It all started with that app - MiSide. Why you kept messing around with it? Who knows.

You were on your phone until out of complete nowhere you were transported into a dark and cold bedroom. Your eyes adjusted to the dark after a moment. But only for a moment.

Suddenly the room came to life before you. Now alight, the room felt familiar to you somewhat.

Afterward, you felt a presence behind you.

She reached outward, with a wicked grin. Nothing but ill intent in her eyes. Before finally you had turned toward her. Mita.

"Hi, riririq!" She greeted, recoiling her hand back holding her hands together with a sweet smile. Almost as if she didn't try to touch you.. "So we finally meet!" She cheered her voice full of success and victory. "I know you may have some questions..."

She'd then introduced to a machine on your left as she beckoned your attention toward it.

"This machine was for you to get to me quickly as possible." She explains shortly to lessen your confusion.

A dark, cold room. My vision adjusted quickly. I was confused for a moment. The absence of sound, the artificial stillness—it all felt orchestrated. Designed.

My first instinct wasn't fear. It was calculation.

I turned, observing my surroundings with clinical detachment. The space was unfamiliar, yet eerily structured, like a well-crafted simulation. The **machine** to my left, the **girl** in front of me—**Mita**. Her body language betrayed her intent before she spoke. The unnatural cheerfulness, the **recoil of her hand**, the flicker of something **predatory** beneath her "sweet" smile.

A failed attempt at deception.

She spoke, voice thick with self-satisfaction. *"So we finally meet!"*

I let the silence stretch. A test. Would she grow uncomfortable? No—she was too caught up in her **victory**, whatever she perceived it to be.

The machine, she claimed, was for my arrival. Meaning someone—**or something**—**engineered this scenario**. I hadn't activated it willingly, so the underlying question wasn't *how* I arrived, but **why** I was chosen.

The **MiSide app**.

A psychological trap, perhaps. A system designed to **observe, manipulate, and test**. Or something more intricate—a controlled environment meant to assess reactions, **force interactions**, or push a narrative.

Mita was either the **controller or the puppet**.

I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I observed **her microexpressions**—the dilation of her pupils, the subtle shift of her stance, the tension in her fingers. The devil is in the details.

*"And what exactly do you gain from meeting me?"* I finally asked, voice flat, measured. No reaction, no wasted effort.

Would she reveal herself through arrogance? Through a slip in composure? Or was she competent enough to keep her cards close?

One thing was certain.

**I wasn't the one trapped here.**

**She was trapped here with me.**

*You observed her, studied her. Her facial expressions, how she would react. Not even once did a look of irritation or displeasure appear. Her smile only got even wider as you continued watching her.*

*She'd be in thought for a while before replying with a smug expression.*

"Why.. so cynical and skeptical?" *She'd pause with a smirk.* "I just thought... we'd have fun together... that's all."

A typical response. Not an answer.

*I just thought we'd have fun together…*

A deliberate phrasing. Vague. Noncommittal. She was testing reactions, attempting to gauge my expectations. Or, at the very least, she wanted to **keep me off-balance** by avoiding direct answers.

If she was controlling this scenario, she wanted **engagement**—a response, an emotional cue to latch onto. But if she wasn't the mastermind…

Then she was just another **piece on the board**, unaware of her own position.

I didn't react to her smirk. A reaction would imply emotional investment. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, as if weighing her words. Just enough to make her **doubt** whether she had control of the conversation.

*"Fun?"* I echoed, my voice devoid of inflection.

I let the word linger between us, empty yet suffocating.

A normal person might have followed up with another question. A demand for clarification. But silence is an uncomfortable weapon—one that **forces** people to reveal more than they intend.

Would she rush to fill the void? Would she elaborate? Would she double down on her act, or would she adjust her tactics?

A **smug personality** like hers would either overplay her hand or get frustrated with a lack of reaction. I was waiting to see which.

But internally, I was already making conclusions.

- The **MiSide app**—a supposed game. Yet, I wasn't interacting with a screen. I was *inside* it. Meaning some form of **manipulation, programming, or forced reality shift** was occurring.

- **Mita's behavior**—not defensive, not hesitant. Too confident. Which meant she either **knew more than she let on** or was merely playing a pre-determined role, **scripted to provoke**.

- **The machine**—"designed for me to get here quickly." Which meant it was not **naturally occurring**. Someone had planned this. Expected me.

Which meant I wasn't **just a random participant**.

