the nurse will take you to
the waiting room. We’re taking care of
him, Ms. Mason, I promise,” the doctor gave an assuring smile as the doors
closed.
The nurse could see
that Stevie was entering panic-mode.
She assured her that things would be just fine and walked her to another
elevator to take her to the OR waiting room.
Taylor turned around and followed them.
Had he not turned around at that moment, he would have noticed Michael’s
elevator skipped the OR-floor and went straight to the rooftop helipad…
Again, while not
explained, we can assume (via my intentions) that the body that had duplicates
of Michael’s teeth, injuries and fingerprints was waiting on the helipad and
was switched and then transported to the OR where attempts to revive it were
unsuccessful. It’s not that important
to the story, but it’s cool to know how Knight got away with it.
Stevie sat at their
dinner table staring at the folded American flag some unnamed Army general
presented to her this morning at Arlington.
The gunshots from the 21-gun salute and the sound of bagpipes echoed in
her mind repeatedly.
The flowers he gave
her eight days ago were dead, the necklace he gave her was still around her
neck. She fingered it absently as she
read the note he left:
The scent of roses
lingers... always.
“If I got out of
Desert Storm alive, I am sure I will get out of an FBI sting in Las Vegas.”
“Why did you have to
go, Michael?” she asked, halfway expecting a reply;
instead the necklace felt warm. Stevie looked up and around the house. Their Georgetown home felt more than empty.
I don’t know about
Stevie’s line talking to herself… it seems too much like the ending of Sixth Sense.
For the first time
since she was rushed to Vegas, Stevie exploded in grief. She grabbed the vase and tossed it across
the room, screaming and crying as it shattered on the floor. She cleared the table in one sweep of her
arm, sending the jewelry box, the American flag, sympathy cards, and a plate of
food she barely touched flying everywhere.
She tore off the necklace and fell to the floor, clutching the necklace
as hard as she could.
This still was not a
dream.
Darkness.
“His scars are nearly
healed,” a man said, with a clipped British accent.
“Mmm-hmm,” another man
replied.
“Doesn’t it strike you
that there is an uncanny resemblance between him and you as a young man?” the
British man asked.
The other man grunted.
“Just my imagination,
I suppose,” the British man replied.
“Stick to your task,”
the other man replied with a gruff and raspy voice, “have you found them?”
“We’re still working
on it, we’ve narrowed it down to three companies in two states,”
“And the Knight 2000?”
“It could be ready
within a month,” the British man said, excitedly.
“Excellent!” the other
man said, “I just hope I have a month left in me.”
“What have the doctors
said?” the British man asked with a concerned tone.
“Never you mind what
the doctors said, Devon. I’ll worry about
them… and Michael Long,”
A lot of dialogue here
between Wilton and Devon is mixed from various different scenes from the
original pilot. Again, the Fourth and
Ninth Draft scripts were used as points of reference. This scene introduces us to Wilton and Devon, who both share
similarities with their original series counterparts but have their differences
as well. You’ll see.
Awake.
Who was talking?
Were there really
voices or was it a dream?
He couldn’t figure out
how long ago it was when his world plunged into darkness. Today, it still was. But something was different. He could feel it. Hell, he could actually feel for once.
Almost…
The last thing he saw
was the explosion from Tanya’s gun. The
last thing he felt was unimaginable pain.
Indescribable.
Unbearable.
Not only did he feel
the searing pain from the bullet exiting through his face, his head was
throbbing from the impact his plate took from deflecting the bullet.
This let’s us know that
Michael has been unconscious ever since he was shot. The elapsed time between his wounding and today is just around a
month plus a week.
When Michael was shot,
we pretty much saw how he was shot but didn’t know what he was feeling. The descriptions of being shot were cut and
modified from that scene and then placed here as Michael wakes up and
remembers.
He reached up to feel
his face not knowing what to expect.
The last time he felt his face, he could feel the edges of his skin
where it was torn apart by the bullet, his muscles, bones… much more than a
person is not supposed to feel. This
time, he felt… skin.
Michael quickly sat
up, opening his eyes and looking around.
He squinted, having not seen light in two weeks.
He let off a quick
scream, startled at the presence of two men at his bedside.
“Who the hell are
you?” he asked.
“Hello Michael,” the
first man said, “I’m Wilton Knight, and this is Devon Miles,” he said,
gesturing to another man.
Both men were older
than Michael. The owner of the British
voice, Devon, had to be in his late 50’s.
His grey hair was kept neat and he looked like he was born in the black
and silver three-piece-suit he was wearing.
Wilton, looked to be
15 years older than Devon, his hair was sparse and he was dressed
casually. Had it not been for an oxygen
tube feeding into his nostrils and a voice that made Michael want to clear his
throat, he would have looked just as healthy as Devon.
My original plans for
Wilton Knight were much different than you see here or what you saw. In the original pilot, we saw Wilton Knight
limping around on a cane, and was merely showing his age, instead of the signs
of a debilitating illness. Here, I
added an oxygen tube and baldness to convey the cancer that he was afflicted
with, however, I originally planed for Wilton to be stricken with AIDS instead.
Devon never changed and
always was going to be this clipped, prim and proper British man. However, I did add some pompousness into his
demeanor and had him judge Michael more harshly. This will add to some more animosity in later stories.
Or anyone for that
matter.
“How are you feeling?”
Devon asked.
Michael was still rather disoriented to
answer. “How long have I been here?”
“About a month,” Devon
replied.
Michael shot out of
bed, and stumbled. He had hardly any
energy. “A month?” he asked,
irritated. “I gotta go, I gotta get out
of here. I gotta get back to the
Bureau, call Stevie—”
Here we get to see that
Michael was dedicated to his job and his love.
Devon looked at Wilton
with a frown. “Michael,” Wilton said,
“there’s a great deal we have to explain to you—”
“Explain? No,” Michael said, looking for his clothes
and walking towards the sink. He
splashed water on his face and looked up, “I don’t have any time to—”
Michael’s blood ran
cold when he saw the face staring back.
Michael couldn’t
believe his eyes… literally. Instead of
his green to grey eyes, they were blue.
His eye sockets were slimmed down.
His hair was no longer light brown and spiky, instead it was dark brown,
wavy and out of regulation. His long
cheekbones were more subdued, and his teeth were whiter. The face in the mirror definitely wasn’t
Michael Long.
To imagine the
transformation from Michael Long to Michael Knight, picture a very square and
bristled face, and round it out. A good
comparison would be Benjamin Bratt to a cleaned-up Dave Navarro.
