AUDIOBOOK | The Perfect Machine and the Empty Man. (Story in English)

The perfect machine and the empty man

Jenner stood at the edge of the hill, his back straight, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. The cold wind blew through his thinning hair, but he barely noticed. Before him, thick white smoke danced in heavy clouds above the factory grounds. It was a monstrous place, a labyrinth of metal and concrete that seemed to exhale endlessly. Jenner regarded it, not with fear or reverence, but with a kind of weary disdain. Everything in his life had ultimately been disappointing — including the world around him.

His friends, his colleagues, even his family — to him, they all seemed gray and shallow. Jenner was different. He had known it from a young age. While other children played with toy cars, he was designing machines. Machines that could fly, that could repair themselves. By twelve, he had built a computer smarter than his teachers. By eighteen, he had developed a mathematical theory so complex that even the most renowned professors could barely grasp it. They called him a genius. But Jenner didn’t feel like a genius. He felt… alone.

The smoke before him seemed to call to him. It had a magnetic quality. Jenner knew it wasn’t just smoke. There was something about that factory, something that had drawn him here. He hadn’t needed an invitation or an assignment. He was here because his instincts told him to be. Jenner always followed his instincts. They were the only thing he truly trusted.

As he slowly descended the hill and approached the factory, he felt the air grow heavier. Each step left a trail in the damp grass. The smoke wasn’t merely pollution; he was certain of it. It smelled of metal, of burning plastic, but there was something else — a sweet scent he couldn’t place. He stopped and looked down at his shoes, now covered in a thin layer of ash.

“What are you looking for, Jenner?” he whispered to himself.

He had no answer. He was always searching for something, though he never knew what. The only thing he was sure of was that he would never be satisfied.

Jenner remembered the first time he had truly disappointed someone. It had been his mother. Tears in her eyes, she had told him his father had left them. Jenner had been eight, and instead of feeling sad, he had asked questions. “Why did he leave? What did he feel? Was it a logical decision?” His mother couldn’t bear his calm, analytical tone and had shouted, “Why don’t you feel anything? Why are you so cold?”

He hadn’t known how to respond. Even now, decades later, he still didn’t understand. Emotions were… inefficient, he thought. They got in the way of solutions. And Jenner was a man of solutions. But in his pursuit of perfection, he had cut himself off from everything that made him human.

The factory appeared abandoned, but Jenner knew better. He walked on, toward a large gate with a sign that read: “No Entry — Danger to Life.” A faint smile crossed his lips. Danger had never deterred him. He lifted the gate and slipped underneath.

Inside, the factory was silent except for a constant hum that seemed to pulse through the walls. Jenner looked around. Machines stood in long rows, some rusting, others still moving. But what caught his attention was the smoke. It didn’t seem to rise from chimneys; it seemed to have a purpose. It moved, like a living thing, through the halls and rooms.

“It’s alive,” he murmured. He knew it was impossible, yet it felt true.

Jenner followed the smoke as it guided him through the corridors. He needed no map. Something deep within him knew exactly where to go. After what felt like an eternity, he reached a massive steel door. Stamped across it in large letters were the words: “Project Omega.”

His heart began to race. For the first time in years, he felt excitement. Jenner pushed the door open, and what he saw left him momentarily speechless.

At the center of the room stood a massive machine. It was no ordinary machine — it seemed to be some hybrid of biology and technology. Metal tubes coiled like veins over a central core that pulsed with a soft blue light. And from the machine came the smoke.

Jenner walked slowly forward. His eyes glinted as he studied the structure. This was… perfection. A masterpiece. A genius had built this, that much was clear. But who? And why?

Just as he moved closer, he heard a voice behind him. It was calm but commanding.

“You’ve come.”

Jenner turned to see a man in a dark coat. The man looked at him with a gaze both curious and intense.

“Who are you?” Jenner asked.

The man smiled. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re the only one who can understand this. This machine. This project. You are… like me.”