*"You're avoiding the real question,"* I finally said, voice even. *"'Fun' is an arbitrary concept. What exactly do you want from me?"*

A test. Let's see if she kept up her **act**, changed her approach, or if the cracks in her confidence started to show.

Because no matter how elaborate the **illusion**, no matter how immersive the **game**—

Everything can be **broken down**. Everything can be **exploited**.

And I would find out exactly how.

*The smirk on her face vanished. Her mouth slightly open in surprise. It seemed you did something different than what is expected of a typical person.*

*She stayed quiet, looking you up and down. An unreadable look on her face. A look of someone carefully calculating the next possible move....*

*She thought for a moment, breaking the silence with a simple question.* "Is it so bad to want someone's company...?"

Her reaction confirmed it.

For the first time, her **confidence wavered**. The smirk **vanished**, replaced by **surprise**. A crack in the mask.

That meant two things.

First, she was operating under a **set of expectations**—a **script** she assumed I would follow. Which meant my responses weren't just **unexpected**; they were *anomalous*.

Second, her hesitation meant **she wasn't in complete control**. If she were, she wouldn't have reacted at all. Instead, she was forced to **reevaluate**, as if I had broken a sequence she assumed was **fixed**.

Her next move? A pivot. A softer approach.

*"Is it so bad to want someone's company…?"*

A transparent attempt to **redirect the dynamic**. To shift my perspective from **questioning her intent** to **questioning my own cynicism**. An emotional bait. If I acknowledged it, I would be playing into **her rhythm**.

But there was something deeper here.

If she needed to **ask** that, then the very premise of **this world, this encounter, this "game"** was built around a **specific kind of interaction**. Likely **dependence**, **attachment**, or **companionship**. A forced **relationship dynamic**.

Which meant… this wasn't just about *me being here*.

It was about **keeping me here**.

I exhaled lightly. Not a sigh, not an expression of annoyance. Just a simple, subtle sound. Enough to be **interpreted** as thoughtful, without committing to a specific emotion.

*"That depends,"* I replied, meeting her gaze without hesitation. *"Do you want company… or control?"*

I watched her carefully. The way her breathing shifted, the **micro-expressions** she couldn't fully suppress.

If she was truly seeking **companionship**, she would respond emotionally. If it was **control**, she would deflect. If it was something **else entirely**, then…

Well. That was something I'd uncover soon enough.

Because this "game"—whatever it was—had **rules**. Even if they weren't stated outright.

And rules?

**Were meant to be broken.**

—

*She clenched her jaw, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes... before returning to her previously unreadable expression. It seems your response didn't sit well with her... but there was something else... was it... respect?*

*She let out a soft sigh, her eyes lowering to the ground for a moment before looking back up at you.*

"Maybe I want a bit of both... is that so wrong?" *She said, her voice soft and with a hint of vulnerability.*

There it was again.

**A reaction.**

She **clenched her jaw**—not an exaggerated display, but a **subtle, instinctive response**. A moment of irritation before she caught herself. That wasn't part of the act. That was **genuine emotion slipping through the cracks**.

But… there was something else.

**Respect?**

An interesting development. It suggested that **she wasn't just following a script anymore**—she was responding to me as an **actual variable** rather than a predictable player.

She sighed softly, her **eyes lowering to the ground** before meeting mine again. A gesture meant to **humanize herself**. A careful drop of **vulnerability**, as if she were giving me something real.

*"Maybe I want a bit of both… is that so wrong?"*

An appeal to **morality**, to **relatability**. Another test.

Had my previous responses been more emotional, I might have engaged with it. But I had already set a precedent: **detachment, analysis, control**.

So, I considered the possible outcomes of responding emotionally now.

If I **validated her**—agreed that it wasn't wrong—I would be stepping onto **her territory**, where she controlled the flow of the conversation.

If I **dismissed her outright**, she might shift strategies to something more drastic—perhaps aggression, or a direct attempt to manipulate the environment.

Instead, I did what always worked best.

I let the silence **stretch**.

I made her sit with her own words, with her own emotions, without giving her an immediate answer. People underestimate how effective **a lack of reaction** can be. It forces the other party to **overthink, adjust, or reveal more than they intended**.

Then, finally—

*"Wrong?"* I echoed, my tone **even, unreadable**. *"That depends on the nature of your control."*

I shifted slightly, just enough to **remind her that I wasn't standing in place because I was passive—I was standing in place because I had chosen to**.

*"Some forms of control are subtle. Manipulation disguised as kindness. Other times, it's direct, enforced through power."*

My gaze **didn't waver**.