“My face… Oh my God,”
he said, “what happened to my face?” He
spun around to face Wilton and Devon. “What the hell did you do to my face?”
This line is taken from
the 2nd Season Episode, Knightmares.
“I suppose you want
some answers,” Wilton said.
I want the truth! You can’t handle the truth! Sorry, I had to indulge myself.
“No shit, otherwise I
wouldn’t be asking questions,” Michael replied.
“I promise I will tell
you everything. Trust me, son, we are
not here to hurt you,” Wilton said.
“Not here to hurt
me? You’ve destroyed me! What the hell have you done to my face?”
Michael yelled, noticing his new eyes matched Wilton’s.
The vain Wilton Knight,
seeking an heir to the throne, crafted Michael Knight to resemble a younger
version of himself. Of course he also
duplicated Garthe’s face… An attempt to
erase a mistake, perhaps? Will we see
Garthe and KARR in my new series? I
don’t know yet.
“You’ll be much
happier with this face,” Devon said, “unless you wish to walk around with the
face of a man who could be killed… all over again.”
“What?” Michael asked.
“Everything will be
explained to you in time, Mr. Long,” Devon said.
“I’m trying to tell
you, I don’t have time—,”
“You do, Michael, more
than you know. Get dressed,” Wilton
said, “and I’ll explain
everything.”
Michael was about to
protest when Devon cut him off, “You’ll find clothes and other necessities in
the drawers. I’ll take you downstairs
when you are ready.”
An alternate scene of
the events below was Michael finding himself locked in his hospital room and
trying to escape. His mind would wander
back to his days in Iraq when he escaped from the prisoner camp with his fellow
soldiers. It would then be during this
escape that he was wounded. That
changed, obviously as I wrote along. I
also didn’t want to flash back to too many moments in Iraq, just enough to
parallel the two stories.
Instead, I described what happened, and modified it.
The two men left, and
Michael was alone again.
What the hell was
going on?
Images flooded
Michael’s mind from over a decade ago.
He was in Iraq as part of the 4th Brigade Combat Team of the
101st Airborne. His
battalion came under heavy fire as they went through what they thought was an
abandoned town.
A sequence of errors
quickly followed, and Michael found himself captured along with some other
members of the battalion. They were
merely hours away from one of Hussein’s torture camps before they were able to
engineer an escape.
Him and a squad of 3
soldiers were able to overpower a team of Iraqi captors.
I’ll be damned if I
can’t get away from here, he thought.
Then, in almost an
instant of panic, he tore off his t-shirt and looked in the mirror. His muscles were still there, but what was
missing made his stomach drop and heart skip more than a few beats. His Screaming Eagle’s tattoo was gone,
completely erased from his body.
I didn’t write about the
Screaming Eagles tattoo earlier when Michael was packing with Stevie, but I
wanted to show how Michael Long was slowly being erased.
Michael sunk his head
low, wishing it was all a dream.
“Where am I?” Michael
asked Devon, as they left the hospital.
He squinted, having not seen sunlight for over a month.
“You’re in the Wilton
Knight Hospital and Medical Center on the Knight Industries campus,” Devon
replied, “Wilton was the man—”
“My face might be
different, but my memory isn’t, give me some credit, Devon. He’s also one of the world’s most richest
men and popular philanthropist. What
does he want with me?”
“I’m afraid that is
for Mr. Knight to explain,” Devon replied, as he walked over to a black
golf-cart with the Knight Industries logo on the side.
The circular logo was
the image of a medieval Knight’s head, set on an orange background with a black
border.
This logo is the same
one that appears on KITT’s steering wheel from the original series. It serves as the logo for all of Knight
Industries, eliminating the chess-piece.
“Nice wheels, Devon,”
Michael said, sarcastically, “the old-man doesn’t pay you enough?” he said,
getting in.
Devon shot a look at
Michael. “Dear boy,” he said
half-laughing, “despite Mr. Knight’s generous philanthropy, I still get a
paycheck, which is none of your concern, I may add.”
“Where are we? How big is this place?” Michael asked,
looking around.
“We’re across the bay
from San Francisco,” Devon replied, “and
we encompass a large number of acres with enough ‘breathing room’ if you
will. Plus, a view to admire.”
Michael looked across
Devon and saw a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean as they drove along a cliff
side. “Not bad. Not bad at all. What’s with the mansion?
Let me guess, the old man lives there.” he asked, gesturing towards a
large mansion in front of them.
Devon grunted. “Mr. Knight lives there, yes. But that is also the headquarters for the
Foundation for Law and Government, Mr. Long.
Your new workplace,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
Michael asked, in an accent mocking Devon’s.
Devon grunted again as
they approached the mansion.
During the final
minutes of their trip, Michael tried his hardest to pull out information from
Devon as best as he could, but Devon merely grunted and repeatedly told Michael
that Wilton Knight would explain everything to him when he got there.
Michael hated being
out of the loop. Christ, that’s why he
joined the FBI in the first place, to be on the inside, to be a part of the
intelligence community.
Of course at that
moment he realized the interrogation training he received too. Not only was it his job to know information,
but it was his job to retrieve information.
But before he was able
to corner Devon into anteing up some answers, The Old Man was slowly walking
out of the grand entrance to his mansion towards them. Devon stopped and Michael got out.
“Good morning,
Michael,” Wilton said, extending his hand.
Michael shook it. “Glad to see
you up and about.”
“Barely,” Michael
replied, “I still need to get back in shape,” he said, stretching. Michael had been nearly immobilized for the
past month and felt the toll it took on his body. He was definitely out of shape, as if he was in a body that was
not his own… and definitely wearing a face that didn’t belong to him.
“You’ll have time for
that,” Wilton said, “plenty of time.”
“What am I here for?”
Michael said, narrowly escaping out of Devon’s way as he drove off.
Wilton looked out
towards the sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean. He looked up at the sky and inhaled. “It’s a lovely day,” he said, “let’s take a walk outside.”
The two men started
walking down the path running along the cliff.
Michael couldn’t help but look down on occasion at the mighty drop to
the jagged rocks on the other side of the railing. After a few endless seconds of not speaking, Michael began asking
questions.
Wilton, instead,
shushed him off, telling Michael to enjoy the day and their surroundings,
informing him that he would spend a great deal of time here. Michael begrudgingly obliged.
I wrote Wilton to be a
mix of eccentric and enigmatic. At
first, he would leave Michael with more questions than answers, and reveal them
later. Here, he wants to enjoy the clear
sunny Northern California day, possibly one of his lasts.
