“How’s our guest?” Albertson asked.

 

“Same as before,” responded Teems, “talking, answering questions. Not that we believe ‘im.”

 

“Tell me again what tests we ran him through.”

 

Teems sighed. Albertson had signed off on all the tests himself.

 

“Three polygraph examinations, each with voice stress analysis, a transcranial doppler, and an EEG. He’s going through the fourth poly now.”

 

“Any water or food yet?”

 

“Water not too long ago, yeah,” Teems said.

 

“Send it to the labs. I want DNA.”

 

“He didn’t consent to that, and legally he’s not being held–”

 

“Guy walks into one of the most secure buildings in Washington, says ‘FBI, I need to tell you something,’ has all these tests happen just so we believe him, and you’re worried about consent?”

 

“I–”

 

“Just do it,” Albertson said. “I’m going to have another chat with our friend.”

 

* * *

 

The fluorescent lights threw a green hue over the room. Rigid steel chair, solid metal table, everything bolted to the ground. It was meant to make you uncomfortable. Perfect for interrogation.

 

Behind the table sat a man. Bald, built like a linebacker, a smarmy look on his face like some cocksure bandolero. Dozens of wires and probes stuck to him. The table overflowed with equipment and printouts. Albertson watched from behind the one-way glass and saw the strange man stare back.

 

“You know the rules,” Albertson said, pressing the intercom button. The man nodded. “Gonna need a verbal answer. You understand the rules of the polygraph?”

 

“Yes,” the man responded. A green light blinked on at the panel next to him.

 

“Let’s start with an easy one. Is your name Oswald?”

 

“Yes.” Another green light.

 

“Lie to me. Is your name Oswald?”

 

The man smiled. “No.” Red light.

 

Four more truths and lies set the baselines. Time for the show. Albertson could feel his anticipation growing. Something was very wrong about this Oswald. He didn’t know what, but he was going to find out.

 

“So, I’ve got some transcripts of what you’ve already told my colleagues in the last few tests. We’re gonna figure this out now, you hear?”

 

“Whatever you need, Mr. Albertson,” Oswald replied. Only, Albertson had never told him his name.

 

“You say you’re some sort of time traveler,” Albertson emphasized the term with sarcasm. “Have you, Oswald, traveled back in time to be here today?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Green light.

 

“Are you some sort of extraterrestrial?”

 

“No,” Oswald replied, patient and smooth.

 

“So, humans discovered time travel in the future, then?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did you figure out how to travel in time?”

 

“No.”

 

“Were you sent here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

That green light accompanied Oswald’s words. Truth. Albertson’s mind felt wrong. Nothing was adding up, yet he’s been through this test four times with the same results. That wasn’t all that bothered him, either. Oswald’s eyes followed him from beyond the glass.

 

“Were you sent here to warn us?”

 

“Yes,” truth, “and also no.” Still green. Albertson hated the paradoxical responses and slammed his fist into the glass. He was getting nowhere.

 

Clearly Oswald had been completely truthful, if evasive. He answered in as few words as possible, but all the tests proved he spoke true. Beneath his cold stare, Albertson could see pleasure. He was enjoying this.

 

“Why are you here, Oswald?”.

 

“Done with the yes and noes, are we?”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

“I am here to tell you the end of the world is coming,” Oswald said, the corners of his mouth rising slightly.

 

“To tell us how to stop it?”

 

“No.” Green light.

 

“Can we stop it?” Albertson pressed, his blood churning. His fist was still placed against the glass, and it began to creak under the pressure.

 

“No,” Oswald said, but the light beside him flickered red.

 

“We can stop it. How?”

 

“Objectively? Yes, you can stop it. Realistically?” Oswald began to laugh, biting off his next words, “You can’t.”

 

The glass shattered, a steel chair carrying shards of it throughout the interrogation room. Albertson stepped through the wreckage and stopped short of Oswald, who hadn’t moved.

 

“Why are you here?” he roared, spittle showering Oswald’s face.

 

“I am here to warn you about the end of the world,” he said, his smile growing wider and toothier. His features contorted into a vicious, self-serving sneer.

 

Albertson grabbed Oswald around the neck, pulling him to his feet and scattering the table of machines. He could feel the inevitability of it. He was wrapped up in something he would never be able to understand. “How?” he screamed, tears rolling down his face, “how does it end?”

 

Oswald’s eyes glowed bright and sickly white, and he laughed. “I am the one who causes it.”

 

A green light blinked on, catching Albertson’s eye for a moment, before the world went dark.