Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Which are you? " Nothing came out of my gabbling mouth. " What is Doc's full name? " I almost fell in, but at the last instant I caught myself and said, "Doctor Kevin O'Malley, Senior." From the bed, Doc said a word. "Son." this is to happen." Then he disappeared. "Sure," the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc's arthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. "No argument. Sure, So I was an Earthman, Doc's son. So my addiction to coffee was all in It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame, wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been "He didn't use that," Andre said. he left. "The rest is simple," Andre said. "Doc O'Malley bought up all the stock in a certain ancient metaphysical order and started supplying members my mind. That didn't change anything. They say sex is all in your mind. "'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. But Great-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl. Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help?" with certain books. Can you imagine the effect of the or the Necronomican itself on human beings?" . They weren't men like Doc and me. Then I realized what was about to happen. It was foolish and awful and true. I was going to have one of mine at the same time Doc was having his. That was bad. It had happened a few times right after I first the human race can tell itself how to achieve a state of pure logic, without food, without sex, without conflict—just as Doc has achieved "The North American government has such a state—a little late, true. He had a powerful guilt complex, "Tonight," Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled and I knew I could not let Doc's—Dad's—time travel thing fall into important as parchment, "tonight Man will reach the Moon. The golden ad vance." Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night when before Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and time up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in the and that did jagged cut-out nude curled against a lump of dust and lint, giving it an unreal distortion. Doc began to mumble louder. I knew I had to move. my mind and my eyes through the electric flashes of agony, so I concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their " Outsider ... Thoth ... ... Seven ... Hsan ... Ralston ... Richard Wentworth ... Jimmy Christopher ... Ayem ... Oh, are ... see ...." That wasn't just an addict's dream. I knew who Doc was. When I got around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was. I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc. Pain was a pendulum within me, swinging from low throbbing bass to high screaming tenor. I had to get out and get some. But I didn't have a Doc alone, but I had to. Doc was twisting on the cot, tears washing white streaks across his think you are blotto. "Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work?" I kept my eyes down. man , of course, not an glass of milk. I didn't want to black out on coffee with Doc waiting for me. I had of course . me ." Doc sat on the floor in the half-darkness and he had made a thing . Doc had ever made anything. It didn't look like much, but it was a hamburgers on the wooden chair, hoping the odor wouldn't bring any hungry rats out of the walls. I knelt beside Doc. "An order, my boy, an order," he whispered. I didn't know what he meant. Was he suddenly trying to give me orders? "Concentrate," Doc said hoarsely. "Concentrate...." I wondered what the words meant. Wondering takes a kind of concentration. The words "First Edition" were what I was thinking about most. The heavy-set man in the ornate armchair was saying, "The bullet struck Then I realized what I had been trying to get from Doc all these months—time travel. A thin, sickly man was sprawled in the other chair in a rumpled dressing gown. My eyes held to his face, his pinpoint pupils and begins to twist theories into fact, or facts into theories. I must ask this unemployed, former professional man who has gone through a serious illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place and time from which he comes." The surprise stung. "How did you know?" I asked. He gestured with a pale hand. "To maintain a logical approach, I must reject the supernatural. Your arrival, unless hallucinatory—and recently with another, I must accept the evidence of my senses or retire from my profession—your arrival was then super-normal. I might say super-scientific, of a science not of my or the good doctor's time, clearly. Time travel is a familiar folk legend and I have been reading an article by the entertaining Mr. Wells. Perhaps he will expand it I knew who these two men were, with a tormenting doubt. "But the other—" "Your hands, though unclean, have never seen physical labor. Your "You don't exist," I said slowly, painfully. "You are fictional creations." The doctor flushed darkly. "You give my literary agent too much credit for the addition of professional polish to my works." The other man was filling a large, curved pipe from something that looked vaguely like an ice-skate. "Interesting. Perhaps if our visitor would tell us something of his age with special reference to the theory and practice of temporal transference, Doctor, we would be better equipped to judge whether we exist." There was no theory or practice of time travel. I told them all I had really a snowbird. After a time, I asked the doctor a question. "Why, yes. I'm flattered. This is the first manuscript. Considering my professional handwriting, I recopied it more laboriously." She inclined the lethal silver toy. "Let me see those papers, Kevin." I handed her the doctor's manuscript. Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. "It's all right. It's all right. It exists. It's real. Not even one of the unwritten ones. I've read this myself." Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. "Don't move, Kevin," she said. "I'll have to shoot you—maybe not to kill, but painfully." had known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but there was something else. told her. She shook her head. "I don't know what you think it does to you." She showed me a card from her wrist purse. Vivian Casey, Constable, North American Mounted Police. I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. "What do you want?" "Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc found his crusades. How can you make money with time travel?" I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knew was that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. "It takes money—money Doc didn't have—to make money," Miss Casey prosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part of Doc's character. He was a scholar." Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scared me. He was lying so still with the left side of his face so twisted. I thing on the floor to the cot. Doc had a pulse, but it was irregular. I checked for a fever and there wasn't one. After that, I didn't know what to do. book from Doc," the Martian said. Something seemed to strike me in the back of the neck. I staggered, but that dirty."

<question>:
What is Doc's profession?

<options>:
A Scientist
B Addict
C Book collector
D Doctor

<answer>:

A