This next section of the
story elaborates on Wilton telling Michael about the events surrounding him and
the new chance at life. We never got to
see this in the original pilot (nor the scripts) and it was something I
definitely wanted to write.
After 45 minutes of
walking the grounds of the estate, Wilton spoke.
“I suppose you have
plenty of questions for me, Michael,” he said.
“Damn right,” Michael
sharply replied.
“Well to start off, I
am saddened to inform you that you are dead,” Wilton said, bluntly.
Michael stopped,
grabbing the old man by the arm. “What
the hell are you talking about?” he asked, sweeping some wind-blown hair out of
his face.
“Michael Long was
involved in a shootout in Las Vegas during a botched FBI mission to prevent
espionage within a defense contractor.
He died at University Medical Center in Las Vegas last month. His funeral was held two days later.”
While Wilton is a man of
power and resource, he doesn’t flaunt it.
Here he reveals that he’s been keeping an eye on Tanya the entire time,
and not interfering. We later learn
that it was because of his distrust of the government’s law enforcement.
Michael gave a cheeky
grin and turned his back to Wilton. He
grabbed the railing and looked out to sea.
“Unbelievable.”
“Don’t believe me,
Michael?”
“No, I believe
you. I know what people like you can
accomplish,” Michael said.
“People like me?”
“Powerful. Rich.
Donated so much to the world, got power in exchange. I just want to know how you did it.”
“And why, I assume?”
Michael nodded.
“You weren’t far from
death, Mr. Long, I must say. Your
condition was all over the place, and doctors fought to keep you in an induced
coma until the swelling around your brain subsided. That metal plate in your head saved your life and bought us the
opportunity we needed.”
“Opportunity for
what? I don’t know what you are going
on about here, but I just want to get on with my own life.”
“Your own life,
Michael? What life? You’ve been declared dead, given a few
face…”
Michael turned to look
at Wilton. “Then what the hell am I
here for?”
“A chance for a new
life,” Wilton quickly said, “an opportunity that
might be hard to refuse.”
“You sound like the
Godfather,” Michael said, beginning to walk away. Wilton hurried to catch up.
“You have the chance
to walk away, Michael, but do you want to?
When your killers are still on the large?”
Michael stopped and
spun around.
Wilton smiled. “I knew that would get your attention.”
“What do you know
about them?” Michael asked, as he began to pick up stones and throw them over
the cliff.
“Enough to know how
dangerous they are,” Wilton replied.
Michael rolled his
eyes at that half-ass answer.
“First-hand knowledge,
Mr. Long.”
“What?”
The following explains,
in detail, what Tanya did to Wilton, what she stole and how she did it. It is one of the most powerful and poignant
moments in the story and the easiest to write.
One thing I definitely
want to point out is the amount of extra backstory we get for some of the
events that happened to these people and it personalizes them that much more…
And makes Tanya someone
you’d want to hate even more.
“Six years ago, Knight
Industries was nearly destroyed by industrial espionage. They single-handedly toppled everything I
built, everything I worked for, stole multiple project designs and sold them
off to the highest bidder. I was
in-line to become a defense contractor for the Armed Forces, but her espionage
cost that contract. And my marriage.”
Michael looked at
Wilton with a tiny bit of sympathy.
“She wormed her way
into me every-which-way possible. I
should have known better, I should have been smarter. But I was 65, I was realizing the absolute terror that there were
more days behind me than there were in front of me. She was 28. She was
interested. Interested in what? Not some 65-year-old curmudgeon. His money?
Perhaps. What other reason was a
28-year-old woman doing with me? My
power? My secrets? She took it all. Took the most powerful projects we’ve been developing—projects
way ahead of their time, projects that could have revolutionized multiple
industries. In toppling my empire, she
toppled me, and my projects made billions for someone else.
“It took awhile to
rebuild. She took my projects but she
didn’t take my staff; the smartest people you’ll find on the planet. We continued on, rebuilding Knight
Industries, rebuilding our connections, reestablishing our trust in the private
sector. If she thought I was too scared
to return, she was wrong. I had my
empire, I had my money, and I had everything you could imagine, but one thing.”
“Justice?” Michael
asked.
“Exactly,” Wilton
said, half-heartedly punching the air, “Tanya
and her force were off somewhere and the law enforcement agencies were
helpless. They were too big. The kind of criminals who operate above the
law, nobody could touch them.
“Instead, I sought to
create something powerful, something to make a difference, a way to fight in
the world of criminals who operate above the law—to champion the cause of the
innocent, the helpless, the powerless.
I created a private arm of Knight Industries, utilizing technology that
is beyond state-of-the-art. A firm that
would not be controlled by our board of directors, nor influenced by government
or politics. It would be a way for me
to continue philanthropy work in no other way imaginable. A free-lance law enforcement agency called the
Foundation for Law and Government.”
No doubt, Michael was
impressed, and was finally able to relate to The Old Man. “So how do I fit into all of this?” he
asked.
“That’s up to you
Michael,” Wilton said, “you’re here for a reason, it’s up to you to figure out
what you want to do,” he walked away and Michael was left in thought, looking
out to sea.
This still was not a
dream.
More of the dream
allusions.
Four weeks later,
Wilton looked out of binoculars from his rear patio towards a track. Michael was running laps. “How much longer?” he asked Devon, who
appeared behind him seconds earlier.
Michael is now in his
second month at Knight Industries and has been spending the time reconditioning
himself. While we may think that Wilton
badgered Michael day in and day out about joining the Foundation, he left him
alone, knowing that the emotionally wounded man needs to come around on his
pace.
“We’ll meet the
deadline,” Devon said, “one more week.”
“Put the crews on
around the clock I want it done within the next 48 hours,” Wilton said.
An alarmed look
flashed over Devon’s face. “48
hours? Wilton, what have the doctors—,”
“Doctors say their
normal medical terms and give deadlines, much as I use technical terms and give
deadlines as well. Don’t worry about
them,” Wilton ordered.
“What have you told
him?” Devon asked, as Michael came closer on the track for another pass.
“I told him he fits
into my equation one way or another, and it’s up to him to decide how he wants
to,” Wilton said, “I told him he’s safe.
In the eyes of the law, Michael Long is legally dead.”
“Stealing a body from
the morgue, shooting its face off, replacing its teeth and fingerprints,
placing Mr. Long’s identification on it and overnighting it to Las Vegas is not
exactly playing by the rules in the eyes of the law,” Devon said.
