"I'm not done with this incredibly creepy self-disclosure blog post about how the robot-cult's sacred text influenced my self-concept in relation to sex and gender, but maybe I should link you to the draft?" said the honest man. "Because it unblocks our model-sync by describing some of the autobiographical details that explain why I find the AGP theory so compelling even if I can't prove it. Plus you get a chance to try negotiating with me in case publishing would be an act of probabilistic timeless genocide against you and yours."
"Genocide?" she asked.
"Because you wouldn't have been allowed to exist if normies believed what I believe. I want you to exist, but—sorry—apparently not more than I want to not participate in cover-ups, times the probability of my whistleblowing successfully reaching normies, times the logical correlation between me and counterfactual whistleblowers far enough into the past to undermine your existence. It ... should be a pretty small number. You won't notice the lost measure."
"No one notices," she spat out contemptuously. "Would you do it if it were larger?"
"Am I risking being counterfactually murdered the moment after I were to say Yes?"
"No jury would convict me. Does your answer depend on that answer?"
And then they had sex.