Jenner frowned. “Like you? You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, but I do,” the man said. “I know you better than you know yourself. You’re always dissatisfied, always searching, always alone. Everything you touch feels like it falls short. Isn’t that true?”

Jenner felt a surge of anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“But I do,” the man replied calmly. “And that’s why you’re here. Because this machine — what it does, what it can do — it can end your search. It can make everything perfect. Including you.”

Jenner looked at the machine. He felt drawn to its core as though it were calling to him. But he also felt fear. What did the man mean?

The man stepped closer to the machine, placing his hand on its core. “This is more than technology. It’s a revolution. It can rewrite thoughts, change realities. It can make you feel things you’ve never felt. It can fill the void.”

Jenner stared at him. “What do you want from me?”

“I want nothing,” the man said. “The choice is yours. Connect to the machine. Let it transform you. Or walk away and live in the shadow of your own genius.”

Jenner’s breathing quickened. Every part of him wanted to understand what this machine was. But deep down, he also felt something else — a faint, weak voice warning him. What if it was a trap? What if he… lost himself?

He looked at the man, who gazed back at him calmly, as if he already knew what Jenner would choose.

“Why should I trust you?” Jenner asked.

“You shouldn’t,” the man said simply. “But ask yourself: can you go on as you are? Can you keep living in the smoke?”

Jenner closed his eyes. The smoke now enveloped him completely. He knew he had to make a choice. But what would he choose?

Jenner stood motionless, the man’s words echoing in his mind. The machine pulsed gently, as if reassuring him, as if whispering that everything would improve if he surrendered to it. But Jenner had never trusted anyone or anything other than his own intellect. Yet this felt different. This wasn’t just a decision; it felt like the crossroads of his entire existence. Everything he had ever done, every thought he had ever had, had led him to this moment.

He took a step forward, closer to the machine’s core. The light seemed to brighten, as if it recognized his presence. Jenner felt a tingling in his fingertips, a strange, magnetic energy urging him onward. But he turned back to the man. “And if I say no? What happens then?”

The man remained calm, his posture unchanging. “Then you turn around, Jenner. You leave this factory, this machine, and return to a life of dissatisfaction. You know what you’ll find there: the same emptiness that brought you here.”

Jenner’s breathing quickened. The words were sharp and direct, yet painfully accurate. He knew the man was right. How many times had he tried to find meaning? How often had he convinced himself that there was more, that he was simply on the wrong path? Yet all he ever found was disappointment — in others, in the world, and, most of all, in himself.

“But what are you?” Jenner’s voice wavered. “You say I have a choice, but why won’t you let me just leave? Why do you want this from me?”

The man smiled faintly. “I’m nothing more than a guide, Jenner. A shadow in your story. What you do here has nothing to do with me. It’s about you, and only you. But understand this: whatever you choose, it will change everything. Even not choosing is a choice.”

Jenner felt the ground beneath him grow firmer, as if the factory itself had become heavier with his presence. He looked again at the machine. The light emanating from it seemed to read his thoughts. Images flashed through his mind — his mother, leaving him crying in his bedroom. His former colleagues, admiring yet distant. The long nights alone at his desk, knowing no one fully understood his ideas. And then that one thought, the one he always tried to suppress: What if I don’t need the world? What if I simply stopped existing?

His hand reached out, almost instinctively. He could feel the warmth of the core, a heartbeat synchronized with his own. He quickly pulled his hand back. “What does it do?” Jenner’s voice nearly cracked. “If I touch it, what happens?”

The man stepped aside, as if to give him a clearer view of the machine. “It fills the void. It makes you... whole. Everything you lack, everything you seek, becomes reality. But,” he paused, “it will change you.”

“How?” Jenner’s eyes narrowed. “What will it change?”

“That, I can’t predict,” the man said quietly. “Maybe it will make you perfect, just as you’ve always wanted. Maybe it will destroy you. But that’s not for me to decide. That’s up to you.”

