In London it was Arthur, in Barcelona it was Simon, in New York it was Danny and now in Sydney, Australia it was to be Charlie. The four men that made up the international singing group called Synergy. The four men that would help her realise her dream.

She sighed as she looked at the stranger in the mirror staring back at her. The disguise was necessary, uncomfortable but necessary. She did not want to be recognised or remembered. She wanted to, needed to blend in, so instead of her normal light brown, curly hair framing her face, a wig of long, dark, straight auburn hair cascaded down her back. She squinted a few times trying to adjust the contacts in her eyes that changed them from their natural blue grey to brown. Even the clothes she wore were understated and she had gone as far as to get a spray tan so that she would look more like the Australian female population. Her own pale complexion was a topic of conversation even at home in England, no need to bring undue attention to herself.Soon it would be over, she would have everything she needed and then she could go back home, back to her work, one of the reasons her skin was so pale. Not because she was aware of the sun’s harmful effects on the skin but more to do with the fact that she spent most of her time inside, working or researching.

It was time; she stood near the stage with the rest of the fans waiting for the right moment. She actually felt bad for Arthur for in London on her first attempt she had miscalculated and caused him some distress. She had been afraid that he would remember her but come time for Danny and Simon, Arthur did not notice her. Mind you, her disguises were different each time to gain maximum anonymity. She took in a breath as Charlie reached out to shake her hand. She smiled, looking up into his face as she took his hand with both of hers, for the briefest of moments she saw the surprise shadow his eyes then it was gone. The small sting he had felt had numbed a section of his palm so he could not feel the needle as is sunk into his skin. Charlie began to walk away expecting her to release his hand but she had to hold on for a little longer, she needed enough of his blood to make this work.Just as the concern began to register on his face she let go and smiled almost apologetically, slipping back into the crowd to be forgotten, invisible.

It had taken months of pains taking splicing, separating and reconfiguration of molecules for her to finally have the treasure she so desired. Keeping up the pretense that she was working on some grand plan to cure the world of cancer by re-engineering DNA had been most frustrating, cutting into her precious time, slowing down the most important work she had ever done in her life.Work that had almost backfired on her as she had indeed advanced the research into a treatment for cancer by ten years or more. This meant more attention; the eyes of the scientific world had all been focused on her for a time and she did not like it. Thankfully those that knew her, knew that she worked best alone had finally guided all that attention in someone else's direction and she could continue, uninterrupted.

Holding the two glass vials up to the light she smiled, almost a hundred percent sure that she had done what she set out to do almost three years ago. In her hands, she held the building blocks of a new life, engineered DNA strands that combined would make the perfect man. DNA taken from four individual men that on their own were not perfect but by manipulating and combining their DNA they did indeed make that one perfect specimen of the human male. She looked from one vial to the other knowing the next stage of her experiment could begin. Delivery of the second vial to her sponsor meant delivery of a rather substantial amount of money into her own bank account, the very thing she needed to progress her experiment.

She was not willing to wait, nor could she wait the twenty years it would take to watch her engineering grow from a baby, to a boy, to a man. She was the only one who knew there were two vials, the only one who knew what she was going to do next.Thoughts of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein ran through her mind but she was not creating a monster, she was creating the perfect man, her perfect man. In the midst of her other research she had been working on cloning, no ordinary cloning but cloning that would not entail the waiting, In essence making copies. If you had a black and white five‐year‐old mouse then by cloning you would get a black and white five‐year‐old mouse, no waiting for natural growth to do its thing.

Needing the utmost secrecy to complete the next stage she had taken a leave of absence, many of her co‐workers thinking she was taking a well‐earned break. All she was really doing was moving her work to an isolated property she had bought in the country. The closet village was over four kilometres away and although her neighbour’s property backed up against hers, their house was almost as far as the village. Standing in the centre of a room turned into a lab she took a deep breath and let her gaze rise to the ceiling above her giving herself a moment before starting the work.

Above on the first floor sleeping was a man. She needed a vessel for the DNA and he was to be that vessel. He had been in an accident several months before with no possible chance of regaining consciousness. He had no family and this had made it easy for her to claim him as her own. A few well-placed documents, a few thousand dollars changing hands, all off a sudden he was her brother. He would be the vessel to carry the DNA. Everything he was now or ever had been would be erased by the new DNA, nothing of the original person would remain.

Late in the afternoon the doorbell chimed and with more than a bit if annoyance she went to answer to be confronted by a police officer, smiling but still a police officer. His explanation for being on her doorstep was the ambulance that had transported her ‘brother’. The officer wanted to put to rest any conspiracy theories that the villagers could come up with before they got started. She found the situation rather amusing but confessed to the officer that the truth was all rather boring. She was looking after a sick friend. Bringing him to the country was part of his rehabilitation and once he was well enough to venture outside she was sure he would visit the village. The officer left and she continued with her work.

Her hand hovered over the thin tube that ran from the IV hooked to the pole at his bed and into his arm. As she sent the fluid into his veins, she held her breath, waited, and watched. What happened next she had not expected. As the DNA worked its way into its new home his body began to change, reforming, re‐constructing itself. Her perfect man was starting out as something grotesque. Flesh boiled, bones cracked, muscles, every molecule pulsing with the new life raging to be born into its world. The transformation was complete when the most earth‐shattering scream rose from the body on the bed.

She backed herself into the corner of the room again waiting, watching. He opened his eyes and slowly took in his surroundings, the buzzing in his ears making him squint. He moved his hand to rub his face and found her hand on his arm. She placed his arm back on the bed explaining once she took out the IV he should be more comfortable. As soon as she took it out the buzzing stopped, he looked into her eyes a smiled. “Have I been ill?”

She gasped at the sound of his voice, it was perfect. She played along with the story that he had been ill and asked him what he could remember. She was astounded at the memories he could recall. Places, world events, that fact that he spoke eight languages, played the guitar, the violin, the piano, the foods he liked. He stopped and she could see the worry growing in his eyes. “I don’t remember my name. I remember all this but I don’t remember my name.”

She took is hand again and squeezed telling him his name was Adam, Adam Fuhrst, then asking him what he thought he did for a living.The room was silent for a while then he answered with a smile on his face. I am a linguist."

Perfect.

Over the next several weeks she and Adam spent much time together both at the house and in the village; he was the perfect gentleman to all he met, the perfect host. He was tender and kind, intelligent and thoughtful, romantic but not suffocating. He was everything that she had ever dreamed. Complete strangers would stop in the street just to look at him, his presence so captivating. He was a perfect creation, her perfect creation.

Life was good until one night Adam woke from a dream, a nightmare and he understood fully who he was, who he really was. He looked over at her sleeping so peacefully in the bed beside him and knew what he had to do. Leaning over he kissed her gently on the cheek and left.

The next morning she found him downstairs in the kitchen with a wonderful breakfast all prepared. They chatted and laughed enjoying the morning until she complained that she had a slight headache. Seconds later she passed out and Adam carried her to the bedroom placing her gently on the bed. “I understand why you did what you did so I know you will be the only person who would understand what I have to do.” Adam hooked her up to an IV.

“I am perfect, you made me so perfect.” He paused for a moment. “I to need someone who is perfect. I promise I will find her the same way you found me. You will see and I will make you…………………Perfect………………………”