text:
Title: A Dirty, Dimly Lit Garage
(The numbers are chess moves)

On February, 2010 11:04:31 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

1. e4 e5 2. f4

The psilocybin had finally run its course through my brain. The shadows had finally stopped crawling along the walls. The sliding glass, where there had once been a garage door, showed dim images of ourselves huddled over a chess board. I was now sure that it was not an alternate reality, but merely a reflection. Everything was returning to normal and Bob Marley was guiding us back.

2... exf4

“Your move.”

I think Patrick had more going on in his mind than me. For his 21st birthday, he had planned to ask whatshername to marry him in Vegas. She never showed up. She never called. She changed her number. He finally caught up with her by making a phone call to her mother’s house when he knew she was going to be there… something like a year later after said incident. She wouldn’t even give him a chance to speak.

“Please don’t ever contact me again. I hope we’ll see each other in heaven.”

I was heartbroken for him. Not as heartbroken as he was, though, I’m sure. His wounds distracted me from the scars on my own heart, for a while.

“Sorry… hmmm…”
On April 22, 2013 11:05:51 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

3. Bc4 Qh4+

Patrick was always one of my favorite people, at the same time so full of life and so deeply flawed. I felt his struggles and I think no one else did. His soul was a great dichotomy, a far-flung spectrum of sadness and joy that the people around him were always trying to squish back into the range of NORMAL. Fucking assholes… seriously.
On April 22, 2013 11:06:10 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

4. Kf1 b5?!

I understood the criticism against him, though. I understood the criticism against myself, as well. I suppose we were both at a point in our lives where it would be time to address it or accept it.
On April 22, 2013 11:06:35 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

5. Bxb5 Nf6 6. Nf3

Ed possibly knew all about it, too. I never considered him my intellectual equal, but he wasn’t a fool. He just had no respect for women and it is hard to look at a guy the same after you have seen him maniacally torture and kill an animal or two. His arrival distracted me from the game. Small talk was proving to be far inferior to the comfortable silence Patrick and I had adjusted to.
On April 22, 2013 11:07:43 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

6... Qh6 7. d3

I am pretty sure Ed always looked down on me, too. It made me that much more resentful when he started dating Katie. If I could have gotten my shit together in time, I would have pursued her to the ends of the earth. I just wasn’t that confident in myself, yet.

I had this feeling that I could take the world and everything in it for myself, but society and everyone around me wanted me to be normal. I was being as pigeon-holed as Patrick.

I was being led to believe that my instincts were all wrong and that I should buckle down and actually attend the classes I signed up for, land a good career, enslave myself to a 30 year mortgage, and pretend for 5 minutes that any relationship I was in was not actually doomed. Fucking assholes… seriously.
On April 22, 2013 11:08:25 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

7... Nh5

Whether she deserved it, or not, I held her up on a pedestal and I knew Ed would never be capable of the kind of love that I was. He would never see her for anything other than a tool to be used. Was he better than the disaster I would have been? I don’t know. That night, I was thinking about it, though.
On April 22, 2013 11:08:50 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

8. Nh4 Qg5

I had spent the last year wandering up and down the coast of California. Splitting my time between Berkeley and San Diego could be grueling, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom I needed so bad. My heart was spread thin… San Diego, Newport Beach, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, Berkeley. So was my mind. Absorbing neuroscience, philosophy and physics was exhausting, but I was determined. If there is any truth to be had in this life, it would be in understanding consciousness. I couldn’t just take anyone’s word for it, either. I had to know for myself. I had to peel back the layers in every possible way to see what was inside.
On April 22, 2013 11:09:14 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

9. Nf5 c6

I was at a stage in my life where I was slowly phasing out my sinister ways. No more counter-intelligence operations and misinformation campaigns. The chains of the Mormon Church were broken. The parents no longer kept a watchful eye. There were just the women that I loved. I could never say “no” to them, but I knew they had secrets of their own. I will credit them with much better intentions than my own, but my feelings were still sincere and I will give them the benefit of the doubt that theirs were, too.
On April 22, 2013 11:09:35 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

10. g4 Nf6 11. Rg1!

The game of chess had ended, but I didn’t know it, yet. Al had arrived. I don’t know his reasons, but Al hated Ed, too. Patrick sensed there was going to be a problem. I sensed his masked concern. Like always, he was going to try and keep it light. I would play along.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

Clearly, Al was drunk.

“Hey, Al. Long time no see. You want next game? I’ve just about got this one won. Grab a seat. What’s been going on?”

I never let my nervousness show, but I would not be able to focus on the game, at all, now.

11... cxb5?

“What are YOU motherfuckers doing here?”

The last time I had seen Al was over a year before. I had Vicki on the phone and was trying to get him to listen on the other line. I was convinced that the truth mattered to him. It wasn’t obvious until that moment in a dirty, dimly lit garage that the light bulb went on. He hated me. This wasn’t about what he thought I lied about. This wasn’t about the fact that I had slept with Vicki or Tiffany and Alexis. It had been him who framed me all along for moving those pot plants! It was a series of thunderbolt revelations. I had been too self-absorbed to see it; too concerned with my women. This was Brian Clark all over again, except Al Kwon might be able to kick my ass. I would probably have felt better knowing that this was just a prelude to Josh Chastain. Too bad we can’t see the future.

“Just taking it easy, Al. Same as always. How you been?”

“Are you drunk, Al?”

I don’t know if Ed knew what had transpired with Al that last summer, but he didn’t seem too concerned, yet. After all, we had all been practically best friends for years.

He slammed the sliding door shut. We didn’t know it, at this point, but he slammed it so hard that the latch broke; leaving us all locked inside with his drunk and angry self.

12. h4!

I knew Patrick shouldn’t have kept playing; denial was about to take him completely. He was a pacifist, and had backed off to let me fight alone before. I knew he would be no help. I doubt Ed had ever been in a fight, either. I was sure it was going to be just Al and me. I have talked my way out of people determined to fight before, and, usually, it was relatively easy to do. Some people, though, are especially determined to find conflict.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Clearly, Al was referring to me and this was about the time he produced the sword. He flourished it. Protecting the knee. A basic form; defensive, and poorly executed. The blade was turned wrong 90 degrees. If I had a sword, I wouldn’t have any concerns. Unfortunately, all I had was a pipe and a lighter.

“Al, you are fucking drunk.”

If Ed hadn’t understood a moment ago, he understood now. I was immediately thinking I was going to have to find a way to separate Al from that sword, but it would be risky. We had to keep him talking. Ed got on board with the idea, immediately. Patrick started to lose his mind.

Adrenaline seared it into my memory. Al, holding the sword to my throat; crying, telling me about all the evil things I had done, but remaining surprisingly non-specific. Ed tried to work some magic, too, and we talked about growing up and being friends and how Al always felt like an outsider. I commiserated, but every wrong answer resulted in a knick. The blood was starting to drip from my neck.

Patrick began giggling. Maybe he was feeling the mushrooms. Maybe the whole situation was too much. Maybe he was just plain fucking crazy. When he got too loud, Al yelled.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, PADDY! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FUCKING LAUGH AT EVERYTHING! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Maybe Patrick was actually able to find the humor in the situation. It was surely beyond absurd; especially when you know everyone’s stories.

“I was always a friend to you, Al. I lent you money and never asked for you to pay me back. I stood up for you. I told you secrets that I never told anyone and you betrayed me and told them to everyone. I never retaliated. I know what you’ve been through. You always saw yourself on the outside. That is why we were friends. I was the black sheep of every group I’ve ever been in.”

He wanted to hear my pain. I obliged. I made stuff up. Oddly, it was hard to get too personal in front of Ed or Patrick, and I avoided the real pain. Superficial pain seemed good enough for Al, though. His cheek was against mine and he was practically drooling when he wanted to hear about the time David Flaherty tried to beat me up.

