A Stroke Of Originality

“So, you’re still not ready to talk?” The agent asked.

“I’m telling you, just like I told the other guy. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Miguel explained.

“Okay, I’m tired of playing games.” The agent said, slamming a folder onto the table.

The agent flipped the file open and pulled out a set of pictures, spreading them out on the table. Miguel looked at the photos, confused.

“What is this supposed to be?” Miguel asked.

“These are pictures of you. Here in the year 1841, you were captured in a photograph in Normandy France.” The agent stabbed at the picture with his finger.

Miguel stared at the picture, amazed at how the man in the photograph looked just like him. “This isn’t me, that’s impossible.”

“Then, you’re here in 1922, looking the same as you did in 1841.” The agent continued.

“Anyone with a computer can photoshop some pictures in this day and age.” Miguel protested.

“Let’s not stop there, you’re also captured in a photo in 1940 in the United Kingdom, posing as a royal guard.” The agent said, sliding the picture in front of Miguel. “And guess what? You still look the same as you did in 1841 and 1922.”

Miguel stared at the picture, and couldn’t get the faint thought out of his head that maybe this really was him. He started to get small headaches and turned away from the picture.

“Oh, don’t turn away now. It’s just getting good, Mr. Miguel. Now here you are in 2017, looking the exact same as you did in 1841. This time you’re in a photo with what is assumed to be your wife and offspring.” The agent fumed.

Miguel started to blackout at the sight of the last photo.

“Now, if you don’t want your wife or children involved in this, I’d advise you to work with us. Now, I’ll ask you once more…” The agent paused when he noticed a red flicker appear in Miguel’s eyes.

The agent watched as Miguel stood up from the table, fangs growing in his mouth and claws protruding from his fingers.

“Security!” The agent yelled.

Miguel leaped towards the agent and lifted him up into the air by his neck. Slowly digging his claws into the agent’s skin.

“Who… are… you…” The agent mumbled as he slowly drifted away.