So, Rose and Bunny know each other. They like to meet at bars, and Rose has a fun hobby of sending her random names and addresses. Cool, cool. Normal. I don’t see anything weird about this situation. We all live in the same town, and are in the same age range… I think. It’s not weird that they would have happened to become friends. It’s doubly not weird for Rose to make friends with someone, she’s very extroverted and energetic. Maybe even enough that Bunny could be pressured into exchanging numbers. And I guess now they meet up for camaraderie and drinks on 17th street? And also Rose sometimes throws darts at the phonebook and sends Bunny the results, like normal people tend to do. It’s normal! It’s so normal I almost want to meet up with them at the bar tonight. For camaraderie. And Drinks. And to make sure my friends aren’t fucking serial killers.

Now my phone is buzzing with a new text.

“It was no Kaizo Mario, but that was a fun hack. The switch palaces were a little stupid, though. Overall like a 3.57 out of 5.1343. Not milquetoast, but maybe buttermilquetoast with jam.”

I stared at the message, eyes wide open. What she was saying wasn’t that weird. For her, at least. But now I have knowledge that this… incredibly kind, outgoing, dangerous person is doing something that I don’t understand. That worries me. Maybe I liked her a little better when I thought I had my eyes on her, that she was already flaunting the worst she has to offer. I don’t think she was. I didn’t know 4,000 words of mutant child military encampments would be less frightening than a simple “timothy redfield 6252 n brooke st”.

I don’t know what to say back. I want to pretend that I never noticed this. But I want to know more. What are they doing? What if I went to that bar tonight? What if I just came clean completely? There were too many choices in front of me.

This is exactly the kind of problem I would normally ask Rose for help with. She’s good at analyzing possibilities, especially to extremes. God, if this was anyone else, she would be all over it. She’d have every single person analyzed and find pentagrams drawn between the lines of their houses in minutes. But even more so, I think she would enjoy the struggle. Knowing what information to divulge in order to get a response, if any. It almost makes me feel bad that I can’t share my situation with her. She loves playing mind games.

Okay, well.

Maybe that’s it. This is a mind game.

“Rose, do you have a minute? I wanna play a game together.”

“I haven’t been able to figure out ZSNES netplay, but I’ll work on it.”

“Not a video game. It’s a game where I have information about you that you don’t know I have.”

“I’m listening.”

“Here’s the puzzle you need to solve: I know something about you. You don’t know what I know. Is it in my best interest to ask you about it directly, to casually drop hints, or to ignore it entirely? That’s the puzzle. If you lose, you’ll have to play a batsu game, like in anime. You have twenty minutes.”

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I sat in silence, stroking Leo’s fur while he purred in my lap. I hadn’t received a text back yet, so I knew she was working on it. There is no way she would miss an opportunity like this. But can she remain so analytic while knowing that the person in question here is herself? If anyone could figure out an optimal solution, she could. Oh, and I have no idea what the batsu (punishment) game is. I don’t even know how to tell if she lost or not; I just thought that was weeb-y enough to catch her attention.

Two minutes after, I went to the restroom.

Five minutes after, I fed Leo lunch.

Eleven minutes after, I smiled at a video of a cat running into a door.

Seventeen minutes after, I became slightly dizzy; so I drank a glass of water.

Nineteen minutes after, I brewed a cup of coffee.

Precisely twenty minutes after my message, I received her response.

“The one who comes on top in any conflict is the one who holds power over the other. At the base level, you currently hold power over me. You have knowledge about me that, presumably, is of importance; hence the game. It might be information that I don’t want leaking to others, because it’s embarrassing or it makes me look bad. But you came to me about it. You’re now giving me the power. You are letting me influence and rationalize myself to you. That makes the playing field swing into my favor. If you didn’t need my response, you wouldn’t have set a time limit. You want to learn more about my secrets, but only if I tell you to. You aren’t mentally powerful enough to make that choice for yourself. If I tell you that you should press me for info, it’s practically a promise to spill the beans. Why would I tell you to ask? And if I told you to forget about the info, that means that I was never going to tell you in the first place.

Except, to reiterate, this is a power struggle. Game theory. And now, this message itself is a mechanic in the game. It’s kinda the whole game. I’m not sure how you did it, but you may have constructed a game where the instruction for the game is the actual game. It’s a recursive loop that breathes life into an otherwise flat discussion. You’ve impressed me a little. But I digress, back to the power struggle.

If I tell you to do something, and you do it, you’ve lost power. In order to feel like you’ve won, you need to do the opposite of whatever I say.

TL;DR: here’s how you solve the puzzle: I tell you to forget about it, but you keep pressing me for more info. That way, you’ve one-upped me within this game as well as being able to get the info you want. Now, let’s begin.”

I took my second swig of coffee.

“Hey, Rose. I found out that you’re also friends with Bunny.”

“What? Me? No, forget it, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Σ(ﾟДﾟ)”

“Come on, Rose, time to spill your guts. What exactly is your relationship with her?”

“No, I’m actually being serious. Who the hell is Bunny?”

“Wait, for real?”

“Of course I know her. Remember, I told you to win, you had to do the opposite of what I say? You didn’t do that. You did exactly what I told you to do. I can’t believe you fell for the classic ‘disobey this command’ routine. You’ve fallen into a recursive paradox with no escape. I win! Your batsu game will be decided at a later date. And guess what? I’m not telling you jack-shit!”

Well.

That was a waste of twenty minutes.

Guess I’m going out for drinks tonight.