We can assume that
Michael’s dental records and fingerprints were transported from Las Vegas to
San Francisco during his week at University Medical Center. We also can assume the endless resources of
Knight Industries who were able to create teeth identical to Michael’s,
replicating his wound, and adjusting a cadaver’s fingerprints.
Hey, if they got a car
to talk, they can do anything. Almost.
“That body was donated
to the college of medicine anyway, they can get another one. Besides, I make my own rules. If the criminals we are after operate above
the law, why can’t we?”
“All right, but why
him?”
“That’s our man,
Devon,” Wilton said.
“How can you be so
sure?”
“He has the
drive. The dedication. His entire world was destroyed, far
different than mine. He’s felt he’s
failed his mission. He’ll want to pick
it up,” Wilton said.
“I still question your
choice, Wilton. He’s rather young—”
“He needs to be
young.”
“And inexperienced.”
“You’re grasping at
straws that aren’t there, Devon. He has
the law enforcement background necessary for this kind of job. We couldn’t ask for someone better
experienced in surveillance, research, and pursuit and capture. Desert Storm was no Vietnam, but it still
wasn’t a cake-walk.”
“He was captured
there.”
“He survived. He kept fighting. It kept him living, just like me.”
“How did he take the
fact that we knew Tanya Walker was involved the whole time?”
“He was angry, no
doubt. How would you feel, Devon, if
you found out you were chasing the wrong person for months?”
“Rather upset, I
suppose. I assume Mr. Long’s reaction
was triple that, however.”
“It was,” Wilton said,
“but still understandable.”
“He’s aggressive,”
Devon said.
“He’ll need that. I doubt our adversaries will be inviting him
to talk out their troubles over a spot of tea, Devon,” Wilton said.
Even Wilton can be
bothered by Devon’s prissiness.
“I’ll give you his
ability to work in a team,” Devon said, “but
the majority of his work will consist of him on his own.”
“Every man has the ability
and preparedness to work on his own.
Michael knows the value of a team, but knows the value of one man can be
a force greater than any army put together.
Michael Long is our man. He will
be the proof that one man can make a difference.”
Devon opened his mouth
to speak, but was left speechless.
The banter back and
forth between Devon and Wilton was based upon a similar exchange in the scripts
that was cut. It shows Devon having no
faith in Michael, and vehemently begging Wilton to reconsider his choice.
“On your way Devon,”
Wilton said as Michael approached.
Michael dashed up the
stairs and collapsed on the stone bench, wiping sweat away from his brow.
“Aren’t you pushing it
a bit, Michael?” Wilton asked.
“I gotta get in shape
real fast,” Michael said, “I’ve been sitting around too long. I got one last score to settle,” Before
Wilton could speak, Michael added a powerful blow. “Alone.”
“Revenge?”
“Pursuit and
capture. I have a mission to finish.”
Michael knows he’s
better than revenge. At this point in
his mind however, whether or not he will bring Tanya and Wilson plus the others
alive was up in the air.
“You aren’t an agent
anymore. You aren’t even Michael Long
anymore. In a matter of speaking, you
aren’t even alive anymore. I told you
weeks ago that it’s up to you how you want to fit into the Foundation,” Wilton
said, “What if I told you
that by working together, we can take down Tanya and her friends. But they’re just the tip of the iceberg—”
“Mr. Knight, you gave
me a second chance to live, and for that I am grateful, but now comes the time
where we have to part ways. I blew it
in Vegas; I got my team killed. You of
all people should understand I can’t take responsibility for anyone’s life but
my own any longer.”
Michael thinks the
catastrophe in Vegas was his fault, rather than dumb luck. I took out some dialogue where Wilton told
him this and Michael stormed off angry.
Michael checked his
watch. It read midnight. Despite the cold, he made his second pass
through the campus, a five-mile run, and planned to take two more. He passed by a building that resembled an
aircraft hanger. Last night, around
this time, the hanger was busy with activity, and stayed busy throughout the
night. During his first run tonight, he
noticed a small amount of activity. It
looked like people were wrapping up their work.
In the pilot, it seemed
established that this giant building was right across from the mansion. The Knight Industries headquarters today has
a lot more space, and is a virtually an entire campus with a hospital,
corporate and industrial space, and the mansion. Wilton was able to buy a lot of land for his dream.
This time, the hanger
was dark and empty. Whatever they were
working on, they finished.
It was Michael’s
instincts that told him to check it out.
He walked towards the large set of hangar doors and approached a
nested-personnel door.
After picking the
lock, Michael entered the dark building.
The door closed behind him and the slam echoed throughout the
edifice. It also plunged him into
almost complete darkness.
A lone, dim, spotlight
shone on the floor in the middle of the warehouse. Michael stepped forward into it, looking around. “Hello?” he asked, his voice booming in the
building.
Off in the distance…
or was it behind him… Michael heard a faint whirring noise. He squinted ahead of him and saw narrow red
lights chasing each other, as if they were scanning the building. They appeared as if they hovered in the
middle of the warehouse. The whirring
noise seemed to correspond with the mini-floating-light-show.
This introduction to
KITT was too priceless to give up or change.
Suddenly, without
warning, four lights, two on either side of the scanner, turned on and nearly
blinded Michael. An engine roared to
life and what appeared to be a car began bearing down upon him.
Michael stood his
ground. The car screeched to a halt,
just inches from his legs.
Bathed in light,
Michael could see he was looking at a sleek black sports car. A Cadillac XLR, to be specific.
Okay… so here it
is. The new KITT.
Let me tell you that
finding a new KITT was not easy, and required a lot of searching and
consideration.
Here are some of the
contenders: (All models are 2006):
Nissan Z (which was
going to be KITT in the initial planning of the original series)
Mitsubishi Eclipse
Hummer H3
Acura NSX
Dodge Charger
Chevrolet Corvette Coupe
The last two rounded out
the final three choices I made. I
swiftly eliminated the Charger when I found out that is what the Dukes
drove. Had I picked that, I am sure I
would have been hung out to dry.
The Corvette and the XLR
were the two choices I had. I saw both
cars on the road in person and they both had a command appearance about them,
both screamed out Knight Rider.
In fact, I initially
chose the Corvette and wrote parts of this story with the Vette and then
changed it halfway through.
The Vette seemed like a
natural choice since the Firebird (also made by GM) was discontinued. I wanted something that would be radically
different, but also stylish and classy.
Cadillac it was.
The XLR with its sleek
and menacing appearance plus its sharp lines looks like it was born to Turbo
Boost and drive very fast. And while it
is a convertible, it looks damn good with the top actually UP.