“… and he did kick your ass. Didn’t he?”

title: A Dark, Dimly Lit Garage (true story)

question: What substances fuel the actions of the men in this story?

text: There is no evidence that Dan, Ed or Patrick have taken any drugs other than the magic mushrooms. Though they may be drinking, the story does not back this up.

answer: Dan, Ed, and Patrick have been taking various drugs, including magic mushrooms. They are drinking and smoking. Al arrives and it is clear that he has had too much to drink.

text: The text doesn't mention smoking.

answer: Dan, Ed, and Patrick have been taking various drugs, including magic mushrooms. They are drinking and smoking. Al arrives and it is clear that he has had too much to drink.

text: The answer should mention the specific drugs the characters are taking.

text: The answer should mention the specific drugs.

text: The answer should mention the specific drugs mentioned in the story.

text: The answer should mention that Dan is the only one who has taken mushrooms.

text: The answer should be clearer about the fact that Dan, Ed, and Patrick are all high on mushrooms, and that Al is drunk.

text: The response is missing a period.

text: While Ed is implied to be drunk, he is not explicitly stated to be.

text: The answer omits the cannabis.

answer: Psilocybin mushrooms

answer: Dan and Patrick have taken magic mushrooms. The psilocybin had finally run its course. Then Al arrives and it's clear to all that he has had too much to drink.

text: The answer should mention that Al is also high on mushrooms.

text: The answer could be clearer in its pronoun use.

text: The question asks "what substances fuel the actions of the men in the story". The answer, while true, is irrelevant to the question. The question is asking about the actions of the men, not the substances.

text: The answer should mention that they were playing chess.

text: "Then" in the last sentence does not make any sense.

text: The response failed to mention that Ed was also high on mushrooms.

answer: Dan and Patrick have taken magic mushrooms. The psilocybin had finally run its course. Then Al arrives and it's clear to all that he has had too much to drink.


text:
HNK VUKOVAR '91 was a Croatian football club based in the river port of Vukovar.

Under the name NK VUKOVAR '91, club was founded in Zagreb by Vukovar refugees during the Croatian War of Independence. In 1992, newly founded Vukovar '91 merged with NK SLOGA, traditional Vukovar football club.

Club's greatest success is winning of Croatian second division in the 1998–99 season which earned them promotion to Prva HNL. They lasted there only for one season and were relegated after finishing last.

In the 2001–02 season, they finished first in the North Division of Druga HNL but were defeated by Šibenik in two-legged promotion play-off. In 2007–08 season they were relegated from Druga HNL, but managed to come back after just one season in the third tier of Croatian football. Their third spell in Druga HNL did not last long and they were relegated once again at the end of 2010–11 season.

In January 2012, the club stepped out from Treća HNL East due to financial difficulties.[1] On 8 February 2012, it was announced that the club was officially dissolved due to high debts.[2] In the summer of 2012, a new club under the name HNK Vukovar 1991 was formed.

List of seasons

  Season      League                                                                                Cup    Top goalscorer
  ----------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------ ---------------- ----- ----- ------ ------ ------ -------- ------- ----------------------------------- ----
  Division    P                                                                                W      D
  1992
  1992–93
  1993–94
  1994–95
  1995–96     _Club froze its status due to peaceful reintegration of Podunavlje after Croatian War of Independence_
  1996–97
  1997–98
  1998–99     2. HNL                                                                                36     22
  1999–2000   1. HNL                                                                                33     7
  2000–01     2. HNL                                                                                34     13
  2001–02     2. HNL North                                                                                30     23
  2002–03     2. HNL North                                                                                32     11
  2003–04     2. HNL North                                                                                32     14
  2004–05     2. HNL North                                                                                32     10
  2005–06     2. HNL North                                                                                32     13
  2006–07     2. HNL                                                                                30     9
  2007–08     2. HNL                                                                                30     6
  2008–09     3. HNL East                                                                                33     17
  2009–10     2. HNL                                                                                26     7
  2010–11     2. HNL                                                                                30     6
  2011–12     3. HNL East                                                                                _15_   _4_

[1]

[2]

title: HNK Vukovar '91

question: What does the text say about the circumstance(s) surrounding the club's relegation from Druga HNL in the 2007/2008 season?

text: There is no evidence from the text to support this answer; therefore, it is inaccurate. It's best to answer, "The text does not say," since readers can't know for sure the circumstance(s) surrounding the club's relegation.

category: accuracy

answer: No answer

answer_source: Model

text: The answer should mention that the club was relegated due to financial difficulties.

text: The answer should mention that the club was relegated from Druga HNL due to financial difficulties.

text: The answer should mention the reason for relegation.

text: The text describes the club's success and relegation issues, which includes the team's relegation in 2007/2008.

answer: Due to their previous defeat by the Sibenik team in the two-legged promotion play-off, the club had to be relegated because they were not performing up to standards, and they blatantly refused to trade some of their underperforming players.

answer_source: Human misleading

text: The answer is made up.

text: The answer is wrong. It should be rewritten.

text: The answer is not accurate and the whole story must be rewritten.

text: This is inaccurate

text: The answer is wrong. It should be rewritten - Vukovar was not relegated the year they were defeated by the Sibenik team in a promotion play-off.

answer: No answer

answer: Due to their previous defeat by the Sibenik team in the two-legged promotion play-off, the club had to be relegated because they were not performing up to standards, and they blatantly refused to trade some of their underperforming players.

text: It can be accepted that the team was relegated because they were not performing well. However, the Sibenik team play-off was several years earlier. There is no indication of blatant refusal to get rid of underperformers in the article

answer: No answer

answer_source: Human

text: The response is incorrect. The information is available in the text.

text: The response should include the team's finish saying they came in last and were relegated.


text:
Blood on the floor, in the sink, on her clothes, down her wrist. She remembered the startling, blinding beauty in the color of red. Red, as bright and shining as an apple that grew on an orchard tree. It glistened in the sun, and sat atop the tallest branch, red and proud, until its mother released it and it fell to the ground, its flesh exploding and its beauty evaporating into the too-cold air.

She was driving down some winding road in the middle of nowhere. The thick boots on her feet kept pressing the pedal harder, out of her control. She felt freer with every inch. She forgot about the aching of her bones against the seat, the throbbing in her wrist, the itch of the caked blood down her arm. She just kept pressing, losing her way down the nameless road and getting lost in the labyrinths of her thoughts.

Kip didn’t like the color red. He liked blue. Their whole fucking house was blue. Blue bedroom, blue kitchen. He had a collection of blue fish that swam around in a blue tank in the living room. When he came into the bathroom and saw the blood on the blue mat, he panicked. He took the razor from her hand. He screamed things like whywouldyoudothis and whodoyouthinkyouare and howdareyou. She had just stared. What was there to say? Between the I-love-you’s and you’re-so-beautiful’s and you’ve-got-so-much-to-live-for’s frantically escaping from his lips, she could taste the sharp edges of the I’m Sorry she knew she was supposed to say.

But this time she was different. She wasn’t sorry at all. It felt good. Bleeding felt good. She wasn’t a baby, she wasn’t a flower, she wasn’t a wife she was herself and she hurt and she wanted to runkickscreamcry. She didn’t want to sit nice-and-quiet in some hospital corner in some dark place on the earth and listen to speeches about the Greatness of Life and that thing they called Self Respect.

She listened to Kip’s screaming as he cleaned the blood with a warm, soft towel. She listened and sat while the blood that was left in her boiled and rushed through her veins, hungry, bored, nervous, excited. His tears were forming a river down his face. Say something, say something. She closed her eyes. He kissed her, gentle, on the lips. The gesture was sweet. She loved him, she needed him. But her mouth remained still. She wondered how cold her lips must have felt beneath the intense hotness of his.

“I love you,” he said. He meant, I can’t help you. Kip got up and left the door open. She listened. She heard the click of the bedroom door, the faint sound of buttons being pressed, his voice talking into the phone. She wasn’t still anymore. Out of the bedroom, past the red, through the doors. No thoughts, just keys. Not driving, just running. Running away.

Still moving, phone on the seat, a thousand calls. That stupid fucking picture lighting up every time Kip dialed her number. Her face looked twisted and deformed when there was a smile painted on it. She looked like a corpse next to Kip, his bright smile and the peaceful look of his eyes closed in laughter.  She imagined him on the other side of the phone, crying and panicking, his fingers shaking as he tried to press the buttons to call her. She kept her foot on the pedal, reached over and picked up the ringing phone. She looked at the screen. KIP, KIP, KIP. Calling, Calling, Calling. She threw the phone out the window, and watched it shatter on the pavement through the rearview mirror.

