Illusion Report

Mai Mingle grew up in a family of modest means.

She was the child of an immigrant family from the early 20th century. Her parents had escaped famine and war, and they believed any expense beyond food and clothing was a waste of money. To them, wasting money was the greatest cardinal sin.

For the first ten years of her life, she never received a single Christmas gift. The first time she ever played a board game was in the fifth grade, when she visited a classmate’s house and their parents brought one out.

Her classmate’s house had a small cabinet filled with games Mai Mingle had never played: Scrabble, The Game of Life, Connect Four... and Monopoly.

How could she ever forget Monopoly? The game wasn’t nearly as elaborate back in the fifties as it would later become. But the first time she placed her little wooden token on the square marked "Start," she felt she would remember that moment for the rest of her life.

And Mai Mingle did remember it for the rest of her life.

On a Monopoly board, how do you find the starting square?

The answer to that question is laughably obvious: the starting square is the one marked "Start."

Similarly, she suddenly realized her stall seemed to be a starting point, and for a very simple reason:

This is where the fun begins

Of the three stalls, only this one had an ad posted, with that very sentence written plainly on it.

The "fun" part was obviously bullshit; no one who came here was going to have any fun. But fun or not, once she stopped treating it as an empty advertising slogan, it seemed to take on a clear directional meaning.

If this stall was the starting point, the third line of ad copy was much easier to understand.

"At life’s treasured moments, make the right choice" — wasn’t this just telling Mai Mingle to choose a path?

This also fit her current situation: on the surface, it seemed she could exit from either the left or the right.

The question was, how was she to decide which way to go?

Both directions looked deeply unsettling, like dead ends.

Assuming the Nest wasn’t just deliberately tormenting her, if one direction was a path to survival, then the clues to figure it out had to be in this ad right in front of her.

The two female models in the ad were each bathed in a differently colored light. The light source was clearly on Mai Mingle’s side, yet the lamps of the corresponding colors were far behind the models...

Her gaze returned to the first line of ad copy.

Multiple Images, Embrace Possibility

Mai Mingle suddenly slapped her forehead. A crisp SMACK echoed through the deathly silent toilet stall, with its three pairs of feet lined up side-by-side.

’Wasn’t it the word "image" that just made me think of mirrors? Why didn’t I keep following that line of thought?’

’The light source is clearly over here with me, but the lamps of the corresponding colors are behind the two models... doesn’t that mean there’s a mirror next to them?’

’No, that’s not right. If it’s a mirror, why don’t the models have reflections...?’

For this question, the fourth line of copy might be a hint, but Mai Mingle didn’t quite understand it.

Disclaimer: Image has been digitally altered. Please assess risks carefully.

’This is so unfair. If this sentence is a hint, it should be in language even an old person can understand—oh, right. There probably aren’t any other old people in the Nest.’

’Sigh, that’s not fair either. It’s not like I *chose* to fall behind the times.’

’In any case, the gist of it is that the photo has been processed somehow, making it different from reality, and that’s why it’s telling people to be careful and spot the difference, right?’

’Is there really a technology that can just naturally erase parts of a photo? That’s pretty incredible.’

’Assuming such a technology exists... if there’s a mirror next to them, then the reflection of the model showing her full face should be her profile.’

’Since her full face is what’s left, then the reflection in the mirror must be what was erased.’

’So what’s the deal with the "third wine glass"?’

"Toasting" or "drinking alone" was the only difference between the two models in the adjacent stalls.

Mai Mingle’s gaze darted back and forth several times between the advertising copy, the first line "Multiple Images, Embrace Possibility," and the fourth line, the disclaimer.

After thinking hard for a moment, she took a deep breath and stood up.

"It’s all right," she murmured to herself as she began to climb onto the toilet. "It’s all right. You’ve thought it through as much as you can; there’s nothing more to figure out. Even if you just close your eyes and pick a side at random, there’s still a fifty percent chance of being right... Don’t be afraid. You’ve weathered much worse storms in your life, haven’t you?"

As she got older, she lived alone, and the house grew more desolate and empty day by day.

Mai Mingle gradually fell into a habit. Sometimes she would ask the pot in her kitchen what it felt like eating that day. Sometimes she would sing herself a song. And sometimes, she would urge herself to be more forgiving—’so what if I misread the price? Doesn’t everyone make mistakes?’

Muttering a few words to herself always helped to settle her nerves.

No matter how strange and bizarre the Nest was, it still had to follow logic—even if it was its own logic.

Just like before, Mai Mingle stepped on the platform and climbed onto the partition wall.

The female model’s face, its smile frozen, also turned little by little as she climbed over the partition and stepped onto the platform on the other side.

With the wine glass in its hand still stretched far forward, the model’s face had already slid halfway around from its shoulder. It was as if its neck were a stick of melting butter, unable to support the weight. The face quickly slid around until it was hovering above the model’s back.

The model was very close now, so close that it only needed to bend its arms backward to grab Mai Mingle.

Mai Mingle had one foot on the platform and one leg still draped over the partition wall. Even though she prided herself on being level-headed, she couldn’t help but feel a prickle of fear.