And the age-old question
of course is… “Why not use the newest model of the Trans Am for KITT?!” The newest model was made in 2002… And no new models have been made since then. Why would the symbol of Artificial
Intelligence breakthroughs be housed in a three-year-old car?
The massive halogen
lights in the hangar illuminated, and Michael was able to finally appreciate
the size. The building was large enough
to encompass an Airbus 380 and seemed wasted on the car. A retro corporate jet sat in the far corner.
“Enough Devon,” a
voice said, echoing throughout the hangar.
Michael looked behind him.
Wilton was standing at the door and turned on the lights. “You’ve had your fun with our guest,” he
said.
Michael looked back
towards the Cadillac. Devon got out of
the car with a smug grin. “It is
impolite to sneak around uninvited,” he said.
“Be gracious, Devon,”
Wilton chided, “I think it’s time we explained ourselves.”
“You’re damn right it
is. What’s going on here? What is all of this? You could put a small country’s food supply
in here and still be a quarter full,” Michael said.
“I’m an inventor,
Michael. I like my space. That jet you see will revolutionize the
corporate jet industry. Your former
agency is in line to buy six, I believe,” Wilton looked around, and began
walking towards the Cadillac, “I don’t get to put my hands in the action
anymore, however,” he said, running his fingers along the car,
“but I still need a place to dream. A place to create my crowning achievement
for my newest mission.”
The dialogue and
information about the jet was taken from the fourth draft script.
“So this is why people
have been sneaking in and out of here at all hours of the night,” Michael said.
“Look who’s talking,”
Devon said.
“Enough, both of
you. Let’s face the facts,
gentlemen. My clock’s ticking. The car is ready for Michael. He’s back in shape and healthy enough to
carry on—”
Now Wilton starts to
badger Michael about joining. Maybe he
is anxious because he knows his days are numbered, or irritated that Michael
wouldn’t want such a wonderful opportunity…
“Carry on what, Mr.
Knight?” Michael asked, slightly annoyed, “I thought I made it clear that no
matter how much I appreciate your hospitality and saving my life, I need to get
out there and restart it. Not to
mention find those who meant the most to me and convince them I am someone who
has been killed. How in the hell did
you ever think of that when you built this face for me?”
Michael just wants to
get on his life, and wants to go back to his old one.
“That’s not very
grateful,” Devon said, “downright selfish.”
“How can you stand
there and say that when I had no control over what you did? Mr. Knight, thank you for the second chance
at life, thank you for offering your protection and a chance to work for
you. But I need to piece together my
life and go after those who tore it apart,” Michael said,
“If you got this car for me, I appreciate it. I’ll pull out of here tonight and pay you
back—”
“Dear boy,” Devon
said, laughing, “there’s no possible way you could ever repay us for this car.”
“It looks like a 2006
Cadillac XLR to me,” Michael said, trying not to eye and drool over the car too
much.
“From this angle,
yes.”
In one of the scripts,
it’s clearly demonstrated that the Knight 2000 is not Michael’s car. In fact, he didn’t even drive a TransAm in
the script. In the movie, he did, which then added to some curiosity and
confusion as to whether or not they incorporated KITT into Michael’s car.
Here we see that this is
an original car utilized for the Knight 2000.
It’s assumed that Wilton
got a hold of GM’s designs for the XLR years in advance. Much like we assume he did the same with the
original KITT.
“Fine, keep the car,
loan me bus fare. Whatever you want to
do, I owe you my life, Mr. Knight, but it’s time to go.”
Wilton looked
anguished but kept his poise. “Prepare
the car for him, Devon.”
A dumbstruck look
crossed Devon’s face. He stood there
for a number of seconds before he could manage: “But… sir…”
“I said prepare the
car, Devon. There’s a great deal he
needs to know about it before he can drive it safely,” he stumbled and caught
his balance on his cane. “I must go to
bed. I’m not… feeling well,” he said,
trying to walk quickly out of the warehouse.
Michael felt like he
knocked the cane out from under the old man.
Neither men spoke until Wilton was gone.
More from Michael’s
point of view. We see that he has
tremendous respect for Wilton and it hurt him to tell Wilton that he wasn’t
interested.
“You just struck a
dying man,” Devon said, angrily.
“I like that old man,”
Michael said, defensively, “I owe him my life—”
“A small price to pay
for what he offered you,” Devon shot back,” you wouldn’t even have a life if we
hadn’t brought you here—”
“And left Lonnie to
die.”
“Your partner was
killed instantly, Mr. Long, there was nothing we could do. What we were able to do was save you. You do realize there are people out there
who will kill you if they know you are still living?” Devon said, “Anyone who
has met you, I imagine.”
Another blooper! The Foundation didn’t intercept Michael
until he stabilized at University Medical Center! They never even saw Lonnie in the desert.
Michael shot a
disdainful look at Devon. “I’m legally
dead, Mr. Bond,” he said with a mocking-British accent, “I don’t even know
myself with this face.”
“So you plan on
running then, laying low and not avenging your own death?”
“Now wait a
minute. I never said that.”
“That’s what it
sounded like to me.”
“Then get your hearing
examined. I plan to take out Tanya and
her friends out. My way.”
I wanted more banter
between Michael and Devon, sometimes for comic relief, and sometimes for
dramatic prose.
Devon rolled his eyes. “Your way, Mr.
Long? If I recall correctly, your way
got you and two other FBI agents killed, and destroyed the career of your team
leader. If ruining multiple lives in
multiple methods is your way of doing things, Mr. Long, then good luck.”
Devon crossed the line
there… I originally wrote Michael reacting angrily, but wanted a more sensible
reaction… He was smart enough to know that Devon was trying to cut him down on
purpose to agitate him.
“You know where they
are, don’t you?” Michael asked.
Devon stood
silent. “We begin our work
tomorrow. 6am.”
“6am, Devon are you
nuts?” Michael asked, looking at his wristwatch, “it’s midnight.”
“Then you should get
some sleep, shouldn’t you?” Devon asked as he walked towards the exit, leaving
Michael alone with the car.
5:45am. Michael had been awake the whole night. He strongly believed he could go it alone,
but knowing Tanya and her friends, would that be wise? How long could he last if he didn’t use the
Foundation’s resources? Suddenly, The
Old Man began making a hell of a lot more sense.
Michael quickly got
dressed and left his room in the Estate.
Devon was already waiting for him downstairs with the XLR already
running. “Good morning,” he said with
faux energy. He got the impression
Devon did not get much sleep either.