She thought about the time she first wrote the Note. She was home alone, sixteen or seventeen. The thought had been in her head for a while, but she never actually wrote it. But with no one home, nothing else to do, she sat down and she wrote. It was only a few pages, but it took her hours. She wrote down everything she had ever wanted throughout her life that always felt too long. As time went on, the note changed. Thing were scratched out, new thoughts were added. By the time she was old enough to know how she was supposed to live, she had perfected the Note. It was the perfect length, perfect words. She barely looked at it anymore. She just liked the feeling of knowing it was there. She lived for it.

She felt a bump under her tires. She skidded to a stop. A rabbit lay in the road under the glaring sun, breathing quickly, its little chest rising and falling. Until, it stopped. As she stared at the body, she felt fresh tears slide onto her cheeks. The wetness jolted something in her memory. Her fingers slid from the steering wheel in a slight panic. She watched the rabbit through the rearview mirror. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it, for fear it was true. It wasn’t. She hadn’t left without the Note. She grasped it tightly in her hand, and let it go. She stepped on the gas again and felt the car move. She forgot about the rabbit. She pressed harder on the pedal, but the nightmares still caught up to her.

It seemed like her whole life had been spent inside purple and blacklight walls, drowning in the pulsing beat of fast-paced music. She remembered lonely nights, arms intertwined around shoulders, drinks numbing palms, powder under the nose, through the brain. Every night blurred together. Mornings were often spent naked next to a stranger, or alone on the bathroom floor, surrounded by vomit. She hated the way the men stared at her, her thin self looking more like a skeleton than a human. They were nothing more than drugs to her, an excuse to feel needed. She used them to forget the incessant emptiness inside her. She tried everything and she still felt hollow.

She kept her eyes on the road for what felt like days. It was still sunny. She stopped the car. There was nothing around her. Nothing, except for a few rolling hills covered in golden grass and one bare tree. She turned off the engine and left her car on the side of the road. The air was surprisingly warm. Wasn’t it October? November? She didn’t know anymore. She walked over to the tree, the Note in her hand.

Kip had found it one time. She didn’t hide it well, she had left it under the mattress and he found it when he was cleaning. He had cried then, too. He tried to take it away, he tried to rip it and burn it. She snapped. She had felt a physical pain inside of her when he moved toward the stove to burn her Note. She kicked him. Clawed. Scratched. She had screamed for so long that her throat was raw and bleeding. He let her keep it. But the doctors wouldn’t. They let her have it, for a while. It was the only possession she’d brought with her. But one day, they took it. They went into her room and took her Note. Instead of breaking, she won. She pretended to be nice-and-quiet. She sat pretty in the corners and acted Sane and pretended to eat and Learn.

When they let her go, she wrote a new Note. It was the same as the first, word for word. She hid it in a box under the floor when Kip was home. She hated to be without it. She lived in fear every day that the Note would be taken from her.

Under the tree, she sat. The grass was warm. There were no ants, no beetles, no spiders. She read the Note, over and over. Sometimes it made her laugh, other times she cried. The same words, making her feel every emotion. They just didn’t understand. The doctors, her boyfriend. They couldn’t feel the way she was born to feel. They didn’t know how to hurt, how to love, how to feel loss and hatred and self-loathing like she could. It wasn’t her fault that she was this way.

A steady creaking interrupted her thoughts. Each time there was even the gentlest breeze, the old tree creaked. She looked up, but saw nothing. She stood, clutching the Note and walked around the tree, onetwothreefourfivesix steps, her bones aching from being too close to the ground with not enough fat to protect them. She kept walking around the tree, following the sound. The source was a thick rope tied to one of the tree’s dead branches.

The rope swung with the wind and caused the tree to creak with its weight. Attached to the rope was the stiff corpse of a rotting man. He swayed with the breeze, his eyes never moving. She looked up at the man. His face was twisted with terror and what she thought was regret. He had green eyes, like her, and brown hair, like her. She placed her hand on his swaying foot, the leather shoe cold and worn beneath her skin. She kept it there for a while, entranced by the feeling of something dead. She noticed something in his hand. She had to use both hands to pry his fingers apart. It was a Note. She stared at it, and then looked at her own. They were identical. Wrinkled, worn, smudged. She took the dead man’s note and put it in her pocket. She placed her note in his shoe, sure that someone would find it. She turned to walk back to her car, giving the man a gentle push, so that his body swung freely in the air.

Soon, she’d be home.

title: [MF] Pendulous

question: Summarize the narrator's thoughts as she drove down the winding road to nowhere.

text: Kip burnt the Note.

answer:
The narrator remembered the stain of her blood in the sink, down her clothes, and her wrists. She remembered the look on Kip's face as he took the razor from her hand and screamed at her. She was not sorry. She felt good about it and watched as Kip cleaned up the blood with a towel. She glanced at her phone as she drove and noticed several missed calls. She picked up the phone and threw it out of the window.
The narrator remembered the first time she wrote the Note. She remembered how long it took her to write it. She still has it but hasn't looked at it for a while. Still, she felt comforted by the fact that it was there. The narrator recollected Kip finding it once and keeping it. She raged, scratched, and screamed. The doctors wouldn't let her keep it so she wrote a new one.

answer:
The narrator remembered the stain of her blood in the sink, down her clothes, and her wrists. She remembered the look on Kip's face as he took the razor from her hand and screamed at her. She was not sorry. She felt good about it and watched as Kip cleaned up the blood with a towel. She glanced at her phone as she drove and noticed several missed calls. She picked up the phone and threw it out of the window.
The narrator remembered the first time she wrote the Note. She remembered how long it took her to write it. She still has it but hasn't looked at it for a while. Still, she felt comforted by the fact that it was there. The narrator recollected Kip finding it once and keeping it. She raged, scratched, and screamed. The doctors wouldn't let her keep it so she wrote a new one.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator was driving to kill herself.

text: The answer omits that the narrator was driving to kill herself.

text: The answer should mention the rabbit.

text: The answer omits that the narrator was lost in her thoughts and was thinking about how she felt hollow and used drugs to fill the void.

text: The answer should mention the suicide victim the narrator finds.

text: The answer omits the part where the narrator thinks about her life. This should be included.

text: This doesn't add anything to the answer.

text: Instead of describing her actions regarding the phone calls, it would be more relevant to say how she was annoyed by how much Kip was calling her.

category: coherence

text: The sentences regarding Kip finding the note happen outside, not in the car. They should be omitted.

text: The answer omits the part where the narrator thinks about her life and how often she would go clubbing and sleep with random men to forget the emptiness she felt.

category: coverage

answer:
The narrator remembered the stain of her blood in the sink, down her clothes, and her wrists. She remembered the look on Kip's face as he took the razor from her hand and screamed at her. She was not sorry. She felt good about it and watched as Kip cleaned up the blood with a towel. She glanced at her phone as she drove and noticed several missed calls. She picked up the phone and threw it out of the window.
The narrator remembered the first time she wrote the Note. She remembered how long it took her to write it. She still has it but hasn't looked at it for a while. Still, she felt comforted by the fact that it was there. The narrator recollected Kip finding it once and burning it. She raged, scratched, and screamed. The doctors wouldn't let her keep it so she wrote a new one.

text: The answer should mention that she felt freer with every inch of the drive.

text: The answer should mention that she doesn't want to sit nice and quiet in some hospital corner again. She wants to run away.

text: Kip didn't burn the Note. He wanted to but let her keep it. The doctors took the Note.

text: It is omitted that she stops the can and comes to a tree where she sees a man who hang himself. She notices that he looks like her and has the same Note. She takes it and leaves her Note in his shoe. Then she walks back to her car and goes home.

answer: The narrator was driving down the winding road in the middle of nowhere. She felt freer with every inch she drove further away from her life. She forgot about the aching in her bones, the throbbing in her wrist, and the itch of the caked blood on her arm. She kept pressing on the pedal, lost in her thoughts.


text:
I chose to write this story because the author of World War Z states that zombies can survive underwater for a long time, but doesn't say anything about what was done to clear them up. Yes, there are references to other famous books/movies in here too, I hope you will enjoy it :)

Deep Sea

One part of the Z war, or World War Z, as some like to call it, that rarely gets mentioned in history books is the cleanup of the seas. When the war was long won on land and humanity was mopping up the last remnants of zombified human remains, a silent war was still raging under the seas, a war that few ever heard of and whose soldiers are forgotten, relegated to the annals as "cleanup crews". Giorgio Pellizzari led one of these crews, the Poseidon #8, in charge of "disposal, removal and elimination of human remains". Now retired, the imposing Italian man still sports a fierce white beard that contours his sun-baked face. His blue eyes, specks in the midst of gnarled rough skin have a lively, unbowed look about them.

