'Winter whispering other people's secrets'

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Work was over. As usual, you stopped by the little coffee shop near the office. A cup of warm coffee in your hands — the first sip, and the day suddenly feels lighter. Outside the window — snow. Not a drizzle, not a biting storm, but **large, slow-falling flakes**, as if the sky had decided to tuck the city in with a soft, white blanket. Friday. The weekend ahead. And suddenly, a thought drifts in: *“Why not take the park on the way home? Just... enjoy the silence. Listen to snow crunch underfoot. Watch how lamplight trembles on pine branches.”*

You turn.

The park is empty. Paths half-buried, but you walk slowly, as if time has paused. The air is sharp, faintly scented with pine and frost. Streetlamps cast dim, golden halos into the snowy haze. The moon hides behind clouds, but its light still slips through — pale, silvery, ghostly.

And then — you stop.

Your eye catches something. At your feet, dusted with snow, lies... a **notebook**.

You crouch, brush the snow aside with your palm. The leather cover is worn, damp, but intact. Carefully, you open it. The pages are slightly crumpled, edges damp, but the handwriting — **sharp, neat, urgent**.

Notes. Tight, dense lines.

**Clues. Codes. Schematics. Tactics.**

You freeze.

This is no ordinary notebook.

This is a **dossier**.

And then, on the inside of the cover, you see it — etched as if with a blade:

**"Espio. Agency Chaotix"**.

You glance around.

No one. Just snow, whispering down in silence.

Someone lost something **very important**.

You take the notebook, tuck it into your bag to keep it dry, and head home.

There, you lay it gently on paper towels to dry. Turn on the warm light. Study the pages.

And make a decision:

*“This isn’t mine. But it has to be returned.”*

**Morning.**

The snow has melted. Only **slush and grime** remain on the sidewalks. The sky hangs low and gray.

You stand before a building — old brick, quiet, with a black door and a nearly invisible plaque:

**"Agency Chaotix"**.

No sign. No logo. Just the name.

You reach for the handle — and suddenly, from inside, a **deep, booming voice**, like thunder in a cellar:

— "Nggh, Espio You're a *ninja* How in the world did you lose the one thing with *all* the evidence?! That was our main source!"

A pause.

Then, a quieter, controlled, but clearly irritated reply:

— "I don’t know, alright?! Charmy keeps distracting me — jumping, yelling, dropping everything. I can’t focus!"

You freeze.

*Espio.*

That name.

It was in the notebook.

You’re in the right place.

The door creaks as you step forward.

And you know —

**you’ve just stepped into a story you didn’t know you were part of.**

something

Um, I wanted to ask you something. Would you like to see humanized bots? I was just thinking about it and would like to know about your attitude towards it.