When I was a young undercover cop, I was shot in the face in the line of duty. A dying millionaire named Wilton Knight rescued me and gave me plastic surgery. After which, I had a new face, a new identity, and a new mission in life: to fight for law and justice in the Knight’s incredible super-car, the Knight Industries Two Thousand–or KITT, for short. The car, a sleek, black, customized Pontiac Trans-Am, was impervious to attack, could cruise at 300 mph, could leap up to 50 feet through the air, and was loaded with such armaments as flamethrowers, smoke bombs, and infrared sensing devices. Best of all, it could talk, and in fact had a personality all its own; peevish, a bit haughty, but totally protective of me. I could summon the car when in trouble, and it would come crashing through the walls to get me. Its deceased inventor had left behind a huge fortune to finance the crime-fighting, and a trusted associate, the suave Devon, to look after things. Based at a palatial estate, called somewhat grandly the Foundation for Law and Government, I(and often Devon) went forth each week, trailed by a large maintenance van that served as a sort of mobile command post. Rounding out the crew was a beautiful mechanic, variously Bonnie or April, and “RC3,” a streeet-wise mechanic who joined the team in the fall of 1985.