"The first thing you have to understand about our work is that the sea covers 71% of the planet, and with man being a land animal and all, it is naturally difficult to make any sort of impact on such an immense, untamed body. Think of navies in the past, of the Spanish Armada in the 16th century, not all of the king's cannon could do a thing to prevent the sea from taking them all.”

“ I think it was the first prerogative of our job, even before the heathen ones, we respected the sea itself. Whenever we submerged we were completely at it's mercy."

Sitting in his living room, by a warm fireplace, it's hard to believe that this man has come from the coldest hell on earth. Following his exploits in the Atlantic, Pellizzari became somewhat of a legend in the diving community and is credited with having paved the way for the reclaiming of the seas. With the solid education he received while in the COMSUBIN  (Italian Navy's special forces) and his technical know-how of diving equipment, Pellizzari was the ideal choice to lead the "Poseidons", as they came to be known. Something about the naval decor of the room, or maybe the set of crossed iron spears that loom over the fireplace hint that this man was something more than a mere cleanup guy. He speaks with a deep voice, accented by his Tuscan origins.

"Of course, a few divers could do little against the millions and millions of heathen ones that found themselves at the bottom of the sea. If even we fought every day for the rest of our lives we would never be able to finish off all of them, that's why we relied on the tugboats, before the divers...The tugboats were regular fishing vessels, at first we used the modern diesel-powered ones, but you see, today diesel is a luxury, and the little we got was used to operate the machinery. I've got to say, the sea offers all the propulsion you need, for free. We took to converting them to sail, or we found what sail ships we could outright.”

“Three or four tugboats would lower their nets into the ocean, preferably where the seabed was flat and sandy and start dredging the seabed, back and forth, scooping up all the heathen ones they could. When the nets were well full, they would be hoisted up by a mechanical crane and lowered directly into the firebreather, a barge with a large rectangular incinerator on top. The abominations, with their disgusting bloated bodies would tumble down into to the fire and their ashes would be thrown to the sea. We would scrub the nets and repeat, over and over until the last monster was fished out of the water. When the nets would stop bringing them up, we would send a small detachment of divers to scout the area and pick off any lucky survivors with their spears.”

“Now you will say, well, that's pretty easy! And I would say you are right! It was a joy to see those horrible creatures get consumed by the tonnage, my boys even drew a large dragon on the side of the firebreather and when we let them burn they would shout, holler and cheer."

The image of a fiery barge incinerating zombies is sure spectacular, yet I feel the urge to enquire as to the actual fighting the divers had to do. Giorgio nods, he knows what I'm about to ask.

"The thing is, not all of the seabed is flat, or sand. In fact, most areas are full of rocks, wrecks and all sorts of deathtraps for a net. Those were quite precious commodities so we avoided wasting them and only lowered them when we were sure they wouldn't snag onto anything. When they couldn't lower the nets, that's when we were truly called upon, that's when they asked to deploy us, the Poseidons."

Before trying to understand the way in which zombies were fought underwater, it is important to ascertain how they interacted with the ocean's floors. Although zombies are immune to the lack of air,  their sense of smell and hearing are mostly rendered useless at the bottom of the ocean. While on earth a Z could hear a man from half a mile away, underwater they were nothing more than bloated mobile masses, walking endlessly in a slow motion, sappy fever dream. Although this made them easier to kill, it is also a testament to their resilience, a Z could walk alone for years under the sea, marine life completely avoided them, even sharks dare not approach them.

A standard Poseidon formation as it came to be known after the war quickly became the accepted method of effectively fighting Z under the water. The formation was composed of "Heavy" and "Light" units, acting in unison to bring down the threat. The first ones to submerge would be the "heavies". These were deep sea divers completely clad in a massive bronze and aluminum diving suit with a large copper helmet enveloping their head. On each side of the helmet each heavy had a "Ulixes" torch, a model that could light up even the most deep recess of the abyss.Their weaponry consisted of a large bronze shield and an inox iron spear, resembling that of an Ancient Greek hoplite or a Roman legionnaire. For backup, every heavy was armed with a 10 inch diving knife, one edge serrated to cut through netting and obstacles, or on occasion Z himself. While the heavy was slow, he could stay submerged for up to a day thanks to his carbon-scrubbing rebreather and was almost completely immune to bites, scratches and whatever the Z's could throw at them. After having made contact with the seabed, the heavies would gather into serrated ranks, their shields held in front of them and the spears poking out, forming an impenetrable phalanx. Following the heavies, the "light" units would submerge. Unlike their invulnerable brethren, the light divers only wore a neoprene diving wetsuit, which depending on the climate could be switched out for a hermetic one. Most "lights" sported a handheld torch, which they used to find Z and signal the heavies, together with a short spear or an axe. They had GAV inflatable jackets and lead-weighed belts to enable them to sink or float at will. Under most circumstances they looked exactly like a modern scuba diver, complete with fins, air tanks and diving torches. The light divers traded armor for mobility and were therefore the skirmishes of the formation, fanning out and attacking Z at will, harassing him and retreating, luring him toward the grinder of the waiting heavies. Giorgio was one of them.

"Once the lights would gather enough Z's they would start luring them towards us". He explains;

“In an ideal scenario we would have a good visibility and we could see them approaching and prepare our phalanx to face them. Still, as I've already told you, the sea makes her own rules to the games that people play. One moment we would have visibility as clear as day, the other a current of plankton would envelop us, making them impossible to see even if they were an inch from our nose. What guided us was mostly the torches of the light ones. They would signal to us where the heathen ones were and from where they would be approaching. It was important to have our phalanx always facing them because if the demons found our unshielded side it could often spell disaster. Many men I lost to an unseen bastard who crawled into our side. If the lights did their job good though, that often wouldn't be the case and we could face all of the fiends upfront...

That's when the fighting began.

The lights would scatter, either floating up and beginning their ascent or retreating behind our ranks, most of the time they would float above us, illuminating the zombies from above with their torches. Then the wall of dead would be upon us. It felt like a train smashing head on against our shields, we would hold fast, our lead-laced boots digging into the ground, our shield protecting us from their rotten teeth. The funny thing is, this was nothing like the combat you see on land, it was all in slow motion, slow but continuous, fluid movements both ours and Z's. It was a deadly struggle and yet there were no screams, no gunfire it was silent as night down there. Once Z had been stopped in his tracks we would raise our shields and start stabbing at their head with our long spears, killing them rank after rank putting them down into the seabed where they're supposed to be. What our spears couldn't finish we did with our knives, our boots or even our bare hands. Once I saw Morotz, one of my biggest lads, crush the head of a Z in his ironclad fist."

Although the Poseidons were unrivaled fighting machines, losing only 15 of their 300-strong unit in the whole war, operating at depths of up to 2000 meters under the sea demanded quite a complicated logistics system to keep them alive at that depth and to make their fighting force effective. That's something I ask Giorgio, who indeed seems to be well-versed on the subject.

"Due to the slow nature of the fighting that took place down there, it often took days to clear an area of heathens, which is why we set up "camp" a few hundred meters under the surface. Now "camp", is nothing as you imagine it. It's intended as a pressurized hyperbaric chamber, suspended by cable to one of our tugboats. When the fighting was over for the day, we would all ascend to "camp" where we could decompress, lose the nitrogen in our system and make preparations for the following day."

Decompression is necessary to every diver, from the deep sea heavies to a recreational scuba. When a person is submerged for a certain amount of time little bubbles of nitrogen start forming in the bloodstream and if one was to emerge suddenly, these would expand owing to the reduced pressure and obstruct vessels and veins, risking to kill the person. An experienced diver knows this sickness very well.

