THE door opened silently, and a figure entered the room.

«Good morning, dear! It’s time to wake up. The sun has already risen, and the birds are singing. »

«The Creator», as he referred to himself, turned in displeasure.

«She should have programmed something else. It’s too unrealistic, dry and boring», he thought to himself.

«I made you semolina porridge, as you like, and pancakes with jam. Come on Max, get up and have some milk. »

He had chosen the name «Max» himself, which he found when reading ancient books. This short name was common for many people of the «former» era. It could be interpreted in different ways: «Maxim», «Maximilian», «Maksud». But most importantly, it expressed his inner essence: «Maximum in everything!»

The «mother» left the room, opened the curtains and left a glass of milk on a special pad.

Max reluctantly left the bed and looked at it with displeasure, which gradually disappeared into the wall. «There aren’t even any indentations on the pillow!» he thought.

Looking around the room, he saw nothing special. It was a spacious, white, and circular room without corners, with a window-monitor showing the sunrise. The time system emitted various sounds in parallel with the image. Now, he could hear the sound of birds and know what kind they were.

A wardrobe emerged from the wall and pushed forth a white cylindrical suit.

«Good morning, Creator! It’s Monday and you’re dressing formally. Have a good day!»

«This cleanliness is irritating! It’s necessary that at least something, sometimes, did not have to happen at the right time. Imperfect, unpure», he thought.

No, everything was according to the program. Was he the Creator after all or not?

Having got dressed and washed, Max went down to the «kitchen». Only here, the color scheme and atmosphere differed from other sections. Instead of white, he wanted to see warmer tones. There were furniture, objects and a real smell of food.

Sitting at the table, finishing another culinary wonder of technology, Max thought that this place was the only place where he felt calm and comfortable, like «at home».

However, he did not know what home was like. This happiness, or unhappiness, he had not experienced.

He remembered himself as a baby, being fed and rocked by robot nannies. He learned about human relationships, history, and everyday life, presented in electronic books following certain programs.

Dinner was over, it was time to get up and go to work - or rather, to the laboratory.

This cursed program had become so powerful that it was getting harder to control. He did not take another step, sigh, or minute off the prescribed schedule. «The melancholy is amusing!»

Laboratory. No, it wasn’t like the «old» ones. No flasks, test tubes or books...

In the middle of an empty, white room stood only one object - a comfortable armchair with intricate curves. Their goal was to regularly monitor any mental, psychological and emotional changes in his body. If necessary, correct them.

And Max’s goal...

He did not know himself. As a child surrounded by technology, raised according to certain predefined behavior patterns, he rarely thought about the meaning of life even now.

«This phrase was often used in philosophical books. Maybe I’m getting old too?»

In fact, how old was he?

A good question.

Well... When the 9133rd day of his existence came, he was injected with an anti-aging capsule. By the old standards, he must have been 25 years old. And today he was 372... he did not remember exactly, he needed to clarify the date.

He was quite old, and had begun to think like «the old ones» - what had he managed to do?

Now, sitting in his chair, adjusting the processes on the visual monitor, he looked like himself - the Creator. It was he who had recreated human history, trying to find a suitable star for the «Reincarnation of Earth» program. He restored many cultures, species, animals, birds, sounds, smells and tastes...

It seemed that he was omnipotent, except for one thing - living beings did not turn out to be «alive». No, they functioned according to a given pattern - they were born, ate, slept, grew up and died. But again, according to the program.

Like animated toys!

Moreover, the question of creating human beings like themselves remains unresolved.

Max cannot understand how his parents were able to keep him alive during the End of the World. How did he end up in space and survive? Why can't he create his own kind?

Is everything truly connected to religious beliefs, where only "God" can be the Creator? Is He the only one capable of giving life to a creature, endowing it with intelligence independent of any programs, and guiding it towards Himself? "I don't know what to think. If you believe in God, which one? There are so many of them in the books. Who could give me advice, guide me?" he wondered.

He has created clones, as the "old ones" called them, but he destroyed them. They revealed all his flaws too clearly.

And humanoid robots that could subtly sense the mood. Yes, they looked like humans, had a fever, could even pronounce words and think. But still, they weren't people.

Currently, he is working on creating IT.

Max has read a lot about love and beauty and has long dreamed of finding his love. It's a shame that there is no one to fall in love with. Although there is already someone who is not yet fully ready for life.

"Good afternoon, dear! I've missed you. How did you sleep?", a voice rang out as soon as he opened the doorway behind which she was.

"What should I call it? Eva, as in religious books, or... I'll think about it later", he thought.

He began to examine her. He created her body gradually, cell by cell. I tried to make sure that all the raw materials were identical to natural ones. Unlike other previously programmed versions, she is bleeding and even feels pain. All that remains is to work a little on education, logic, and language, and "it's in the bag!"

Any robot could have completed this task, but he himself enjoyed watching his creation.

Her white, elastic body breathed health without a single defect. Her long black hair fell to her knees and flowed even from her light movement. Thick eyebrows, red lips, regular facial features, a sparkle burning in her eyes...

He didn't notice how he fell asleep. In the dream, Eva was in her home clothes and cooking breakfast for him. Their children were running and frolicking around the table, as perfect as she was, beautiful, correct, and healthy.

It's the youngest's birthday. He brought him a wooden horse, and the tree was real!

Sleepily, he realizes that he once had the same thing.

The kid throws himself on the horse with a squeal, then hugs his father and kisses him on the cheek: "I love you, Dad!"

A pleasant shudder runs through his whole body. The door opens, and his father and mother comes in (he knows this for sure, or rather, feels it!)."Son, we miss you, why don't you come to us more often?" says the mother.

He gets lost, not knowing what to say.

Where should he go? To them? 

Is this just a dream, Max thinks, and looks around the table.

Everyone is happy, joyful, and loved.

Yes, he definitely "feels" it (a strange feeling, unusual!). Probably, it's only when you're loved that you feel so comfortable and calm.

Eva approaches him from behind, straightens his hair and wraps him in a gentle embrace, saying, "I love you, darling!"

At this moment, he realizes that this is exactly what he has been waiting for. Everything else loses its meaning.

The light around him fades, everything seems to dissolve into nothingness, and he gets lost, disappears.

"What is it? Death or bliss?" he asks himself.

The professor, who is watching Max's actions on the monitor, takes off his glasses and addresses his assistants:

"Disconnect him from the power supply. The cycle is over. The experiment has been successfully completed."

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Beshimova Zamira Khamidovna is a renowned Uzbek actress and poet. She is the author of numerous scientific articles and short stories. She currently serves as the editor-in-chief of the international magazine “The Addresses”. 

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