[ WP ] You 've found yourself trapped in a large facility with what looks like 200 other men and women . Slowly you start realizing the only connection everyone has is their names being Morgan . You 've come to the conclusion you 're the only person in the room not named Morgan .

Some of the women shared it as a first name. Some as a middle name. Most of the men had it as a last name. There were even some related to each other; a pair of twins had appeared together a few days after I did. 
 
 Our numbers were growing. Every day or so, another group appeared in a random location in the facility. They all had something in common. 
 
 They were trapped here. 
 
 And everyone here was named Morgan. 
 
 Except for me, of course. 
 
 When I had woken up in that room, with four others, and the mob burst in the door wielding pipes, wrenches, and other assorted tools- they questioned us first, before accepting us. I was the last to go. They asked for my name. I lied, of course. Everyone here was named Morgan; what would they do of they knew I was n't? 
 
 Once they brought us into their fold, they explained the situation. We were all trapped in a large facility. Scott Morgan, who worked for the city's utilities in Oregon, said he believed it was an underground water treatment plant. Morgan Bates, a chemist from Europe, claimed that the water they had found was safe to drink, and could sustain us with the limited food supply they had stumbled upon. Another Morgan, whose name I forget, was a cartographer, and had spent days mapping out the facility. As of yet they had found no doors, no tunnels to the surface, and no way out. 
 
 I asked how people got in. No one knew. 
 
 I met many more Morgans. Morgan Jenkins, the surgeon from Nevada who kept us all alive. Larry Morgan, the politician from Chicago, who kept trying to elect himself `` leader'' but was generally ignored. There were roughly 200 at that time. That was three weeks ago. 
 
 Three weeks I've wondered where we are, in reality. Three weeks I wonder how we have kept everyone alive. 
 
 I suppose us Morgans have to stick together, right? 
 
 I keep my true identity a guarded secret. But I always have my name written, inside my left jacket pocket, so I wo n't forget. It could be years before we escape. 
 
 But it seems my secrets may not be my own any longer. 
 
 Yesterday, one of the men found a hidden panel in a wall, leading to a small office. There was a running computer- nay, supercomputer- that looked like it ran the whole facility. But it was locked. All there was to help us was a single note. 
 
 `` User: JONFROMWALMART'' 
 
 `` Password Hint: Your last name'' 
 
 
 