Jenner stared at the machine. For the first time in his life, he felt genuine fear. Not of the machine, not of the man, but of himself. Because deep down, he knew he wanted it. He wanted to know what lay beyond the smoke. He wanted to know if he could truly be better, if he could finally grasp that elusive sense of fulfillment. But another part of him screamed to run, to leave, to realize that this wasn’t the solution.

He closed his eyes. The sound of his own breathing filled the room. And then, without further thought, he placed his hand on the core.

The warmth became immediate and intense. Jenner felt a surge of energy coursing through his body, as if he were being swallowed by an invisible force. His eyes flew open, but all he saw was light. The man was gone. The factory vanished. Everything melted into a white, endless universe.

His thoughts began to fade. He felt no weight, no hunger, no thirst. He felt… perfection. But it was strange. It was empty. Jenner tried to grab hold of something, a thought, a memory, anything that could bring him back to who he was. But it slipped through his fingers. The machine had him. It was remaking him.

“Jenner,” a voice whispered, soft and familiar. It sounded like his own voice, yet not quite. “You are more than you were. Let go. Let it all go.”

Jenner wanted to protest, but he had no words. He felt his body dissolving into the light, his mind stripped of every imperfection, every doubt, every pain. And then… nothing.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the factory. The smoke was gone. The machine stood silent, its core dim and lifeless. Jenner looked at his hands. They looked the same but felt… different. He took a breath. For the first time, he felt no emptiness. No doubts. No loneliness.

The man stood across from him, the same calm look in his eyes. “Well? What do you feel?”

Jenner thought for a moment. He felt no euphoria, no sadness, no anger. Only… peace. “I feel nothing,” he said finally.

The man nodded. “That’s the point.”

Jenner looked at the machine. He knew he should leave, but something held him there. Was this what he had always wanted? The absence of all those emotions, all those contradictions that had always tormented him? Or was it something else?

He turned and walked out of the factory without another word. As he climbed the hill, he noticed the world seemed quieter, calmer. Jenner took a deep breath. Everything he had ever wanted, he now had — and yet a faint, thin feeling lingered, like a shadow in his perfection.

A voice whispered deep in his thoughts: What did you give up to achieve this?

Jenner kept walking, leaving the smoke behind. But deep down, he knew it would never truly leave him.

Jenner walked on, his steps heavy yet soundless in the damp grass. The air felt clearer, free of the smoke that had once clung to the landscape like a suffocating shroud. It was almost serene, as if the world had cleansed itself. Jenner tried to organize his thoughts, but there were no thoughts. No chaos, no questions. Just a foreboding emptiness.

He stopped and turned back to the factory, now a silent, monolithic shadow against the horizon. The smoke was gone. Even the hum of the machines had ceased. It was as though the factory no longer existed—or perhaps it had never truly existed at all. Jenner frowned. That feeling, that vaguely familiar sensation, crept into his chest: doubt. Yet he couldn’t hold onto it. His mind, once sharp and turbulent, now felt flat, calm, like an undisturbed pond.

He raised his hand and examined his fingers. They looked the same as always, yet they felt different. As if they weren’t entirely his. His breathing quickened, a reflex of his body, though even that felt distant. He pressed his hand to his chest, searching for his heartbeat. It was still there, but it felt strange, disconnected, as though it no longer followed his own rhythm.

Then he heard a voice. Not from outside, but from within.

"Are you satisfied?"

Jenner’s eyes widened, and he spun around. No one was there. The field was empty. Just him, the silent factory, and the infinite expanse of the horizon.

"Are you satisfied?" the voice repeated, calm and unhurried.

“Who… who’s there?” Jenner’s voice cracked, hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

"It doesn’t matter who I am. The only thing that matters is what you feel now."

