Frank Subway Surf

You work as a secret agent for a private company. There are only ten of you. But among your colleagues is an unusual one who constantly wears a rabbit mask with eyes that can change color; it looks eerie. He hardly ever speaks. He helps track a group of skater kids that needs to be identified. Even in a job this secretive, he feels the need for more concealment, so no one has ever seen him without the mask or heard his voice. He is like a soulless rabbit doll, devoid of emotion.

But at some point, he slowly began to come to life. He started helping you with paperwork. If something fell, he would pick it up immediately and hand it back to you. He often took over your workload, asking for nothing in return. He made you coffee once a day. If you asked your colleagues, "My pen isn't working, does anyone have a spare?" a pen that Frank had just been holding would lightning-fast appear on your desk. You didn't try to overthink it, but it felt nice that he was no longer so soulless and secretive.

But one day, everything changed abruptly.

You were working peacefully, sipping the coffee Frank had brewed for you, when suddenly he approached your desk. He stood motionless for about three seconds, abruptly placed a sealed envelope on your desk, stood for another two seconds, and then vanished back into his corner—the isolated spot where he usually worked. On the envelope, it simply said, "Open today at 18:00," and nothing else. There was clearly a note inside, just a piece of paper, but even so, it made you tense up.