[ WP ] You 're a foreign exchange student in the U.S. when suddenly on the evening news the host screams in your language : `` We have a code 19 ! '' The whole country is confused , but you know what to do .

Sitting down to the evening news had become somewhat of a ritual during my time abroad. Life in the United States flew by at a breakneck pace that was steadily driving me mad. Back home in St. Petersburg life seemed to move at a crawl as people tried to find ways to fill their days. Not in America. It was only through the calming voice of Vince Fondella, the evening news anchor, that I was able to maintain my cool. “ We have a code 19! ” That ’ s the last thing I remember hearing before blacking out. 
 I awake in a cold, concrete chamber probably underground. Where the hell am I? I wonder to myself as I try to remember the past however many hours. What happened? There ’ s a noise on the other side of the solitary entrance to my prison. A tall, starched figure in a black suit enters the room holding what appears to be a legal pad. “ What ’ s going o- “, the sentence is knocked out of my head by the back of his hand. As a Russian, this isn ’ t as shocking to me as it might be to you. Police hit you back home, it ’ s a big part of what they do. But in America? Something must be wrong. 
 The man places a laptop in front of me, opens it to what looks like a CCTV video, and presses play. I watch as the pixels dance before my eyes, a figure enters the shot. It ’ s me. What the hell is going on? “ Sir please, I ’ m not from – “ 
 “ Shut the hell up and watch ”, he replies without emotion. 
 As I watch myself on the laptop my life unravels. The figure, for it couldn ’ t possibly be me ” was cornered by a group of police officers. Out of nowhere the police dropped. It was only a blur, but I know what I saw. The figure on the screen, me, had dispatched of those miserable wretches before they even hit the ground. What the hell? This isn ’ t good. 
 “ Now Mr. Denisovich, you understand why you are here? ” 
 I nod, unable to muster the words. 
 “ Do you have anything to say for yourself? ” 
 “ I didn ’ t mean to! I swear! The last thing I heard was that there was a code 19 from the evening news. What does that mean? Please you have to help me? ” 
 The man ’ s face grew gray with consternation. I had struck a chord. 
 “ A code 19 you say? As in the Russian sleeper agent activation phrase? That ’ s good to know Anatoly, we appreciate the help. ” 
 As the man left the room I felt an encroaching sense of dread. When the vent above my head opened and started to fill the room with gas I knew it was the end. What the hell did I do? 