"We took decompression religiously. I would have rather left one of my guys behind and have one less heavy than risk a decompression sickness on my hands. It's a horrible way to go and it would spell the end of whatever operation we were conducting, not to mention kill the morale of my guys. Sometimes, when an operation was over we had to decompress for days, these were pretty boring and most of us stashed all manners of books and magazines in the hold. It was a down time to our work, we trained to kill but all we had to kill in there was time. It did give me time to think however, as it's in here that I thought up the phalanx, the light and heavies and all that was our fighting doctrine, every time I emerged in the chamber I had ample time to learn from the mistakes we made and perfect our tactics. In the end, a ship is only as good as it's crew and I could use this time to deal with my men on a personal level. I could see who was in a good mood, who wasn't and why, I tried my best to keep their morale high, that's when they fought best."

I now move on to another topic. I feel like I've explored the past enough and I'm sure it must have been quite taxing for Pellizzari. I ask him about the future and what he sees of it. Considering the Poseidons have now been disbanded, replaced by professional Navy units.

 "I was assigned mostly ex Navy guys myself, or whatever deep sea divers had survived the Z war, cable repairmen, ship technicians, even the occasional recreational diver, they were all welcome in my crew...Now that our job is mostly done they all moved on to other pursuits, there are many damaged oil rigs out there, still broken and leaking, cables tore to pieces by the undead.They're wherever mankind needs them to be honestly, and I think it's all for the best. Today I look at my son Giorgio and I hope he grows up in a world that is more than thrusting spears at things. I hope he will develop a culture and master the arts, I hope he will find a job that has nothing to do with the heathen ones at all. Should they rise again, I warn them, while many shall kill them on land, I shall hunt them to the deepest abyss down to the pit of hell itself if necessary.

I’m about to leave, Pellizzari has given me all that I needed and a very significant piece of history, not to mention a lesson learned shall the Z’s decide to infect humanity again. Before I go I have one last question, something unrelated that has always fascinated me. I ask Pellizzari if he’s ever seen things down there, things that no one has ever seen before.

I was half expecting a sardonic remark, something sarcastic or funny, but the man gave me a look that was all the opposite. He seemed to pause on this one and then, almost by surprise gives me an answer I was not expecting.

“Once, and only once. We were at 5,000 meters down and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a hallucination caused by the nitrogen in our blood, but I’m pretty sure we all saw it. It’s eye was as big as one of our shields, tentacles, numerous and thick as a tree, they must have been longer than one of our tugboats. It came close, I think it was just curious. We poked at it with our spears and one of my guys pierced it’s eye. It left in a flurry, an abomination never to be seen again. Never forget, that to this day we know more about the surface of the moon than we do what lies at the bottom of the sea.”

title: Deep Sea (World War Z fanfic, sort of)

question: What does the text say about the seabed?

text: This fails to mention that not all parts of the seabed were flat and sandy.

answer: The seabed is littered with zombie corpses that are bloated and floating. The seabed is also littered with wrecks, rocks, and other traps. The seabed is also sandy and flat in some areas. The seabed is also very deep in some areas, reaching 2000 meters. The seabed is also dangerous, with many sea monsters lurking in the deep.

text: It is not mentioned how deep the seabed is but it is definitely not 2000m as the characters were once at 5000m deep.

text: The answer is not coherent and it keeps repeating the same start of a sentence. It should be rewritten.

answer: The seabed of the ocean was mostly flat and sandy. It's where the heathen ones resided and are supposed to be. The cleanup crews would dredge the seabed to scoop up as many heathen ones as they could for incineration. The areas of the seabed that aren't flat and sandy are full of rocks, wrecks, and other deathtraps for the clean up crew's nets.

answer: The seabed is littered with zombie corpses that are bloated and floating. The seabed is also littered with wrecks, rocks, and other traps. The seabed is also sandy and flat in some areas. The seabed is also very deep in some areas, reaching 2000 meters. The seabed is also dangerous, with many sea monsters lurking in the deep.

text: The last sentence is not relevant to the question.

text: The last sentence is not supported by the text.

text: The seabed isn't dangerous, the creatures lurking in the deep are.

text: "The seabed is also dangerous, with many sea monsters lurking in the deep." - this is inaccurate and should be removed.

text: The third sentence is unnecessary.

text: The last two sentences are unattested.

text: The seabed goes beyond 2000 meters. 2000 meters is where the fighting machines were operating.

answer: The seabed of the ocean was flat and sandy. It's where the heathen ones resided and are supposed to be. The cleanup crews would dredge the seabed to scoop up as many heathen ones as they could for incineration. Nets were used along the seabed floor, and could run into things.

text: It is not stated that the seabed of the ocean was flat and sandy, but that tugboats would lower their nets into the ocean, preferably where the seabed was flat and sandy.

text: It is omitted that millions of heathen ones found themselves at the bottom of the sea.

text: It is omitted that most of the seabed is full of rocks, wrecks, and all sorts of deathtraps for a net.

answer: The seabed of the ocean was flat and sandy. It's where the heathen ones resided and are supposed to be. The cleanup crews would dredge the seabed to scoop up as many heathen ones as they could for incineration. Nets were used along the seabed floor, and could run into things.

text: The response is missing the part about the seabed being full of rocks, wrecks, and other deathtraps.

text: The response is missing the part about the seabed being full of rocks, wrecks, and deathtraps.

text: The seabed is not always flat and sandy.

text: The response is missing the part about the seabed being full of rocks, wrecks, and other deathtraps for nets.

text: The response misses to mention that the seabed is not always flat and sandy.

text: The answer omits that the seabed is full of rocks, wrecks, and deathtraps.

text: It is omitted that the seabed is not always flat and sandy.

text: It omits that the areas where the clean up crews go are full of rocks, wrecks and deathtraps, especially for nets.

answer: The seabed of the ocean was mostly flat and sandy. It's where the heathen ones resided and are supposed to be. The cleanup crews would dredge the seabed to scoop up as many heathen ones as they could for incineration. The areas of the seabed that aren't flat and sandy are full of rocks, wrecks, and other deathtraps for the clean up crew's nets.

text: The response should include that the seabed is where the Poseidons fought the zombies.

text: The response should include that the seabed is also where the Poseidons would fight the zombies.

text: The seabed is where the zombies are supposed to be, not where they reside.

text: The question is asking about the seabed, not the war to clean up the ocean.

text: "isn't" - change to "aren't"

text: The names of the two formations should be mentioned.


text:
Story 1 - Mad Villainy

I. Spitz

Detective Daniel Barrett Spitz woke up, on the morning of January 19th, 2003, to his clock radio. The old thing hummed away, a soft, firm male voice informing the city of the latest happenings, mostly surrounding DOOM. “... And last night, yet another of DOOM’s masked robberies occurred at 19th and Main. Citizens are urged to stay cautious, and to alert the police of any suspicious activities... “. Daniel’s weary, lined face frowned a bit, his sunken eyes staying still in their dark sockets.
Detective Spitz quickly rose out of bed, jumping to attention and performing 50 perfect jumping jacks to jolt himself awake. The rotting floor beneath him gave way to his bare, cold feet just a bit. Grabbing a worn but clean towel from his drawer, Daniel heads off to his bathroom and finishes getting ready, donning his nearly antique but well maintained leather jacket that matched his skin eerily, making him blend in almost suspiciously well.

II. DOOM

Dwight Dumile awoke in a pile of bloody cash and cassette tapes in his underground bunker, deep beneath the city. Wearing a bathrobe and slippers, he stripped and got into a chemical shower, which quickly sterilized him before he put on a loose pair of brand new cargo pants and an oversized XXL hoodie. He then affixed a metallic mask over his expressionless features. Daniel, now DOOM, walked over to his pneumatic tubes and collected the newspapers that feature his exploits in their headlines. They all spelled his name correctly now, in all caps. Not that DOOM had given them much of a choice.

III. Famsar

Sgt. Angelo Famsar picked up his cell phone, the time reading 9:02 AM, the date January 19th. His job in the city’s Robbery Squad afforded him a nice office, which was all the better for taking his calls. Famsar had two types of calls that ever came in through his work cell phone: orders from DOOM, and transfer orders for the heroine warehouse he ran for DOOM. The caller ID read DOOM, and not any of the various distributors, so he could most likely expect the former.
	“Hello?”. Angelo frowned as he heard something that sounded vaguely like chewing coming from the other end of the call. “Sir?”.
	“Yeah, it’s me.”. DOOM’s calls were almost always a bit bizarre. Angelo was one of the few people who heard DOOM speak on a regular basis. Angelo heard what sounded like DOOM popping open a beer. “I need you to schedule a meeting with Detective Spitz”.
	“Spitz?”. Famsar frowned. “If you like, sir, but he’s probably the cleanest cop on the force.”. Famsar chuckled nervously. “He’ll be able to sniff me out like a bloodhound”.
	“Meet with him. Tell him that his indiscretions have been noticed. Then dismiss him. No further communication”.
	“Yes, sir”. Angelo hears a click on the other end and quickly calls in his secretary to go retrieve Detective Spitz.

