The video screen showed a black and white diagram of Lincoln’s anatomy, complete with information about his life, medical records and his *ahem* vital statistics. Which were very impressive indeed…ladies.
“As I’m sure you’re aware Mr. Lincoln, your life was somewhat…extraordinary,” the Director took out a laser pointer from her desk. “Born into poverty, you managed to retain a healthy physique, get educated enough to become a legislator, and overcoming all adversity to become President of your country. Some would say you’re quite the inspiration.”
Abe looked a little embarrassed. “Well, I don’t know about that. I had my problems, same as any man. And there’s a damn sight more men that’d want me dead than would want to shake my hand.”
“Very true. You weren’t always popular in public opinion. Right up until you got shot in the back of the head by John Wilkes Booth.”
Lincoln scowled. “Yes, I remember the knave. Couldn’t even have the decency to shoot me face to face. Had to go in through the back, like a coward!”
The Commissioner suppressed a laugh, because he was sometimes immature like that.
“That scoundrel,” Abe continued, raising his fists at the memory. “I always say, if you’re going to kill someone, you should at least have the decency to let them know. It’s the done thing. Not like that dirty, rotten, cheating son of a gun. And he was a terrible actor! Did you see his Hamlet? You could have ridden a six-horse cart through the pauses he gave. Trying to remember his lines, no doubt! Why I never-“
“If we can get back to the topic at hand,” the Director frowned, irritated. “For years we’ve wondered how it is that, against all the odds, you managed to get so far above your station. And now we think we have the solution. Behold!”
The Director pointed to the purple aura that was surrounding the diagram, which Abe had assumed was some sort of colouring error, or perhaps there just to look interesting. So far it had been a pretty dry presentation, and it didn’t look like any more refreshments were going to be provided soon.
“Do you see it?” the Director asked, making the laser dot circle around the purple field.
“Yes, it’s very pretty. A nice touch. I’ve always been more for blue myself, but purple’s always been a close second.”
“No! Do you not realise what that aura is?”
“A photography error?”
“That aura, Mr, Lincoln, indicates a supernatural presence within your body. We can’t explain it yet, but it appears that your body contains some scientifically unlikely force that grants you as yet unknown abilities, far above those of ordinary men. In short, Mr. Lincoln…you have super powers.”
Lincoln rubbed his chin as he pondered this new revelation.
“You mean other than the power to look terrible in photographs?”
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