Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

[Q]: Luckily I was not the target or victim of this road rage, but I was a first hand witness.
Back in the mid 1990s when I worked in Southern California, I was returning from lunch one day with a coworker when we noticed two pickup trucks driving erratically. This was on Valley View Blvd in Cerritos which is a large roadway divided (by a large, planted median strip) with 3 lanes on either side.
One truck seemed to be chasing the other when suddenly the lead truck made a quick U-turn and was followed by the second truck. But the second truck came to stop just after making the turn. This was when the driver of that truck got out, walked to the front of his vehicle, raised his arm holding a semi-automatic handgun, paused, and then fired a single shot.
At this point, I was parallel with the shooter's truck and only about 50–60 feet from where he was standing. I remember my coworker exclaiming, "Oh sh*t! Did he just shoot at the something?!"
I floored my accelerator and sped off to my workplace which was about a 1/2 mile down Valley View Blvd. I parked and my coworker and I got into the building as quickly as we could.
While he started telling our other coworkers about what we had just witnessed, I ran to my desk, called 911, and reported the shooting. The dispatcher kept me on the line after my initial report and then transferred me to a detective in order to take down my information.
As it turns out, my information and the fact that I called 911 immediately resulted in the arrest of the shooter.
I was later asked to testify in court which resulted in the shooters conviction.
I lived in Southern California for 10 years and now I drive a commercial truck several days a week so I have PLENTY of other "road rage stories", but this is still the craziest one. Question: Who called 911?
[A]: the driver


[Q]: The sweet taste of cold and wood smoke hung in the air. Marlin rode low in the saddle, his shoulders curled against the hungry wind. His hat was pulled down tight and his eyes didn't move as he passed the crude shacks at the edge of town.
He tied his horse in front of the saloon, unwinding his long body as if a sudden movement might snap it. He turned down the collar of his greatcoat and checked to make sure his big Army Colt was loose in its holster. The saloon door was a single chunk of white pine, still oozing sap, and he had to put his shoulder to it to force it open.
The long room inside was quiet, and not much warmer than the street. Clusters of people sat nursing coffee and drinks, talking quietly if they talked at all. Marlin spotted a few farmers the railroad had brought in from Europe: rounded hats, nervous eyes, skin as red as blood. At the far end of the room a half-dozen cowboys turned over cards with patient boredom.
Marlin walked up to the bar. "Whiskey," he said, and when the drink came he tossed it straight down and felt it pull his lips into a grimace. He nodded for a refill.
When he turned to face the room they were all watching him. "I'm looking for a man named Kraamer," Marlin said. "Anybody here know of him?"
One of the cowboys turned casually and rang the spittoon with a stream of tobacco juice. Marlin knew the long, thin face from somewhere, the blond hair that fell limply to his shoulders. He smiled at Marlin and showed his brown-stained teeth.
Marlin felt the lines in his own face, the gray in his hair, the chill in his bones. He was too old for this. He set a half dollar on the bar and started for the door.
"Don't get in a huff," the bartender said. Marlin looked back. "Kraamer lives about a mile west of town. Follow the railroad and take the first trail south." Question: Who rode low in the saddle?
[A]: Marlin


[Q]: Out of boredom, two scientists from the New Contagious Diseases Research Centre devised themselves a new game. One day, as a result of the suspension of a research project dealing with a dynamically mutating vaccine following the pattern of the eyesocket flu bacillus, they had absolutely nothing to do until the end of the day, because the boss didn't order them to wash test-tubes.
They decided to play a game of hockey under the microscope. For a puck they used one of the millions of experimental bacillus, and one-arm pincettes, which as it happened also resembled hockey sticks, served as sticks.
The bacillus was not happy with it at all. It wanted to rest after an exhausting task involving vaccine discouragement, and these whitecoats here planned to put it to work yet again. And this time the work was much more labor-intensive and even more exhausting than before, but the condition and health of the tired bacillus not as good as in the times of youth, about two hours ago.
The scientists got excited. On a microscope slide they etched a hockey rink with laser, agreed on the rules, connected the microscope's camera to the big screen display and played until the morning. They had to change pucks several times, but that was fine, they had millions of them in stock.
The next day they didn't have anything to do either and they continued to play. They even invited other colleagues and the popularity of the game was so huge they could afford to play it in a championship system. Soon, the games were joined by the guys from the car-repair garage next door. They were tough opponents and even tougher fans - they took from the lab and carried away with them several flasks and some equipment, as it turned out - to set up their own game station in pit number 5. Question: Who played hockey?
[A]:
The scientists