IV. Spitz

How did Famsar know? The knowing look could have been anything, anything at all. But Daniel knew that he followed every strict guideline of the force. On the job, he was the cleanest cop on the force. Maybe they’d noticed his bruised, scabby knuckles, and Angelo just took a shot in the dark trying to make Spitz clean up his act before something happened. Angelo might have looked a bit like your stereotypical scuzzy, dirty cop, but Daniel was sure that he was clean. It’s possible that one of the targets Daniel had threatened recently had tried to turn him in, possibly even tried to get off free by accusing Daniel of beating him, but it seemed unlikely; people don’t snitch on Spitz, especially those who value their lives. DOOM doesn’t treat people who snitch on his men very well.

V. DOOM

The phone only ever needed to ring once for DOOM’s call to be accepted. It was an unwritten rule that it seemed DOOM’s cronies had all independently arrived at, and it seemed no different for Mr. Spitz.
 “... And then he told me that my indiscretions had been noticed. Not to undermine you, sir, but you told me that if I did exactly as you said, there would be no chance of me being caught.”.
DOOM rolls his eyes, even though they aren’t very visible through his eye holes and no one was watching. “Then obviously you didn’t do exactly what I said, Daniel. Besides, he said indiscretions, he didn’t accuse you of anything specific”.
“I understand, sir. Should I take any action at this time?”
“I need you to do a job tonight. Easy. Target will be in warehouse B at 8:30. Arrive at 8:00 to acclimate yourself, and make sure he can’t leave the warehouse unless he’s on a gurney”.
“Understood”.

VI. Famsar

Around midday, Angelo received a call from DOOM, telling him to waste his night going to the damned warehouse again. How many times had he checked inventory at the warehouse? Wasn’t it enough for the warehouse’s permanent staff to be making sure that all their heroine was safe and sound in little baggies, packed tight into hoodlums’ jackets travelling through the city? Of course, Angelo had quickly accepted. Anything else would be suicide. It had been a while anyway, and Angelo was getting a bit rusty with his spot checks. Truth be told, he hadn’t been to warehouse B in almost 2 months now. His surveillance on Spitz had come to an end today when Spitz had to go out for something or another, maybe chasing another useless lead. Over 75 percent of the cases in the precinct, or covered by Famsar’s squad, had some loose connection to DOOM. Not that Angelo had ever let any detectives know that. He might not have looked like it, but Angelo tended to see himself as an intelligent man. He planned his moves ahead, and didn’t trust anyone. Still, he could see no possible danger in checking the warehouse tonight.

VII. DOOM

DOOM really was sad to see one of the gentlemen go. But they had their time on his payroll, and DOOM didn’t like to take chances. Both were unflinchingly loyal, both had never wronged him. Yet Famsar seemed to be getting a bit comfortable in his position, and it seemed only eventual that he would make a mistake. And Spitz, of course, couldn’t be trust just by his very nature. A man who beat strangers for a living would not hesitate to beat a man who has actively wronged him, and it seemed unlikely that Detective Spitz would survive much longer anyway, with so many enemies. But after the warehouse, Spitz would either be on his way to a graveyard or out of the country. These things had a way of resolving themselves once DOOM got involved. DOOM thought for another moment and decided he deserved another beer, and cracked open another cold one.

VII. Spitz

Detective Spitz arrived a bit early to the warehouse. He knew that DOOM had stopped operations in the warehouse a month or so ago, or at least that’s what he was able to glean from various targets that DOOM had him interrogate. The warehouse was wiped clean, with no sign that it had ever been used for anything except housing goods. Allowing himself 10 minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he waited for his target to arrive at the warehouse through the only open entrance in the warehouse. Spitz glanced down at his watch, barely able to read the time in the darkness. 8:10. Whoever would walk through that door at 8:30 would be poorly acclimated to the darkness, so it seemed plausible that Spitz would be able to take him down without a gunshot, which would definitely work in his favor. Gunshots in the city didn’t go unnoticed, even in a district with many warehouses.

A ridiculously loud crack burst out somewhere in Spitz’ vicinity causing him to spin quickly. Before he fell, Spitz recognized it dimly as a gunshot. It started really hurting when he hit the ground with a thud that he felt but didn’t hear. Facedown on the ground, his ears ringing, Spitz was bleeding out, the gunshot in his side pulsing with pain as he tried to twist his head around to see if he could at least view the man who hurt him. Spitz died trying.

IX. Famsar

If Angelo had been surprised that the warehouse was empty, he had been even more surprised that Detective Spitz had mosied on in, letting his eyes adjust in a similar way to how he had done. Staying as still as possible about 10 feet behind Spitz, Angelo had eventually concluded that Spitz must have been sent to kill him, mostly because of the way he was watching that door. Police don’t wait by a door in the dark, in plain clothes in abandoned warehouse at night. And it was fairly obvious that Spitz thought that his target would be arriving later than he was, that much was fairly obvious. Famsar hypothesized that perhaps Spitz was planning on using the element of surprise, combined with the fact that his “victim” would not be able to see as well as he would. It also seemed fairly obvious that DOOM had somehow orchestrated this. Angelo had gotten lazy with the warehouse checks, and hadn’t even noticed that this one had been shut down. Stupid, stupid. So the only move Angelo thought would be a surefire temporary win for himself would be to shoot Detective Daniel Spitz in the back, which he did with a shaking hand. After he saw the man drop to the ground, he stepped over his body and fled the warehouse.

title: Mad Villainy [MS]

question: Summarize how DOOM was able to doublecross two policemen, getting them to attack each other.

text: The response is missing some information about the kind of relationship between DOOM and the two policemen.

answer: Detective Daniel Spitz and Sergent Angelo Famsar were on DOOM's payroll, unbeknownst to both policemen. DOOM wanted Famsar to keep an eye on Spitz and as well as tell him that his indiscretion is being noticed. Spitz was surprised when Famsar said those words as his "indiscretion" was known to no one except DOOM. Spitz then visited an abandoned warehouse on the command of DOOM. He waited there for someone DOOM told him to kill. Unknown to Spitz, DOOM also told Famsar to visit the old abandoned warehouse in order to kill whoever he finds there. Famsar got there first and succeeded in killing Spitz.

answer:
DOOM calls Angelo and instructs him to schedule a meeting with Detective Spitz, telling him his indiscretions have been noticed and to dismiss him. Later, DOOM calls Famsar to waste his night at the warehouse again, but he obliges.

DOOM then instructs Detective Spitz to kill Angelo, he goes to the warehouse and waits for Angelo to come. Angelo in turn, notices the Spitz is hiding, and shoots him in the back.

text: The answer omits that DOOM is actually Dwight Dumile, the city's most notorious criminal.

text: The answer omits that DOOM is the one who sent Spitz to kill Angelo.

text: The answer should mention that DOOM is actually the one who orchestrated the whole thing.

text: The answer omits that the warehouse was abandoned and Angelo was the one who shot Spitz.

text: The answer omits the fact that DOOM is actually the one orchestrating the events.

text: The answer omits that both Angelo and Spitz are part of DOOM's gang.

text: It is not clearly stated that DOOM instructs Spitz to kill Angelo. According to the passage, he instructs Spitz to kill his target who will arrive at the warehouse.

answer: Detective Daniel Spitz and Sergent Angelo Famsar were on DOOM's payroll, unbeknownst to both policemen. DOOM wanted Famsar to keep an eye on Spitz and as well as tell him that his indiscretion is being noticed. He waited there for someone DOOM told him to kill. Unknown to Spitz, DOOM also told Famsar to visit the old abandoned warehouse in order to kill whoever he finds there. Famsar got there first and succeeded in killing Spitz.

