Werewolf is a party game described by its creator as “a game of accusations, lying, bluffing, second-guessing, assassination, and mob hysteria.” Understanding the basics of how it’s played is important to understanding why this game will help your critical thinking skills at work.

A moderator begins by handing players cards that indicate their role: Villager, a Seer, or Werewolf. With all the cards distributed, each player announces his role in the village, and everyone says the same thing: “Hi, I’m MyName, and I’m a Villager.”

Now, some people are lying. There’s a bunch of Werewolves, and they’re not going to admit that, because the Villagers want to kill the Werewolves before they kill us.

The moderator then announces that it’s nighttime, and all the players close their eyes. The two things that Werewolves are afraid of are, obviously, cows and zombies, so all the players make one of the following sounds: “BraAaaaaaaaAaaaains” or “MooOooooooOooooo.”

These sounds are an auditory cover for what really goes on at night when the moderator asks the Werewolves to awaken and pick a Villager to kill. Once the Werewolves have silently selected their victim, they go back to sleep. The moderator then awakes the Seer who points at one player. Via a thumbs up or thumbs down, the moderator confirms for the Seer whether that player is a Werewolf or not. With everyone back to sleep, the moderator then awakens the village and announces who has died.

Then the game begins. The village must collectively choose someone to lynch, whomever they decide is a Werewolf based on whatever meager information they’ve gathered from either the Villager introductions or the previous night’s killing. It’s not much information, but they must kill someone because, each night, each turn, that’s exactly what the Werewolves do, too. And when there are more Werewolves than Villagers, the Werewolves win.

We can’t let the Werewolves win.

I’ve explained the mechanical basics of the game, but I have not explained its beauty. I love Werewolf because it’s a game where you can safely learn how to deal with the worst people you’re going to meet in the most dangerous scenarios possible.

I have a long-standing policy of optimism. It’s my leadoff mindset. I assume that we’re a team working collectively to do the right thing. As a strategy, optimism has served me well, but here’s the bad news:

In your career as either an individual contributor or a manager, you are going to be faced with these unexpectedly shitty situations involving other people with devious agendas. While the HR department is furiously working on cleverly named workshops about conflict management and situational leadership, there’s really no replacement for having someone lie straight to your face and having to figure out what to do next.

This takes us back to a critical part of Werewolf: the accusation phase. In the morning, the Villagers wake up and must select someone to lynch. What’s the process for this? Who leads this process? How is this potential Werewolf selected? While the moderator keeps track of time, it’s the Villagers who organically guide this process.

Invariably someone in the village jumps into the leadership position. They start questioning people and guiding the accusation process. Why are they leading? What’s the motivation? Every word and every movement in this situation has differently perceived meaning. This is, effectively, your boss’s staff meeting, except in this meeting, people die.

When the group has selected a potential victim, the moderator asks the initial accuser why they think this Villager is a Werewolf. The reasoning can vary from “He’s twitchy” to “Well, we have to kill someone.” The victim is given a chance to defend himself against this accusation, which, in the case that he actually is a Werewolf, means he sits there and comfortably lies to the entire room.

This is why I love Werewolf. Where else can you hone some of the sketchiest but most important skills you need in groups of people?

Werewolf is a game, and games are fictionalized simplifications of life designed with a mythology and a rule set that allow you to explore in ways you normally cannot.

In real life, there’s a subtle, detectable flow to how a group of people interact. There are standard roles that people will adopt. There are discernible rules to how people will act. Unfortunately, it’s an impossibly long set of rules because the rules vary as much as each person is different.

In Werewolf, there’s a very small set of rules:

Interwoven within these rules is the actual game, and therein lies the brilliance of a solid game of Werewolf. It’s a crucible of people dynamics, improvisation, and intellectual combat. In just a few short hours of game play, you realistically experience some of the worst possible meeting scenarios you can imagine paired with the agility and amazing motivation to handle these situations because, well, you don’t want to die.

Now, I’m optimistic and, sometimes, realistic. I don’t actually believe someone will deliberately lie under normal circumstances or that they are purely evil. I think there are those who have an agenda that doesn’t align with mine, which gives them incentive to work against my interests. But they’re not just out to screw me; they’re out to succeed...just like me.

In reality, I know most meetings aren’t these high-pressure, survival-of-the-fittest lynchfests. Many meetings are well-structured affairs with hardly a drop of blood spilled. I also know that each time you speak in a meeting is a moment in the spotlight to explain that, yes, you understand what’s going on, you are clear about the fuzzy rules of this particular game, and you’re in it to win.

I suspect Jane is a Werewolf because she’s running the show this round. She’s keeping the spotlight on herself, and that means she’s excited, she’s got a lot of energy, and, I suspect, a thirst for blood. I’m waiting for her to make her way to me, to accuse me, and I know she will.

I’m being quiet. Intentionally. I’m setting a trap because I’ve played with her before, and I know that she believes what I believe:

“We kill the quiet ones because they aren’t helping.”