Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal. The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine. "Hello?" "Hey, Luna." "Dingo! Are you there yet?" "No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?" "Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables." "Yeah, good for him. He has the box?" I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm." "He hasn't opened it, has he?" She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos." Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you." I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth. "This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?" Question: Who does Cerberus belong to? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- no one
- not enough information
- Luna
- Dingo
not enough information

Like many other inventors before him, professor Slawomir Suwak designed only the things he needed himself. He had several patents on his conscience already: an automatic cork opener for wine in the indicative state, a portable set of board games for solving personality problems, a wallet with a mini-device for the duplications of 100 zloty bills, and a piece of equipment "the day after" used to irretrievably eliminate from the time-space continuum days burdened with a hangover. Now came the time for a mini-device preventing the development of symptoms of psycho-motor aggression. The device was really simple. It weighed about a kilo and was the size of a bag of flour. It was to be worn on the right wrist. The fact it had to be the right wrist was very important. Otherwise, the invention didn't work properly, or even worse, it produced results opposite to its intended effect. Each day, its mini-containers had to be re-filled with substances promoting positive processes in the body leading to the return of good mood. There were three containers to re-fill, and the substances were not available on the local market and had to be imported using diplomatic channels from the USA. To operate the device, turning it on stand-by was enough. In that mode, it could be used continuously for one and a half hours. To recharge the batteries, you needed a charger, which was stored in a small suitcase. The device, when it was turned on, made a low murmur (or according to some - a loud growl) designed to keep the owner in a good mood. Professor Suwak called his new baby "mini-anti-aggressor." The McPhilips corporation expressed its interest in the product early on, even when it was still at the drawing-board stage. The company partially financed the purchase of sub-assembly elements from its subsidiary specializing in the productions of components for technologically advanced products. Question: What was the reason for McPhillips to be interested in the new device? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- they sponsor all new inventions
- not enough information
- staff of McPhillips had psycho-motor aggression
- they knew the professor's inventions were good

Answer: they knew the professor's inventions were good

He had apparently spaced out for a second or two. When he came to, a large, annoyed woman was leaning in toward him. "Mister? Mister, are you even listening to me?" He looked at the receding rows of fluorescent lights on the struts of the cavernous ceiling, the gleaming linoleum floors, the pallets of sale-priced plastic coolers and Special K and motor oil, and then he looked at the rack of merchandise at his back and understood that he was in a Wal-Mart, behind the returns counter. He heard his own voice saying, as if by reflex, "Do you have your receipt?" * At the first opportunity, he locked himself in a bathroom stall and dug out his wallet. His driver's license showed the right name, birthdate, and photo, but it had been issued by the State of North Carolina, and it listed an address he'd never heard of. He scrubbed his face at the sink. It was him in the mirror, a tanned and healthy 56, hair mostly gray but still all there. He felt groggy, as if he'd woken prematurely. It was only the numbness, he thought, that kept the panic at bay. If he didn't push, he found he knew the answers to some questions. He was due to clock out in an hour. When he left the parking lot he would go under the highway, turn left, and merge. * He found his way to a battered white Toyota pickup in the employee section. The key in his pocket started the engine. He forced himself not to think too hard as he drove, taking the turns that seemed to have a certain inevitability. He wound up on a dirt road near someplace called Pittsboro, in front of a small brick house surrounded by high yellow grass, pines, and live oaks. Question: He seems to have lost consciousness for a period of time because: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- he drank so much before work that he passed out on the job.
- he was suffering insulin shock.
- he'd been attacked by someone who was disturbed.
not enough information