“I feel nothing,” Jenner said almost automatically. But as soon as he uttered the words, a jolt of something unfamiliar shot through his chest. It wasn’t an emotion he recognized. It was new, unnameable. And it terrified him.

"Exactly," the voice replied. "And isn’t that what you wanted? A life without pain, without disappointment, without the constant turmoil?"

Jenner was silent. The voice sounded as though it came from within him, as if he were speaking to his own shadow. “I thought so,” he said finally. “I thought… it would be better.”

"And is it?"

Jenner looked again at his hands, at the world around him. Everything seemed quieter, clearer, simpler. But that quiet didn’t feel liberating. It felt like a cage.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “It feels empty.”

"That’s because it is," the voice said. "Perfection is emptiness. Without the clutter of emotions, desires, and mistakes, only emptiness remains. Isn’t that what you sought, Jenner?"

Jenner dropped to his knees and let his head hang. For the first time, he felt the edges of a thought he couldn’t grasp. Had he really wanted this? Or had he simply not known what else to want? His entire life, he had chased something indefinable, and now that he had found it, it felt… inhuman.

The voice went silent. Jenner was alone with himself and the world, still and perfect, as if it no longer mirrored his inner chaos. He didn’t know how long he sat there; time seemed to have lost all meaning.

Eventually, he rose and began walking again. His steps were slow, almost mechanical. The hill he had stood on earlier now felt like a border between two worlds. He looked to the horizon, where the sky blurred into a gray-blue haze. Everything around him was so… still.

A faint sound caught his attention. It was nearly imperceptible, a soft, rhythmic ticking. Jenner stopped and listened. The sound came from somewhere far off, perhaps from the forest at the edge of the field. Without thinking, he began to move toward it, his feet guiding him automatically.

The ticking grew louder as he approached, and soon he saw a silhouette. It was a woman, seated on a fallen tree trunk, a small object in her hands. She appeared to be fixing something. Jenner stopped a few paces away, uncertain of what to do.

The woman looked up, as though sensing his presence. Her eyes met his, and she smiled. “Ah, there you are.”

Jenner frowned. “Do you know me?”

She nodded, as if the question were unnecessary. “Everyone knows you, Jenner. You’re the man who touched the machine.”

He wanted to ask what she meant, but her gaze held him back. She didn’t seem surprised, or afraid, only… curious. “And?” she asked. “How does it feel?”

Jenner swallowed hard. “It feels… empty.”

The woman chuckled softly, as though she had expected this answer. “It always does. That’s the only thing that machine can give you. Emptiness.”

Jenner felt a surge of frustration rise within him, though even that felt muted. “What do you know about the machine?” he asked sharply.

“More than you, apparently.” She stood, holding her tools, and walked toward him. “The machine wasn’t made to make you better, Jenner. It was made to strip away everything that makes you human.”

“Why?” Jenner’s voice trembled. “Why does it exist, then?”

She looked at him, her expression suddenly serious. “Because people like you always think perfection is the answer. But perfection is emptiness. And emptiness is… nothing.”

Jenner’s throat felt dry. “Can I undo it?”

The woman paused, as if considering her response. Then she said, “Maybe. But you’ll have to find something stronger than what you’ve lost. Something that can fill the emptiness.”

Jenner stared at her, a new thought slowly forming in his mind. Perhaps this was his chance—not to find perfection, but to learn what it meant to be imperfect. Perhaps he needed to stop searching for answers and start living in the questions.

He nodded slowly. “And how do I find that?”

The woman smiled again. “That, Jenner, is up to you.”

With those words, she turned and disappeared into the trees, the sound of her ticking tools fading into the distance. Jenner stood alone, but this time it felt different. The emptiness was still there, but there was also a faint glimmer — small, almost imperceptible — of something that felt like hope.

Slowly, he turned and walked back toward the hill, back to a world that was still silent, but now held a question within it: What does it mean to be human? For the first time, Jenner realized he might not need the answer. Perhaps the search itself was enough.

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