The swinging doors slammed open. Cedric looked over from where he was sitting on a lab stool, chewed thumbnail between his teeth. His shoulder length blond hair was coated with the shine of someone who has only wet their hair down and not washed. His red streaked eyes were a sure sign of his having been recently woken up. He watched Dorian backing his way through the doors pulling a gurney behind him. "Dorian," Cedric said, then immediately fell silent as Dorian turned around. There was panic in Dorian's eyes and a waxy pallor beneath the stubble on his face that betrayed a lack of sleep. "Dorian," Cedric said again, that one word betraying multiple emotions: a layer of fear spread over top concern for his friend, concern for his own wellbeing, and simple anger at letting himself become involved in this. "Hook her up," Dorian said before moving to a lab stool of his own and sliding a keyboard across the table to rest in front of him, his fingers impatiently tapping the spacebar while he waited for the monitor to respond. With a hiccup of light the screen became active making Dorian's face even more hollow with its sickly glow. He was normally a handsome man with short brown hair that was always perfectly combed. Tonight, though, it was full of unruly licks and his white lab coat, which usually added to his presence as the overall leader of their research team, was cast by the computer's light into awkward shades of green and blue. A large coffee stain down the front appeared to still be wet. Cedric didn't respond. "I said hook her up," Dorian said. "Dorian," Cedric said for the third time. "I said hook her up!" Dorian screamed and Cedric jumped forward to the gurney. Coffee stain or no coffee stain, Dorian was a commanding presence. Dorian and Cedric: - partied together - never met - not enough information - worked together
worked together

(Question)
While I was in training, my class was 2 months out from graduation. We were in class, reviewing skills such as antenna theory, radios and map reading. Our instructor walks in and pulls a candidate, we'll leave nameless, aside. He walks him out of the classroom. I never really thought anything of it as instructors would often pull guys aside for reviews, specific instructions or taskings. I don't know how much time passed but the candidate walked back in. He gathered his things and left the room. Guys asked if everything was cool but he didn't say a word. The instructor came in and sat on the desk at the front of the room. We asked if everything was alright, and he told us that the day prior, the The candidate's wife had gone into labor however there were complications with the baby but the complications were unknown. He was reporting to the commander to let him know whether he wanted to stay in training or leave because the military does not consider a spouse's pregnancy to be an emergency even though the complication should be. If he were to leave he would have to drop from the TACP pipeline with a possibility of either starting it over from the beginning of quitting all together. The instructor shook his head and I could honestly see it was a difficult task for him to tell the candidate. It's rare to see an instructor be emotional but it was something that brought reality into the room for us. The candidate was given 24 hours to call the hospital, talk to his wife, learn more of the situation and make a decision. He ended up staying in the pipeline and graduated. His child was born with minor complications but is healthy to this day. It may not be an exact teacher to a student scenario, but it hits pretty damn close to those of us who went through military training. Hpw long had the candidate been enrolled in school? - several years - one week - not enough information - 20 minutes
(Answer)
several years

Ques: My father lost something valuable to him that didn't resurface for years after his death. My dad was a World War II veteran and an officer. All officers were issued the classic Ray Ban sunglasses with the wraparound wire rims. He wore them almost all the time for the next thirty years after the War, then one day in the 1970's, he misplaced them. He was heartbroken, crestfallen, that he lost something he cherished from his military servicethe symbolic military issue Bausch & Lombs coveted by every officer who served. I wanted so badly to be my dad's Hero. I overturned every piece of furniture in the house, rifled every dresser drawer, every nook and crannie, underneath beds, the garage, the yard, you name it. I was on a Mission. I wanted to walk up to him and say, beaming, Here Dad! I found your sunglasses! But alas, after several weeks, no success. I was crushed by my own failure. He passed away, and his possessions were divided among our family. Fast forward to a few years ago. My Cocker Spaniel was sniffing around in the bathroom, and a box fell out of the bathroom closet with a crash. I went to investigate and chide the dogwhen the first thing I saw on the bathroom floor next to the overturned box was the yellowed leather case, and his wire rim sunglasses. I picked it up, held it in my hand, and I, a grown man, immediately burst into tears, sobbing. Suddenly, I was nineteen again. My wife asked what was the matter, and I told her the whole story. I figured after his passing, his sunglasseswhich evidently were in the house the whole timewere probably tossed into one of many anonymous cardboard boxes, and I happened to be the one who carried off the box containing them. So here Dad! I found your sunglasses! I love you! Am I still your hero? What is probably true about the author? - He just moved into a new house - not enough information - He doesn't go through boxes - He has multiple dogs
Ans: He doesn't go through boxes

It was a good feast. Celenda's manservant had purchased two of the biggest and strongest oxen in Fena Kef and they now roasted over the hall's two huge braziers. The smell filled Celenda's nostrils. She closed her eyes and laid back on her silk divan, enjoying the sights and sounds. Her finger fiddled with a torn seam on the divan's armrest and her pleasure faded. She would have flogged her seamstress for allowing such a thing but the woman had fled a year ago. She could barely afford clothing acceptable to a woman of her position, though few could say for certain what that position was, so she simply wore less clothes overall. She raised her arms behind her back and let the warmth of the braziers flow over her body. Though the number shrank, many still enjoyed Celenda's frequent celebrations. Some laughed and shouted on one side, some coupled in the dark shadows and behind silk curtains. Most feasted and drank and everyone partook in the red lotus. Celenda beckoned a thin slave boy, one of her last few, and he came holding a bronze bowl. Dried red leaves covered the bottom of the bowl. 'Why is this bowl not full?' she shouted at the boy. He cringed but she could tell he was not really frightened. She could not afford to injure or kill him and everyone knew it. She slapped him, but not hard. If she hit too hard she would find herself with one less slave along with her diminishing supply of the red leaf. Instantly the thoughts of the crumbling villa, the torn furniture, and the diminishing coffers fled from her mind. Euphoria flowed in. She felt it in her fingers and toes. Who raised her arms behind her back: - the slave boy - Celenda - her manservant - not enough information
Celenda