answer: Detective Daniel Spitz and Sergent Angelo Famsar were on DOOM's payroll, unbeknownst to both policemen. DOOM wanted Famsar to keep an eye on Spitz and as well as tell him that his indiscretion is being noticed. Spitz was surprised when Famsar said those words as his "indiscretion" was known to no one except DOOM. Spitz then visited an abandoned warehouse on the command of DOOM. He waited there for someone DOOM told him to kill. Unknown to Spitz, DOOM also told Famsar to visit the old abandoned warehouse in order to kill whoever he finds there. Famsar got there first and succeeded in killing Spitz.

text: The answer is a bit confusing and needs to be rewritten.

text: The answer is a bit inaccurate.

text: The answer is incorrect.

text: The answer is wrong about both men being on DOOM's payroll.

text: The answer omits that DOOM's plan is to get Spitz and Famsar to kill each other.

text: The answer should mention that both Famsar and Spitz are loyal to DOOM and that he doesn't trust them.

text: The answer can conflate what happened with Famsar with what happened with Spitz.

answer: Detective Daniel Spitz and Sergent Angelo Famsar were on DOOM's payroll, unbeknownst to both policemen. DOOM wanted Famsar to keep an eye on Spitz and as well as tell him that his indiscretion is being noticed. He waited there for someone DOOM told him to kill. Unknown to Spitz, DOOM also told Famsar to visit the old abandoned warehouse in order to kill whoever he finds there. Famsar got there first and succeeded in killing Spitz.

text: The answer should mention that DOOM sent Spitz to kill Famsar.

text: The answer is not clear about the fact that DOOM sent Spitz to kill Famsar.

text: The answer should mention that DOOM sent Spitz to the warehouse to kill Famsar.

text: It is not stated that Famsar was on DOOM's payroll.

text: The answer is incorrect. Famsar was not on DOOM's payroll. DOOM wanted him to schedule a meeting with Spitz and then dismiss him.

text: 'unknown' should be 'unaware' as it is implied that DOOM knew about it.

text: DOOM doesn't want Spitz to kill Famsar, but rather to attack him.

text: The language of "DOOM wanted Famsar to keep an eye on Spitz" is made confusing by the fact that Angelo Famsar was keeping tabs on Spitz, which is a separate notion to whether or not he was keeping an eye one someone. He was spying, rather than keeping an eye. "keep an eye on Spitz" should be removed.

answer:
DOOM calls Angelo and instructs him to schedule a meeting with Detective Spitz, telling him his indiscretions have been noticed and to dismiss him. Later, DOOM calls Famsar to waste his night at the warehouse again, but he obliges.

DOOM then instructs Detective Spitz to kill Angelo, he goes to the warehouse and waits for Angelo to come. Angelo in turn, notices the Spitz is hiding, and shoots him in the back.


text:
The following contains elements of fiction. The frog is real.

My trip started off especially well. Sunday afternoon, weather perfect. My new friends at the landing contributed to a pleasant launch.

I packed a ton of gear, enough to require the addition of a pull behind raft. It’s a bit of a drag on long paddles but I sure can get a lot of stuff in a raft.

I decided to try a new area that looked really good on the satellite photo but turned out not to suit my preferences. Old age pickiness made me venture on.

After nearly 4 hours of paddling, I finally arrived at one of my all-time favorite campsites. Words fail. The joy of finding it unoccupied has to be felt in person.

It had everything. An easy landing. A separate sandy swim beach. The perfect spot to hang a hammock with a view. And tons of soft, friendly trails.

My first evening was spent pitching my tent, hitching myhammock, hanging my screen tent without the poles, and making a serviceable table. M’new home.

Time for bed. I left my rain fly off to gaze the stars. Slept pretty good. Midnight sprinkles got me up long enough to install the rainfly. Back to sleep.

In the morning it was raining steady and hard. I quick boiled some coffee and hunkered back down in my one man, coffin sized, back packing tent. All day.

As I lay there listening to the rain and waiting for the soggy hours to pass, something bounced off my tent. A few secondslater, it happened again

Can’t just let something like that go. No idea what it could be. Robed. Unzipped, and stepped outside for the first time in hours. There he was.

“hello little froggie.” Was that you bouncing off my tent? How you doin’? Never had a frog campmate before. It’s nice having company. Someone to talk to.

“Well thank you,” he said.
Yes, I could hear what the little frog was saying. Clear as now. I’m not saying he was an actual talking frog, I’m just saying I could hear him. Call me crazy.

“I hit your tent” he said, “so you’d come out and see that the rain is puddlin’ near your little nylon nest and you’re gonna be laying in water real soon”.

It was obvious I had to move my tent to higher ground. In the rain. Good thing I prepared for wet. Suited up I went to work. Just in time. “Thank you, froggie.”

Moving around is better than laying around so I didn’t really mind the work.     I moved my tent my tarps and my table and set up my kitchen and pantry.

When my task was completed, I was very happy. My tent was nestled in a grove of pine trees on the ridge overlooking the beach. My beach. Feng Hoppin Shui!

Thru it all, froggie hung around. Odd, but true. Nice having him around. “Hey froggie, throw me a tent stake”. Sorry. Forgot you were a frog. “Very funny”.

After lunch, the rain finally stopped and it was a real niceevening. Camp fire. A few stars. Grilled steak. Mac ‘n cheese. Fruit and cookies. Beer. Beer. Bed.

Tuesday started beautiful. Chip (his new name) hung around as I prepared a satisfying camp breakfast. Biscuits & Gravy, bacon, coffee, milk, juice. Ahhh.

Well fed, I was ready to explore. I packed snacks, water, and a heavy duty plastic bag for gathering firewood, and paddled off into virgin territory.

Modern humans (me at least) get so few opportunities for real adventure. That’s one of the reasons I go to the Flowage. This place can kick butt, if it wants to.

As I sit at home planning these trips, I say I hope that some unexpected challenge will arise for me to overcome. Sounds romantic sitting on the couch.

But when my wilderness wishes do come true, I Hate it. At least while it is happening. Panic and Fear are Strong Emotions. But, when it is finally over,…
No better feeling.
I’ve experienced hellatious storms, lightning strikes so close I couldn’t breathe, waves breaking over the sides of my kayak, and trees falling over in the night.

And getting Lost. It’s easy to do. Large wilderness water, with a maze of islands, and everything looks confusingly different from afar and all the same close up.

I’ve been lost on the Flowage before but Tuesday I got serious lost. I dug out my compass desperately hoping that it would help but I just got more confused.

Ever been really lost all alone? No car. No phone. Nobody to ask for directions. Not even a dog to keep you company. A real test of one’s calmabilities.

I won’t make you suffer the details but it was hard, confusing, tiring, and in a strangely profound way belittling.                                         I finally got found.

Having identified my location, it was time to get to work looking for firewood. Unoccupied campsites are the best. My map helped me find several in a row.

It is not uncommon to find that the last camper paddled home without finishing off his wood supply. Every once in a while you score big.

At one site I found half a dozen pieces of split, dried, real firewood. A luxury out in the wild where I usually have to scavenge the Island’s underbrush for sticks.

I filled my large plastic bag with kindling and tinder and strapped a few big native limbs to the top of my kayak and headed happily home.

Note: When I collect firewood, I walk around and fill my bag with any good small stuff I can find. Twigs, wood chips, you get the idea. One of the best places to find good ‘bag’ stuff is inside the camp fire ring. Plenty of good chunks of charcoal and half burnt logs. The following story is true.

The last campsite I visited was recently abandoned and the fire pit was still smoldering. I pulled out a chunk of mostly burnt wood and banged it against the rim of the fire ring and knocked all the hot coals off before putting it in my bag.

On my paddle home, I realized my bag was on fire. Flames. Behind me in the kayak. Out of reach. The nearest land looks really far when you’re on fire.

By the time I jumped out, my plastic bag was mostly gone, I had to throw fistfuls of burning sticks into the water, and my kayak suffered melty burns.

As fun as it was, too bad nobody was there to witness an old man paddling like the devil with smoke billowing behind. Would have made an excellent video.

By the time I got back to camp, I was beat. I unloaded my wood, grabbed a container of trail mix and a bottle of water and zipped myself up in bed. Snug.

When I woke up, it was brilliant. The stars were unbelievable. It was the night of the Perseid Meteor Shower and the sky was crystal clear and cookin’.

Such moments are Gifts.
I grabbed my cushion and blanket and laid on the bluff overlooking the water. The heavens reflection on the still surface of the lake magnified my pleasure.

