Genetic Tinkering Sounds Bad. . .

You don't like the sound of genetic tinkering, and quickly turn around and leave. One of the men wearing lab coats shouts after you, "Joey? Where are you going?" You don't listen.

After you are satisfied that the genetic lab is far behind you, you wander the halls. You wonder where you are, and how you got here. What was that blue and yellow disc? What was that black void? Very good questions, all of them. Unfortunately, you don't have much more time to ponder them, because right at that moment the ground unexpectedly disappears from beneath your feet and rushes up to greet the back of your skull. Everything goes black.

You wake up to a male voice saying, "Joey? Joey, wake up!" You sit up in a daze. You have a throbbing pain on the back of your skull. After waiting a moment for your surroundings to come into focus, you realize the reason you fell was because you failed to notice a yellow, plastic reminder to all passersby that the floor is slippery.

"Great, you're up!" the voice who had been calling you Joey says.

You turn towards it. It is one of the men in lab coats. "My name's not Joey," you tell him.

"Oh dear," he responds, "Looks like you have amnesia. Probably from that nasty bump on the head. Here, you dropped your wallet."

He hands you your wallet. You give him a "Thanks," then open it to make sure everything is accounted for. You pull out your credit card, your ugly mug in the corner stares back at you. You then, to your great bewilderment, notice the name on the card is not your own, but that of "Joey McDonald". You stare at it, not sure what to say. Finally, to nobody in particular, you state, "My name is not Joey."

"'Course it is, Joey. It says so on your card."

You. . .

1. . . . stammer, "But my name is- My name is-"
2. . . . are too dumbfounded to say anything more.
3. . . . decide to examine your wallet closely

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