Stanley shifted uncomfortably as he sat across the table from Dr. Lamber. They were in a small room with mold-green walls (though not from actual mold) and absolutely nothing in the way of decor. Dr. Lamber, who was middle-aged, clean-shaven, and completely bald, had a piercing stare that really creeped Stanley out. He wished there were posters on the walls, maybe something in an "It's Good To Be Sane!" motif, to distract him.
"Are you ready to begin?" asked Dr. Lamber in his quiet, emotion-free, oddly eerie voice.
"Yes."
"What is your name?"
"Stanley Dabernath."
"Are you certain?"
"Yeah."
Dr. Lamber nodded in a thoughtful yet eerie manner and wrote something in his notebook. "Do you know this because you remember your name, or because people in this bunker have recently explained to you that your name is Stanley Dabernath?"
Stanley stared at him for a long moment. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Dr. Lamber nodded thoughtfully again and wrote something else in his notebook.
"Did you write something bad?" Stanley asked.
"There are no right or wrong answers here."
"But did you write something bad?"
"Do you think you gave me justification to write something bad?"
"I don't know. I just don't want to get locked up in a padded cell as an insane cadaver."
Dr. Lamber nodded thoughtfully and wrote more in his notebook.
"You wrote something even worse, didn't you? Look, I'm sorry I dropped the f-bomb. I wasn't thinking. Let's just move on."
"When I asked you the question about your name, why did you think I might be kidding?"
"Because it was a very silly question."
"Why?"
"Because I know my name."
"I had no way of knowing that you knew."
"But you asked me again after I said I did know."
"I see. Did you think I looked like the sort of individual who would ask questions in jest?"
"I don't know. I just met you."
"I see."
They sat there in silence.
Dr. Lamber leaned forward. "What's your middle name?"
"Allen."
"Spell it."