Brian stared helplessly at the delivery woman. He knew he should say something. He watched her take his money and hoped that his plan would succeed before the university’s redundancy package ran out. He couldn’t understand why they’d overlooked him - he really was a brilliant scientist, just not so keen to do the presentations and chatting-up of sponsors that the university wanted.

“Lovely weather.” He finally said to her retreating rear. There was no reply. Brian took his pizza inside and went to check on his creation.

Brian occupied a small pocket of the lounge, his bed and wardrobe stuffed into one corner while the rest of the house was given over completely to his work. He opened the door to where the creation had lain in a suspension tank for the past few weeks, developing skin and filling its mainframe with facts. Brian hadn’t dared look during this delicate process, but according to his calculations, everything should be ready. It had better be, he fretted, because the studio was expecting it tomorrow.

To his surprise, his creation was out of the tank and was sitting dripping pools of enzyme-rich ooze onto the linoleum while it leafed through a copy of Hello! It looked up and met his startled gaze calmly. Brian supposed that he should refer to his creation as “he” and by some name rather than “it.”

He studied his handiwork: the flawless skin, the bland, but not unpleasant face, the thick dark hair (that was in reality a cunning polymer) and decided that the creation was perfect. “I think I’ll call you Adam.” Brian said with an air of deep gravity.

The creation wrinkled his nose. “I like the name Matt.”

“OK.” Brian demurred, “Whatever you want.” The creation shrugged and continued to read the magazine. Brian felt he’d been dismissed so left and went to eat his pizza.

The creation’s day of glory had arrived. ‘Matt’ protested at the brown checked shirt and corduroys that Brian gave him, but after he’d established that was as good as Brian’s wardrobe got, Matt put them on.

Brian thrust a letter into Matt’s hands that had all the instructions for the day and said, “This is where you must go, the people there will keep you right. I’ve called a cab for you.”

“Are you coming too?”

“No.”

“OK.” Matt shrugged and left the house.

The waiting was excruciating, but finally the show started. Lights flashed and the pompous theme tune warbled as the presenter arrived. Brian sweated all over as the contestants were introduced. He feared that someone would find out that Matt was an impostor, or worse, that he wasn’t even human. Of course, this was all academic if Matt didn’t make it through the first round.

Matt had the advantage that he wouldn’t be fazed by the studio conditions, along with lighting reflexes and super-fast processors but Brian still worried that something would go wrong.

It didn’t. The fanfare blared and announced that Matt was through to the main part of the game. Brian chewed his fingernails as Matt ascended the podium and calmly took the Hot Seat.

“It says here that you’re a bit of an inventor, what sort of things do you invent?”

“I’m working on a left-handed screwdriver at the moment, Chris.”

The audience and the presenter laughed. Brian sat at home aghast.

“Welcome to the show, Brian and good luck. Let’s play ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire!”

The first few questions went smoothly, but Brian fretted that if Matt kept answering each question so effortlessly that someone might grow suspicious. He needn’t have doubted. For weeks he’d looped recordings of all three-hundred-and-seventy-two shows directly into Matt’s memory and he seemed to understand the format of the game. He reached the five-hundred-thousand pound question and the atmosphere was suitably tense. Matt had used two of his lifelines and the audience were completely on his side.

With due anxiety and a well-placed commercial break, Matt scooped the million pound prize. The quizmaster was delighted, the audience cheered and glitter cascaded from the roof.

“Amazing! You took the top prize with one of your lifelines intact! Tell me, why didn’t you choose to phone-a-friend on that last question?”

“He wouldn’t have known the answer.” Matt smiled and accepted the cheque.

“So, what are you going to do with all that money, Brian?”

“Buy some new clothes.”

Brian was ecstatic. He’d pulled it off! He’d created the perfect artificial contestant to take his place on the country’s most prominent game show. He now had a cheque for a million pounds, in his name that would fund the world-changing project he had sitting on his drawing board. Nobody had been interested, but he hoped that if he could build a prototype then he might get some recognition.

Matt returned two days later, looking like he’d been partying the whole time. Brian wanted to give him a hard time, but couldn’t.

“If any mail comes for me, then please forward it to this address.”

Brian was confused. “You’re moving out? But, you can’t…”

“Why not? You can have the prize money, I don’t need it. One of my friends has lined me up with a job presenting a new quiz show.”

“Er, congratulations.” Brian stared helplessly at his creation, wondering how an object that had only been sentient for a few days could suddenly have connections, fun and a career in television.

“The limo’s waiting, I have to go.”

“Wait!” He cried as Matt started to leave. “You don’t have to leave, you could still live here, if you want.”

Matt shook his head, “Sorry, pal, but you’d only cramp my style. If you want to get ahead, you’ve got to take charge of your own destiny. At the very least, you should try to get out more.”

The creation regarded him despairingly and left. Brian, despondent, went to phone for a pizza.

* AUTHOR’S NOTE: Artistic license was taken with the format of That Game Show. I know it is recorded in advance, but for the sakes of this story I had it showing live so that the scene didn’t have to wait for the cheque to arrive ;)