Another phone call at just after three. He answered on the third ring. "Is this Mr. Ray--uh. . ." The sound of shuffling papers. "Yes." The voice brightened perceptibly, strapped on a mask of friendliness. "My name is John Donovan. I'm an attorney representing the family of Donald Ackerman. I'm sorry to be calling so late." "It's not late for me." A laugh, intended to sound nervous or flustered. To Ray, it only sounded false. "That's right, of course. Only late for me. Do you mind if I tape record this conversation?" Smooth segue, meant to catch him off guard, startle him into acceptance. "Yes, I do mind. Can I help you?" You fucking bastard. John Donovan paused on his end of the line. Ray imagined him reaching for a legal pad upon which to take notes (just as he was supposed to imagine), though, of course, the tape recorder was still running. "Um, I was wondering if I could get some information?" "Sir, federal law prohibits me from acknowledging either to confirm or deny the presence of the individual of whom you have spoken or his participation in our program." Ray grinned. "Very well done," the lawyer said. "I guess that sets the parameters." "I guess it does." "Were you working two nights ago." "Sir, I am bound by Center policy and state law from discussing with you the work schedule of our employees at this facility unless you are an officer of the law or bearing a subpoena, in which case, I am only authorized to refer you to my supervisor." Ray grinned again. He was enjoying this. "What if I told you I have possession of a subpoena?" "Have you spoken to our attorney?" Ray countered. "In fact, son, yes I have. This afternoon." Ray grunted. Standard level of communication. "That's good, because I haven't. Which means, of course, that I'm not prepared to talk to you at all until advised on my statement by legal counsel." Question: After the conversation with Ray, John probably: === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- did not learn anything new.
- spoke to Ray's lawyer.
- had gotten all the answers he needed.
did not learn anything new.

Paul Reynolds crisscrossed his sketchbook with furious strokes, filling the pages with images of the vengeance he would take on his former coworkers at Fear and Loading Games. He'd founded the company three years back and, just a few hours ago, his partners and erstwhile friends had fired him without cause or warning. He concentrated hard as his pen brought to life demonic figures from one of the best-selling comics he'd created, scythe wielding cyber-men called Myrmidons who tore into surprised computer programmers with fangs and claws. Elsewhere on the page, computers assembled themselves into 21st century Golems, rising up against traitorous CEO's and producers to crush them to bloody pulp as they cowered beneath their desks. Sitting at the bar in Senor Goldstein's Mexican Restaurant in San Jose, California, Paul's own artwork engaged him for the first time in months, maybe years. Under other circumstances, that would have made him happy. But today's circumstances allowed only two emotions: despair and a burning desire for revenge. Not wanting to succumb to the former, and not quite wanting to find a gun and go back to the office, he instead drew. He had turned to a fresh page and begun to sketch his most elaborate revenge-scheme yet when a woman walked into his line of vision. There were four or five other women in the restaurant already (most of them employees), but this one stood out. This one would've stood out anywhere. Her hair, cut short and spiky, was dyed a magenta so bright it nearly glowed. She wore a tight black t-shirt, baggy olive drab shorts that hung on shapely hips, and heavy black boots with two inch thick soles. She had a faded black messenger bag slung across her chest, the strap pressing between her breasts. If Paul had to guess, she wasn't wearing a bra. She definitely wasn't your average Silicon Valley techie on an early lunch break, and certainly not a restaurant employee. Question: How long Paul worked at the company? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- He just started
- Few month
- not enough information
- About 3 years

Answer: About 3 years

Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. Question: He probably thinks the cars driving by might mistake him for what? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- old man
- young professional
- college kid
college kid