“Good morning,” Devon
replied, handing him a small thermos.
“It’s a blend of tea I use to wake up.
Discovered it in Greece.”
“Thank you,” Michael
said, taking a sip, “Not bad.”
I originally had a piece
here where Devon warned Michael that the tea was probably the most expensive
thing he ever drank, but it felt too out of place. I wanted more banter instead of insults.
“Why are we standing
around? Get in,” Devon said, gesturing
towards the driver’s side.
Michael got into the
driver’s seat and looked around. The
dashboard console had been heavily modified, if not completely replaced. Digital readouts were in front of Michael
displaying multiple types of information.
In the middle, five buttons on each side bordered a blacked out vertical
rectangle. Bordering the bottom of the
rectangle was a lighted yellow square reading “Normal.” Under that, a medium-sized plasma screen was
displaying a camera angle from the front of the car. Below the screen was a DVD-ROM drive. The modified dashboard curved around so two small plasma screens
and multiple buttons faced the driver.
I tried to visualize the
inside of the XLR as much as possible.
I kept the design relatively similar to the original car with the
wrap-around dash forming a work-station for Michael. The blacked out rectangle is KITT’s voice modulator,
obviously. Instead of being placed
above the steering wheel, it’s now in the center console, where Hasselhoff
often spoke to in the original series.
The steering wheel
wasn’t spared in the massive redesign either.
Instead of a complete circle, a gull-wing wheel was in its place.
“This isn’t your ordinary Cadillac,” he said to
Devon who sat down in the passenger seat.
“You’re correct, Mr.
Long. Welcome aboard the Knight 2000.”
“Thank you. What is all this?” Michael asked, gesturing
towards the dashboard, “It looks like Darth
Vader’s bathroom.”
“You’re sitting in the
crowing achievement of Knight Industries.
It is a one of a kind car, Mr. Long, it is the most technologically
advanced car in the world. It is
faster, safer, and stronger than any car you have ever seen. It is virtually indestructible and
completely operated by a series of microprocessors that prohibit the car from
being involved in any kind of collision or mishap, unless specifically ordered
by the driver. In essence, the Knight
2000 can deduce predicaments that might cause harm to the vehicle or the driver
and avoid those situations.”
Now while I mentioned
that the Knight 2000 can avoid items that might harm the vehicle, it is not the
same self-preservation module that KARR was programmed with.
“You’re telling me
this Caddy thinks? My car thinks?”
“We like to think of
it as our car,” Devon replied, reaching over. “Now, to propel the car forward, simply—”
“I know how to drive,
Devon, thanks,” Michael said, pressing the gas pedal.
The power that came
from the Knight 2000 was amazing and Michael was nowhere near prepared for
it. The car launched forward down the
driveway and crashed through the metal gates.
“Holy shit!” Michael
said, slamming on the brakes. “Oh God,”
he said, scrambling out of the car.
Devon got out too. Michael ran
to the front, looking at Devon, “I’ll pay to get it fixed, I will. It got away from me…” he trailed off,
looking at Devon, who was grinning from ear to ear.
Michael looked at the prow
of the XLR and his mouth dropped open.
Despite crashing through a large gate, the car was untouched. There was not a single scratch, or dent, or
chip of the paint.
Obviously some changes
made here from the original pilot. The
action was placed into the following day after Michael discovers the car, and
the MBS is tested by Michael’s mishap instead of Devon’s hammer.
“What the hell?”
Michael asked reaching forward and feeling the paint. “What kind of paint is this?
It feels like baby skin. What’s
this car made of?”
“It’s not paint,”
Devon said, “and it’s not fiberglass.
It’s a finish bonded to the molecular surface of a new substance. A specialized formula, developed right here
at Knight Industries.”
“It’s great the car is
indestructible, but you also said it couldn’t get into an accident,” Michael
said, getting back into the car.
Devon sat down next to
him. “Only when the system is
operating, Mr. Long. And for that, you
must turn it on,” he said, as he pressed a series of buttons on a console
between them.
“You’re telling me I
can’t hit anything,” Michael said.
“Trust me,” Devon
said.
“That doesn’t make me
feel any better,” Michael said, pressing the gas again.
The XLR launched
forward again, this time streaking out of the Estate and quickly off the Knight
Industries campus.
The sun was just
rising as the car streaked along the Pacific Coast Highway. The ride was so smooth, Michael hadn’t
noticed he was handling the break-neck curves at 80 miles per hour.
“I’ll be putting this
car to the test, Devon,” Michael said gripping the steering wheel harder and
hitting the gas.
“Be my guest,” Devon
said, leaning back into the seat.
Michael eyed an
intense curve in the road instructing drivers to slow down to 30
miles-per-hour. He kept his speed at
80.
As he neared the curve
he could feel the XLR taking some control.
He felt it speed up. The square
reading “Normal” changed to “Auto.” He
looked at the digital speedometer and saw it reading 100. He then felt the car begin to steer itself.
“What the hell?” he
said as they navigated the curve.
“Devon, the car just took control and steered itself! It drove itself through the curve!”
“Splendid, isn’t it?” Devon asked, smiling.
“I hate it!” Michael
said. “I like to make my own
decisions.”
“The computer systems
deduced you were acting in the contrary to your best and safest interests. It evaluated the appropriate measures to
maneuver through the curve and executed them,” Devon explained.
“Yeah, but why speed
up, why not slow down? It would have
been a lot safer that way.”
Devon sat silent,
obviously trying to think his answer.
“Devon? Why did the Cadillac speed up? Did I just find a flaw in your perfect
machine?”
“No… no flaw, I assure you. The car had
complete control, we both felt that.
It’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
Michael asked, anxious.
“It was showing off
for you,” Devon said, simply.
“What?!” Michael said,
stopping along the side of the road.
“Don’t blame the
Knight 2000 completely,” Devon said, “I had a small part in it. I could have set the system for certain
conditions. Such as actual road
driving, pursuit driving, or…”
“Or what?” Michael
asked.
“Or setting it to
react to a complex network of road conditions.
Any conditions imaginable. It can
drive itself, without an operator, if necessary.” Devon said.
“So this car can take
off on its own just like that?” Michael asked.
Devon nodded.
“It’d suck to be
working under it.”
“It wouldn’t do
anything to harm you. One of Mr.
Knight’s commands for programming the systems was the preservation of human
life. More specifically, your life.”
“By me, you mean
anyone driving it?”
“No,” Devon said, “I
mean you. Michael Arthur Long.”