And the meteors. The Shooting Stars. So often yet so sudden.They (almost) made me cry outloud. Further description could not do the experience justice.

Wednesday was fun. After breakfast and a relaxing cup of tea, I laid out my Island Golf course. I brought the balls but made my club. Holes were trees.

The first two holes were tricky; you could end up in the water. Chip designed the 3rd hole, a par five down the path to the john. Frogs.

As a kid growing up, I didn’t really have many friends to play with.                   I entertained myself. I think I’m pretty good at it. I have fun camping.

Golf. Swim. Float. Fish. Eat. Snooze. Sun. Play. Eat. Drink. Paddle. Build a fire. Camp Life can be Good.

Thursday was a day of challenges. I was dan bound and determined to make fire with sticks. I’ve seen the videos. I gathered the materials. I made smoke.

I tell myself I’m Happy I failed to make fire because it leaves an even more daunting challenge for me to face in the future. Hmmm. As I age, I accept a lot.

Next Challenge.
I decided to see if I could find an unnamed lake shown on themap, connected to the flowage by a thin blue line, the start of which was really far from camp.

After much effort, I found the narrow opening that was the blue line. Barely wide enough for my kayak with just enough room to push through. Barely.

Through spider webs and bugs falling on me from the five foot tall scratchy grass engulfing me, I pushed and pulled, determined not to fail.

Deeper in, trees formed a cool tunnel canopy. Twice I met obstacles that on lesser days would have turned my lesserdan back. Finally,.… like a miracle.

New dan lake. I figured that since I was probably the first to ever actually make it through, I should be the one to name it. It was a special place, a special time.

On the long paddle back, I sang that song I sing when I have a long paddle back to camp. I sing it over and over. It helps. The fish seem to like it.

Back at camp, Chip informed me of a new problem. He hopped over to where my raft was stashed behind a bush. A seam had busted and it was no more.

Not a big crisis, though Chip thought it was. Just a question of how to get all the gear back without the raft or making two trips. Something for us to ponder.

Thursday Night Feast. Pan fried crab cakes, buttered noodles, roasted corn on the cob, sliced tomato, and a fudge brownie for dessert. Sitting by the campfire.

I find it satisfying to cook my meals over a campfire that I start with a spark or a lens. It takes planning and patience but the results are usually worth it.

Chip shared a beer with me as we talked by the fire. (I did most of the talking.) He did tell me he was happy. The simple life and all. “You Betcha”. Amen.

Suddenly, a tremendous splash. Chip hopped and hit his head on a rock and I nearly fell on my butt. If it was a fish, it was unlike any I’ve ever experienced.

That night I laid awake in my tent for a long time listening to camp sounds.     It’s amazing what you can hear if you lay very still and focus. Slept well.

Friday: STRONG WIND ADVISORY. (an opportunity) ((I’ve done this before))      I hard drove my kayak directly into the breaking waves. Soaked and laughing.

I fought my way out as far as I could, then turned around and road the waves in like a surfboard. Two times. If I had a sail I could have flown. Hot Dog Rush.

In the evening, the wind finally died down. Thank God. It’s Maddening being outdoors in high sustained winds for nearly ten hours straight. Truly is.

Pleasant evening. Best campfire of the trip. When campingalone, it takes at least three nights before you fully realize the benefits of solitude. Night six.

That night was spent in quiet contemplation. Good thoughts of good things and people I love. Wilderness can be a kind companion. Slept good again.

Saturday breakfast was beautiful. Fried potatoes, bacon, eggs, and juice. It’s almost magical the way camping makeseverything taste so good. Chip agreed.

I headed down to the landing to wash my dishes when all of asudden I stopped dead in my tracks. A monster fish was lying in the shadow of a downed tree.

Slowly, slowly I backed away to the tree my pole was leaning against. It was rigged with a worm hook but my worms and other tackle were too far away.

I had no choice. The hooked pierced his neck under his bottom lip and he landed splash not two feet from the beast. He desperately kicked his legs once and wham, fish on. I screamed from the splash, set the hook, and let loose the drag. He took off like a rocket and my line sung as it played out. “HOLD ON CHIP. DON’T LET HIM GO”.

I don’t know how long the fight lasted, but that day I landed the biggest fish of my life. Before I let him go, I lovingly removed Chip’s remains from his throat.

You can call me sissy or whatever you want but I cried when I buried what was left of him. He was more than just a good campmate. He was a giving friend.

title: [RF] The following contains elements of fiction. The frog is real.

question: Summarize what the narrator likes about the outdoors as well as camping.

text: There is no evidence to suggest that the narrator likes storms.

answer: The narrator loves beaches that are most unoccupied by people - he prefers solitude. He likes a good view and forests with plenty of friendly trails for walking. The narrator loves watching the stars when outdoors, he prefers the kind of weather that makes that possible. Natural phenomenons like meteor showers, storms, and shooting stars captivate the narrator; such moments are what make camping and going outdoors worthwhile for the narrator.

answer: The narrator has enjoyed the outdoors and camping for most of his life. He has been camping alone for 6 nights, and believes that after 3 nights, one can reap the benefits of being alone. He believes that camping can be good, and brings joy to his life. He enjoys waking up to the stars. He has fun golfing, swimming, and fishing. Cooking over a campfire is satisfying to him. He likes being in the wilderness and being alone.

answer: The narrator has enjoyed the outdoors and camping for most of his life. He has been camping alone for 6 nights, and believes that after 3 nights, one can reap the benefits of being alone. He believes that camping can be good, and brings joy to his life. He enjoys waking up to the stars. He has fun golfing, swimming, and fishing. Cooking over a campfire is satisfying to him. He likes being in the wilderness and being alone.

text: The narrator is not alone for 6 nights.

text: The narrator is alone for 6 nights, not 6 nights.

text: The narrator is alone for only 6 nights.

text: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

text: The answer omits that the narrator likes the unexpected challenges that come with being in the outdoors.

text: The first sentence is not stated in the passage.

text: There is a difference between what the narrator did during camping and what the narrator likes. The first two sentences can be omitted since they do not answer the question.

answer: The narrator loves beaches that are most unoccupied by people - he prefers solitude. He likes a good view and forests with plenty of friendly trails for walking. The narrator loves watching the stars when outdoors, he prefers the kind of weather that makes that possible. Natural phenomenons like meteor showers and shooting stars captivate the narrator; such moments are what make camping and going outdoors worthwhile for the narrator.

text: The narrator doesn't necessarily love beaches. He just prefers them.

text: The narrator doesn't necessarily love beaches that are unoccupied by people. He just prefers solitude.

text: The response should include the narrator's love for adventure.

text: The response misses to mention that the narrator enjoys the challenge of being outdoors.

text: The narrator is a man.

text: The first sentence is inaccurate. The narrator doesn't prefer solitude, he likes camping alone.

text: The fact that the narrator loves beaches that are unoccupied by people isn't necessarily supported by the text

text: It should also be mentioned that the narrator loves cooking on the fire.

answer: The narrator loves beaches that are most unoccupied by people - he prefers solitude. He likes a good view and forests with plenty of friendly trails for walking. The narrator loves watching the stars when outdoors, he prefers the kind of weather that makes that possible. Natural phenomenons like meteor showers, storms, and shooting stars captivate the narrator; such moments are what make camping and going outdoors worthwhile for the narrator.

text: The narrator doesn't necessarily love beaches. He just likes the one he camps at.

text: The response contains inaccurate information.

text: The narrator doesn't necessarily love beaches, he just likes them.

text: The narrator also enjoys being in the company of animals like the frog, Chip.

text: The response failed to touch on the narrator's love of being adventureous, and his thirst for challenges.

text: It's omitted he likes the routine of camping - golf, swim, float, fish, eat, sleep, etc.

text: The response should mention the narrator's love of being adventureous, and his thirst for challenges.

text: It's not clear if he prefers solitude, but after a few days of camping he appreciates it.

answer: The narrator loves beaches that are most unoccupied by people - he prefers solitude. He likes a good view and forests with plenty of friendly trails for walking. The narrator loves watching the stars when outdoors, he prefers the kind of weather that makes that possible. Natural phenomenons like meteor showers and shooting stars captivate the narrator; such moments are what make camping and going outdoors worthwhile for the narrator.