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

<passage>:
perfection, exquisitely shaped, and the rich promise of her body was exposed to his view. "Why?" he thought as he looked at her. "Why did it have to happen like this?" The whole thing was still like a dream to him, and as yet he couldn't unattainable, a face to conjure with in erotic dreams, far beyond his ken. A year ago she had been a public idol, the most popular actress of the day. And he had been a nobody, full of a nobody's idle hopes and A thought teased at him. Charles looked at the woman again and decided It had been very pleasant that afternoon. She had given of herself freely, warmly, and Charles had accepted. But then he had known that she would. It was not him, it was the circumstances. Under the circumstances, she would have given herself to any man— "Why did it have to be her—or me? Why should it have to happen to anybody! Why!" She would have given herself to any man— His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating sensations of angry rage. He wanted to cry, to weep angry tears of attacking his olfactory patch with the retching smell of decaying flesh. Charles ignored it. Even smells had lost their customary " Maybe I'm not the last! " The thought struck him with suddenness, promisingly, edged with Charles got up slowly, noticing for the first time that his fingers and dangled from the edge of the bed like a crazy pendulum. Charles cope with the situation. The president of the world-wide Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals committed suicide. Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal left on earth. The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the lakes full of dead fish caused a great stink and residents along the coasts began to move inland. Sales of perfumes and deodorants soared. Then just one year ago, the first human became infected with the strange malady. Within six months, half of the world's population was gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained "I've got to find out," Charles told himself. He meant it, of course, but in a sense he was afraid—afraid that his trip to the Bureau might give him an answer he didn't dare listen to. "But I've got to try." He walked on down the bloody street. Before the plague the Bureau of Vital Statistics had been one of man's human on earth. Compulsory registration and the classification of each individual by means of the discrete patterns of his brain waves had accomplished for four billion inhabitants. Four billion names and addresses, compressed into microprint, a tremendous achievement even for the "Proud Era." In all of his life, Charles had never once glanced at The Index. The average person had little necessity to do so since the Bureau coward, afraid to check the whole world from the start. "I'll start with New York and work up." Charles activated the switches that would flash a schematic map of New Charles was by himself, the last person alive in all of New York City. plague. It's only logical that—" He stopped. For even as he spoke, the light winked out! The counter clicked again. the so-called "basic" drives: hunger, thirst, sex, shelter, warmth, But thinking about "why" didn't answer the question itself, Charles The Norm, with no significant departures, all down the line. Church member, but not a good one. Could that be it? Could the most normal be the most perfect? Had he led the best of all possible lives? Was that it? Had God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, spared his life, saved him, singled him out because he was most nearly a saint, most nearly Christ-like, most nearly.... Lies—His mind snapped back to reality. He half smiled. Saint? Christ? The Second Coming? He was no saint. Charles sighed. What about—? Chance. That was it! The laws of probability, the bell-shaped curve, normal distribution, rectilinear regression. More people per square foot in New York than elsewhere. The first person who died was from New York, so the last person who gave way to the disease should come from here too. Spin the wheel throw the dice toss the coin. So simple to explain by the laws of chance. No need for any underlying assumptions about good and evil, no need for teleological arguments concerning cause and effect. Simply explain it by chance. Somebody had to be the last to go and that was— "No," Charles said, standing up in the quiet of the spring evening. "No, chance won't do it. No man can reckon with chance. The mind rejects such things. There must be something beyond mere accident. There must be!" He sighed slowly. Charles was hungry. He got up and started for one of the restaurants Somehow, though, since things were ready and it didn't make too much difference, it seemed to Charles that he'd probably have a long time to wait. "Maybe it's just a disease, and I'm immune. I was immune to smallpox. The vaccination never took. That's probably it." He smiled. Strange, but now he wanted very much to go on living, alone or not. There were things he could do, ways to keep occupied. physical existence. The tantalizing thought of "why" puzzled its way back into his mind. But it seemed less pressing now that he had almost come to the conclusion that he would live for a long time. Later, in a few days perhaps, he would think about it. In a little while he'd have plenty of opportunity for hunting down the answer. This seemed good to him, for thought he had seen the solution peering out at him from the recesses of his mind, and he didn't like the expression on its face. Better to almost fell as he stepped from the curb. "Look at me, nervous as a cat." part of his mind clamped down, obscuring the thought, rejecting the concept. first burst of wild pain came as he laid his shoulder against the door to the restaurant. This was the way the plague began, but—His mind quickly repressed the idea. It couldn't be the plague. He was immune! Another burst of pulsating, shattering pain crashed through his body, tearing down the defenses of his mind, putting an end of his thoughts of immunity. Colors flared before his eyes, a persistent, irresistible susurrus flooded his ears. He wanted to protest, but there was no one to listen to him. He appealed to every divinity he knew, all the time knowing it would be useless. His body, out of his voluntary control, tried to run off in all directions at once. Charles struggled to end his body's disorganized responses, to everything else seemed irrelevant: he had to get back to the park, to his hermit's cave, to his long, narrow home. He couldn't die until then. Charles refused to think. Machines, especially half-broken machines, do not think they only work. Sweating, straining, bleeding, retching, he pushed himself towards his goal, trying to add one final touch of grace and custom to the rude irrationalness of it all. He gathered energy from his final reservoirs of strength for one final movement that would throw him headlong into the shallow grave. He Instantly the thought struck him with paralyzing devastation. The answer to it all poked its face out from the recesses of his mind and sapped the last bit of his energy, corroding his nerves and dying muscles. Now he knew, and the knowing was the end of it. "I know." "Well?" "All right, all right. You're so good, see if you can compute the scatter probability." THE LAST MAN ON EARTH— CHARLES J. ZZYZST GO TO HELL!

<question>:
What are the four hypotheses Charles has about how he might have survived the plague?

<options>:
A He’s too strange; he’s a prophet; the odds were against him; he got a vaccine
B He’s a nice guy; pure chance; he’s a prophet; he received medical treatment.
C He’s healthier than everybody; pure chance; he knows a good doctor; he wore a mask
D He’s too normal to get it; pure chance; he’s a saint; immunity

<answer>:

D