By 8am, Wilton was
walking the grounds of the Estate, enjoying the day’s crisp weather. The Estate was just out of view as Wilton
walked along the cliff side, watching the ocean. Then he suddenly stopped, and gripped the railing along the
wall. He was running out of breath,
feeling dizzy. His right arm refused to
let go of the railing, as the rest of his body seemed to fail and fall out from
under him. As he was slowly falling to
the ground, he reached around with his free hand to his neck and pressed a
button on his necklace…
I threw this scene in
her to show more of the deterioration of The Old Man, and more from his point
of view. This scene was a little bit
longer, with more thoughts stemming from Wilton, but I think this fits well
showing the fallen hero.
Sweat was all but
pouring down Michael’s face as he got the Cadillac XLR up to 200 miles per
hour. He looked at the red glowing
rectangle reading “Pursuit” under the mysterious black square. A tense look crossed his face as it was
nearing 220. He was annoyed at Devon’s
comfortable look, as if he did this every single day.
By 225, Michael
flinched and hit the brakes.
“Two-twenty-five,” Michael said, “it wins. How fast does it go?”
“You don’t want to
know,” Devon said, chuckling.
The above speed-test was
based off a scene in one of the scripts where Michael flinches at the enormous
speed from the Knight 2000. I liked it
and wanted to reintegrate it as much as possible. I also used it near the end in the climax…
Michael began driving
again, at a more normal speed. “Why am
I here, Devon?” he asked.
“It was no random
choice we saved your life, Michael. We
had been keeping our eyes on Miss Walker and her associates for some time
now. We were trying to gather enough
evidence to put them away for good.
Catch them in the act,”
“Is that why I’m
here?” Michael asked, “You wanted to use me to get them?”
“Don’t think of
yourself as a pawn, Michael,” Devon said, “we
saw something in you. It wasn’t your
fault the intelligence was wrong—”
“Lonnie knew.”
While Devon and Michael
have had their shares of ups and downs in the past two months, Devon takes it
upon himself to restore some emotional strength into Michael and give him a
sense of purpose and the reasons as to why he was chosen for the Foundation.
In the original series,
Wilton was watching Tanya and Michael at the same time… I never really bought
that concept and I changed it.
In this story, Wilton
was keeping a close watch on Tanya and saw how Michael got caught up in the
process. He knew his dream-car needed a
driver, and saw something in the dying FBI agent. He demanded the car be completed quicker, skipped the recruiting
process for an operative and determined that Michael was the one man who could
make a difference.
“Your partner was in a
dangerous situation where she could not tell you that Miss Walker was
involved—”
“She tried to send me
signals. I should have known them
better. I underestimated Tanya and her
team.”
“You had drive and
dedication to take them down against all odds.
You still do. The operation went
wrong, yes. Your partners lost their
lives, yes. But you were spared for
many reasons, Michael. Do you want it
to go to waste?”
Michael still blames
himself for the fiasco. I wanted to
keep this in the back of his head a little bit more than I did.
While Michael was
thinking, Devon’s cell-phone began to ring and he answered. A grim look crossed his face. “We must get back to the campus
immediately.”
Michael and Devon
rushed to the Estate and into Wilton’s dimly lit bedroom. He lay on his bed with his eyes closed.
“My God, we’re too
late,” Michael said.
Wilton’s eyes opened
slowly. They focused on Michael. “How was the car?”
“Amazing,” Michael
said, “that needs to be on
the market. It could save hundreds of
lives.”
“No!” Wilton wheezed,
“I have other plans for that car.
Besides, the corporations would do everything in their power to keep
that car off the market,” Wilton said, angrily, and coughing in between words.
Wilton took a deep
breath and looked at Michael again.
“Michael,” he said, “I am sorry for my distrust of your
organization. It’s that distrust that
inadvertently set you up for disaster.
But please think of the chance you have. You do not exist, you are legally dead. Your fingerprints have been altered, and no one can trace the
source of your funds or your identity.”
“But who am I?”
“You’re Michael
Knight.”
Michael stood still
staring at the dying old man. “You set
this up?”
“I put the ball in
motion, but you set it up yourself, Michael.
Your persistence to go it alone establishes your faith that one man can
make a difference. Keep that spirit
with you. Make it your obsession as
much as it is mine.”
Wilton can sense that
Michael is still hesitant. He knows
that Michael was refusing to join not because he wanted to fly solo but because
he didn’t want to face that terror again.
Picture Michael’s fear
much like KITT’s in Junk Yard Dog… he’s been hurt and doesn’t want to be hurt
again. He needed a push and some
encouragement.
Wilton’s remaining
energy is being poured into restoring Michael’s personal faith.
“Mr. Knight… I wish I could stand here and tell you I can
take on the world. But I don’t know…
How am I supposed to stop them? I had a
whole team back there, Mr. Knight.
Lonnie was killed. Muntzy was
killed. Hell, I was killed. My life is over, my friends and fiancé think
I am dead. I wake up in the middle of
the night soaking wet and shaking. I
see that gun going off in my face over and over. I hear the second shot that killed Lonnie. I watch my world blow up again.”
“That’s what you need,
Michael. Don’t you understand that
memory is what kept you alive? It is
your baptism by fire into this new life.
Don’t turn in fear. Remember
what you are here for. Tanya Walker and
her group are just the beginning. There
are many more like them out there, and it will be up to you to get them. It’s up to you to continue what I started.”
A smile crossed
Wilton’s face and he reached out his hand.
Michael took it and fought back emotions.
The life was obviously
slipping out of Wilton. “One man can
make a difference, Michael. My
adventure is over… Yours has just… just begun.”
Upon re-reading, I am
not sure how I feel about Wilton saying how his adventure ended… I considered actually letting him live
through this story and a few others and die of natural causes, or be murdered.
Wilton closed his
eyes. His smile faded to a look of
peace and comfort.
Days later, when the
media frenzy surrounding Wilton Knight’s death finally subsided; Michael was
virtually racing Devon to the large garage.
“Slow down,
please? I’m puffed,” Devon said, out of
breath.
Puffed… I always liked
that from the original pilot and I had to keep it. Puffed.
“The Old Man could
keep up with me, Devon, and he was 15 years older than you and dying of
cancer,” Michael said.
“Where are you off to
in such a hurry anyway? You don’t even
know where you are going.”
“I suppose you do?”
Michael asked.
Devon stood for a second,
obviously contemplating his next course of action. “She’s in Goodyear, Arizona, working for a corporation called
ComTron. She is the executive assistant
to the CEO, William Benjamin,” Devon reported.