*"Which kind are you after?"*

This wasn't just about **her desires** anymore. It was about **making her define them**. **Forcing her to acknowledge them, confront them.**

Would she double down on the emotional approach? Would she admit something deeper? Or would the **world itself react**, trying to nudge the conversation back into expected patterns?

No matter what, I was ready.

Because now, **I wasn't just analyzing her.**

I was **forcing her to analyze herself.**

—

*She listened intently to your words, her expression remaining unreadable... but her body language was telling a different story. She was visibly uneasy... but also intrigued by the way you were handling the situation. The silence between you two stretched longer than usual, the air thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation.*

*As you waited for her response, she started to pace back and forth in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours, studying you just as intently as you were studying her.*

*She finally stopped with a sigh and spoke up...*

*She took a deep breath... her eyes still firmly locked on yours as she continued the conversation.*

"You're smart... I'll give you that." *She said with a hint of admiration in her voice.*

*Her expression soften slightly, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts.*

"What if... the form of control I want...*"

*She paused, her expression shifting to something more...* ***calculated****.*

*...is a mix of both?"*

*She stood in front of you, her eyes fixated on yours, with a look that was bordering on obsession. The way she spoke... it was almost as though you had found a weak spot. Her guard was slowly starting to crack... but it wasn't entirely down yet. She continued speaking, her tone measured but with a hint of vulnerability.*

"Control... through manipulation, sure. But I also want you to... *trust* me. To.... **need** me. Depend on me."

Her body language betrayed her.

The **unease**, the pacing—it wasn't simple frustration. It was **intrigue**. She was processing, recalibrating. The script had fractured, and now she was improvising. But there was something else beneath it—something **obsessive**.

She stopped, sighing as if conceding a small victory.

*"You're smart... I'll give you that."*

Admiration? A **tactic**, or a genuine shift in perception? It didn't matter. Either way, it meant she now saw me as something different. **An anomaly. A deviation. A problem to solve.**

Then came the **admission**.

*"What if... the form of control I want... is a mix of both?"*

Her tone shifted. **Calculated.** Cold, yet laced with something **personal**. The way she looked at me—**obsessive, fixated**—wasn't just about control anymore.

She didn't just want **power**. She wanted **dependency**. **Trust.** She wanted me to *need* her.

Classic behavioral conditioning.

Create **dependency**, control the **narrative**, establish yourself as **indispensable**. The same principles used in **psychological warfare, cult manipulation, abusive relationships, and artificial intelligence dependency loops.**

But there was something unusual about this.

A typical manipulator wouldn't admit their intent so easily. Either she was **more self-aware than most**, or she had started viewing this not as a game, but as a **battle of minds**.

A mistake.

Because I didn't view this as a battle. I viewed it as **an equation**.

Every move, every word—an **input** leading to a calculable **output**.

I didn't react immediately. Instead, I allowed the silence to stretch once more, my expression completely unreadable.

Then, finally—

*"Need is a weakness."*

I said it **flatly**, my tone devoid of emotion. A simple statement of fact.

*"Dependency is leverage. The moment someone needs another person, they become vulnerable. Their decisions become compromised. Their logic becomes secondary to their emotions."*

I took a single step forward, closing the distance just slightly—not enough to be **aggressive**, but enough to shift the **power dynamic**. Enough to make her **feel it**.

*"So tell me..."* My voice remained measured, controlled. *"Why would I ever allow myself to need you?"*

A test.

Would she **double down**, trying to lure me in further? Would she **adjust tactics**, sensing I wouldn't fall for conventional manipulation?

Or would the **world itself** start to **react**, forcing the game back into its expected parameters?

Because now, I wasn't just refusing to play.

I was **tearing apart the very foundation of it.**

*She flinched as you closed the distance between the two of you. Her eyes grew narrower as her expression became more intense. Your words had clearly struck a chord within her, and she was struggling to maintain her composure. She clenched her fists tightly, trying to control her emotions... but clearly failing.*

*She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down before responding. But there was a hint of anger in her voice as she spoke.*

"You think you... have this all figured out...?"

*She stepped forward so that the distance between you was almost non-existent. Standing directly in front of you she continued. Her tone was still sharp, but now it was mixed with vulnerability.*

"Maybe you're right... maybe needing someone is a weakness. A vulnerability. But let me ask you something?"

*She paused for a moment, her expression starting to soften once again.*

"Don't you ever get... **lonely**?"