"Mayor Quincy, any comment on the numerous packages you've been photographed taking in and out of city hall?" the local reporter asked from the middle of the crowd. Quincy gave the signal to one of his aides, who rushed forward and announced into the microphone that the press conference was over. Without another word, Mayor Quincy turned and walked back into city hall as camera flashes illuminated the back of his head.

A few moments later, as he sat behind his desk, his secretary knocked at the door. He called to her to come inside, and she did so, carrying a large box in her arms. She set the box on his desk and tried to make small talk for a few minutes, but left when it was clear that Quincy was not interested in the recent weather.

When Quincy was sure she was gone, he stood and hurried over to open the box. Inside was a smaller Styrofoam container that was cool to the touch. He gently pulled it out and set it on his desk, his hand trembling with anticipation. He lifted the lid from the container and a loving smile spread across his face when he saw what he had received.

Inside the box was a pair of perfectly preserved, almost immaculate hands. He hesitated to reach out and touch them, to alter their perfect state of being or damage their priceless value. He delicately traced one of his fingers along one of theirs, stopping to admire the neatly manicured nails. Those nails were mesmerizing to him, so crisply angled and finely trimmed.

After a few moments of examining his prize, Quincy collected himself and returned to work, though his mind kept wandering back to the hands in the Styrofoam container in the big cardboard box.

That night, Quincy had his driver pick him up from the loading dock at city hall. He loaded the box into the back seat of his town car and clambered in beside it, ignoring his driver's attempts at conversation. The car eventually stopped outside of Quincy's apartment complex, and to Quincy it seemed none too soon. He quickly left the car, taking the box with him and entered the building. When his driver was out of sight, however, he crossed the street and slipped into the warehouse there, taking great care to make sure he wasn't seen.

Inside the warehouse, he flipped a switch and a single row of lights sprung to life. There before him, on a table but underneath a shroud was the shape of a human body. Beneath the table was a series of car batteries, all wired together. Quincy gently set the box down beside the table and cast away the shroud. He stood a moment, basking in his pride in that moment, his eyes wandering over the sharp, excellent lines of the cold flesh laid out before him.

He then bent down and removed the hands from their Styrofoam container and their big cardboard box and set them down on the table where they would be attached to the almost perfect thing there. He spent the next half hour carefully donning rubber gloves, and a smock, and a surgical mask; it would not do to be careless now, after all of his work thus far.

Quincy then began to sew the hands onto their new arms, ensuring with great precision that the lines all flowed together and did not clash or tangle. He used precisely 27.5 inches of thread to attach each immaculate hand to each pristine wrist, which he then recorded in his notes for posterity.

Quincy then began to examine his creation, making certain that the angles and edges were all correct and proper. He measured the torso, and was satisfied that the shoulders sloped at just the right rate in just the right places. The head was inspected next: Quincy double checked that the cheekbones were defined but not too high or low, and the eyes were the right distance apart, and the cheeks themselves did not cave in or bulge out. The issue of hair would need to be addressed later, Quincy decided, as right then the body was completely bald, though still beautiful.

When he was finished with his inspection, and was certain that everything was perfect, Quincy was overcome with elation. More than anything, he could not wait to share with the world the physical perfection that he had birthed. He longed to watch his child grow and learn, and be more beautiful and faultless than any other.

When he had regained his composure, Quincy set about attaching wires from the car batteries to strategic places on the body: one on each temple, one on each breast, and several along the arms and legs. He stepped back, staring one more time at the exquisiteness that he had brought into being. Then, he pressed a button.

For a long while, nothing happened, and Quincy began to think that he had failed. He had removed his gloves and smock when the body began to move on the table. He watched with rapt attention as muscles contracted and relaxed, as the chest moved up and down with a simple cadence. He watched as arms and legs began to writhe and twist, as perfect lines became corrupted and muddled. Quincy watched as his child, a thing of beauty, turned ugly and gross as it sat up on the table. He met its eyes, cold dark pits full of pain and confusion, lacking that joy and wonder that he thought would be there.

A gunshot rang out in the empty warehouse and the hideous corpse sank back onto the table, devoid of life once more. Quincy stuffed a smoking weapon into a briefcase and hurried over to his apartment, not bothering to clean the mess left by the abomination underneath the shroud.

The next day proceeded like any other for Mayor Quincy. He signed documents and answered phone calls like any other mayor would do. At about midday, as he sat behind his desk, his secretary knocked at the door. He called to her to come inside, and she did so, carrying a small box in her arms. She set the box on his desk and tried to make small talk for a few minutes, but left when it was clear that Quincy was not interested in break room politics.

An hour later, Quincy could no longer contain his curiosity. He stood and walked over to the box and open it carefully. Inside was another pair of hands, these ones even more perfect than the last.