I should have had more
of a face off between the two men before Devon divulged the info.
“ComTron? Sounds like a Disney movie rip-off,” Michael
said, opening the door and entering the garage.
Devon ignored Michael
and followed him inside. “ComTron is
another defense contractor specializing in communications equipment. It is currently developing a communications
system for the next generation of Army tanks.
The system is also being designed to be adapted for civilian use. A change that would revolutionize mass
communications. We believe Tanya and
her staff are after it.”
“If she’s in Arizona,
that’s where I’m going. Today.”
“Absolutely not,”
Devon stated.
“Are you forbidding
me?” Michael asked, mocking Devon’s accent.
A good shtick that I
have recurring is Michael mocking Devon’s accent when he becomes too
authoritative or when Michael just feels like riling the man.
“You bet,” Devon
replied.
“You can’t forbid me
to go,” Michael said.
“I’ll take away the
car.”
“I’ll find another
one. Besides, The Old Man said last
week this car is for me,”
“Not exactly,” Devon
said, reaching into his coat pockets.
He handed Michael a car registration slip. The owner of the Cadillac was listed as Michael Knight.
“Michael Knight?”
“Michael Long is
dead. I doubt you’d want to die a
second time with that name.”
I don’t know if this
exchange comes off as awkward or not, as Michael already knows he is Michael
Knight. But I wanted to find a way to
explain the car being registered to Michael and the contents of the wallet.
“How do I suddenly become
Michael Knight? I mean The Old Man said
it, but—”
Devon handed Michael a
black wallet. Michael took it and
opened it, thumbing through the contents.
“Drivers license… credit cards…”
“All on Mr. Knight’s
orders,” Devon said, “You will need to sign the credit cards, however. Be sure you use your new moniker.”
“Good to know Michael
Knight’s credit score is higher than Michael Long’s,” Michael said, opening the
door to the Cadillac.
Devon grunted. “There’s one possibility I’ve been reluctant
to mention. It could be extremely
dangerous.”
You may have noticed a
few “nods” to my previous series, Knight Rider 2000 and lines from the movie.
“What?”
“We’ve been
speculating that Tanya might not be the mastermind behind these thefts. There might be a chance she is working for
someone more powerful.”
“Who? What’s his name?” Michael asked.
“We don’t know. All we do know is that our criminologists
are observing a pattern she might not be, how you say, large and in charge.”
“You want me to find
out who it is?”
Devon nodded. “And stop Tanya. Putting her and her team behind bars is your first priority. After that, we can interrogate them.”
“The Old Man had
something long term in mind when it came to me, didn’t he?” Michael asked.
“Against his better
judgment, yes,” Devon replied. “You are to be the operative for the Foundation
for Law and Government. The Operative
Program is a project Wilton was creating simultaneously with the Knight 2000.”
“And he wants me for
the program? That’s a hell of a job
offer, Devon.”
“I urge you to think
about it while you are after Miss Walker,” Devon said.
“I will.”
“Good, and I will use
the time to hold on to the thought you will decline.”
The exchange between
Devon and Michael about his new job opportunity was originally located here in
the fourth draft script instead of at the end.
I found that idea to be so unique, I re-implemented it into my vision of
the pilot. It gives Michael a longer
chance to think about it instead of on the plane in retrospect at the end.
Michael ignored him
and got into the car. He pressed the
POWER button on the dashboard extension to his right and the car came to life.
In a last ditch
attempt to protest, Devon spoke.
“Please, there are so many systems of the car you don’t know yet.”
“That’s all right,”
Michael said, “I am a fast study. I’ll
learn them on the way. I have a long
drive ahead of me.”
“That’s very
foolhardy—”
“We don’t like each
other, it’s obvious. But it was The Old
Man’s wish we at least work together cordially to take out Tanya. I can be polite, how about you?”
“Naturally,” Devon
said through grinded teeth.
“Then get off my back,
Devon. The Old Man must have known
something when he picked me as his operative.
He trusts you Devon, completely.
Maybe it’s about time you trusted him,” Michael said, putting the car
into gear and sped out of the garage.
Michael calls Devon out,
knowing how much of a friend he was to Wilton.
He acknowledges that while Devon may not like him, he should go on
Wilton’s faith to trust him.
After fighting traffic
for more than an hour, Michael finally was on open road headed towards
Bakersfield. He was examining the
elaborate dashboard and all the functions.
The one thing he
couldn’t figure out a use for was the black square above the central
monitor. He hadn’t seen it light up or
do anything since he began driving. The
button below it read Normal, and the only time he watched that display change
was when the car took over and drove itself around the curve.
“All these expensive
gadgets and they don’t give you a stereo or a clock?” Michael said, believing
he was speaking to no one in particular.
“The time is currently
8:45 AM, Pacific Daylight Time,” a voice said.
Michael jumped and hit
his head on the roof. His heart must
have skipped four beats. Who the hell
was in here with him? “What the hell
was that?”
“You may access my
stereo functions through the touch screen on the central monitor,” the voice
said as a feature appeared on the monitor, “I am equipped to receive standard
AM and FM radio signals, in addition to XM Radio. If you have a peripheral system such as an mp3 player, you may
plug that directly into my port system located underneath the dual monitors to
your right.”
Michael was left
speechless for a few minutes as he drove.
As the voice spoke, three bars, composed of tiny rectangles, moved up
and down in the once-unknown black box.
They moved from the center out in both directions in conjunction with
the voice.
I had a few ideas of
what a new voice display might look like.
Including: the three bars, but solid, a vox display similar to that in
KR2K, and even considered the blinking box in the original pilot.
The three bars of little
rectangles was simply a classic design.
However, something that I didn’t really write into this… the voice
display, instead of being etched and set into the dashboard is completely black
when not in use. It’s more of a display
on a monitor than old LEDs.
“Who the hell are
you? How are you listening in?” Michael
asked, loudly.
“I am reading your
multiple interrogatives quite satisfactorily, there is no need for raised
volume,” the voice said.
Michael pulled the car
over to the side of the road. “Who are
you?” he asked calmly, his heart still racing.
“I am the voice of the
Knight Industries Two Thousand microprocessor.
K-I-T-T for easy reference. You
may call me KITT if you prefer.”
Michael watched the
bars move as KITT spoke. “KITT?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the car?”
“I am the voice of the
centralized system that operates this vehicle,” KITT replied.
What the hell was
going on, Michael asked himself. Devon
said to trust him. Michael determined
at this moment he would never trust anyone again.