Ethan once thought he really had become just another wage slave—until the day he realized this bland "happiness" was faker than any nightmare.
It was "Family Day." The company required employees to bring relatives, showing off their perfect "work-life balance." Against his will, Ethan went along.
That evening, he saw his mother waiting in the lobby.
She wore her old clothes, smiling kindly. But when she spoke, her voice was the copy-paste tone of an ad:"Ethan, you've worked hard. Work is the meaning of life."
His chest tightened. Her eyes shone too brightly, like LED bulbs flickering. Her hand reached for his head, but trembled like a faulty projection.
This wasn't his mother. This was an illusion.
Then came more absurdities.
"Ethan!" His colleague Xiao Li dragged over a child. "This is my son—three years old, already recites the Core Socialist Values!"
The boy raised his head, a perfect smile carved on his face, eyes like glass marbles with no light. His mouth moved, voice monotone:"Patriotism, dedication, integrity, friendship."
Applause erupted. The scene was nauseatingly wholesome.
Ethan remembered the death labyrinth, where illusion-beasts took familiar forms to lull you into forgetting hell. The difference was: here, the illusions didn't even bother with effort. They slapped a generic "happy family" template on everyone.
That night, the company hosted a "Happiness Banquet." Tables overflowed with glowing steak, wine, seafood. But when Ethan cut his steak, the blood that oozed was black ink.
Around him, colleagues feasted, ink dripping from their lips as they smiled like billboard models, oblivious.
"Why aren't you eating, Ethan?" his supervisor raised a glass. "We have happy jobs, stable families, respectable lives. Isn't this what you always wanted?"
That instant, Ethan knew the truth.
—There were no colleagues, no family. Only illusions woven by the void.
No blades, no gore. The void enslaved with counterfeit happiness—until you gladly rotted in a cubicle, forgetting who you were.
Ethan laughed, sharp and echoing.
"You lot act worse than the monsters. At least they tried to scare me. You can't even bother. Just replaying a bad soap opera."
The illusions froze. Every smile stiffened like puppets mid-scene. Then, in eerie unison, they turned to stare.
Lights flickered. Paint peeled from the walls, revealing black cracks of nothingness. The "Will of the Void" whispered through the air:
"Reject happiness, and you choose suffering."
Ethan downed the inky wine, throat burning like fire. He laughed harder.
"At least suffering is real. Your happiness is faker than death."
He smashed the glass. Fragments scattered, illusions shattered like mirrors. His mother dissolved into smoke. The child's face went blank. The banquet hall collapsed into abyss.
Only Ethan remained on the edge of the void, laughter quivering in his throat.
So-called "ordinary happiness" was the void's most exquisite trap.
He had torn the sugar coating away, exposing the rot beneath.
Happiness was illusion. The void was real.