The Dicer

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'Back of Bechtel'. What was at the back of Bechtel? I looked out of my window at the cubicles. No one was working this late, and if they were, they would be in their offices. I decided to check it out. I walked with strong strides out of my office and past cubicles. Toward the emergency back door. As I got closer, I could hear murmurs from the other side. Above all the talking was Jerry Rolf's gruff voice.

I bumped the red back door a tad and held it there. I watched them through the slit, simply praying that they couldn't see me. The whole gang of tradies were there from what I could tell. They were under a warm streetlight. They had ditched their hi vis vests for stealth artificial armor. Their whole bodies were covered in rough alloy that made them look like futuristic robots. They had assault rifles that they were loading up. Jerry was leaning on a company van (painted black) talking with someone. Jerry, and everyone else, had menacing face helmets that had two white dots to follow their eyes. I needed to tell someone about this. But I listened in to get more information.

"That Italian restaurant will be begging Gordon Ramsay to save them after we're through with them," Jerry said. He turned the safety off on the gun with a sharp click. "Let's move out!" He slid the van's side door open. They were going to kill the people at the Italian restaurant. But why? Before the crew could enter the van, a silhouette eclipsed the streetlight's dimness. The shadow of a man. I couldn't see him because he was on the other side of the door. He just stood there. I closed the door, since the stealth team were looking in my direction now.

"Who the fuck are you meant to be?" Jerry said. He didn't say anything. I heard an abrupt swish close to the door and an impact further away. It made a flesh impaling sound as Jerry screamed in pain. The crew fired their guns and more unseeable violence ensued. I didn't know if the man or the team was winning. I backed away from the door and ran to get help. I was about to call for help when I reached the row of offices, but realised my shirt pocket was empty. Barry's Monopoly dice was missing from it.

I retraced my steps to the back door. The door was open a smidgen. My dice was wedged between and keeping it from closing. What were the chances? I crouched down and entered the doorway from the side. But I couldn't resist looking at the aftermath of the battle outside. I sneaked a peek through the slit. The man stood under the streetlight, a fire crackling before him. The van was burning, the tradies no longer in sight. But there were diced pieces of their flesh in puddles of blood. The man had a helmet on his head. A cube - it looked like. With dots like a dice would have. In that moment, he must have sensed me and spun his head to me.

I slipped the dice out of the wedge and closed the back door, sprinting away. Then he called my name, muffled by the door and distance to it.

"Anton!" How did he know my name? I turned around as he stood in the red doorway, his dice head superimposed in the contrast of warm light and cold dark. Then he reluctantly took his helmet off. Under the heavy facade was someone I never knew I would see again. It was Barry.

"Hey there buddy," Barry greeted. I walked up to him unsure of what to say. There was no talking that was necessary. Only a friendly hug. "Missed you too buddy." It didn't feel like he was there. But he was.

"How are you alive?" I asked.

"I tried to take a secret holiday. Then the company sent people after me. I barely got away with my life. Then I did some research on Bechtel. Did you know it was owned by Rupert Murdoch?" I balked at such an idea.

"The guy who owns Fox News? What would he want with a construction company?"

"The same thing he did with Fox News," Barry said. "Make it big. Globalise. Franchise. And a media mogul like him is going to get what he wants using any means."

"Jerry and the boys..."

"They get paid for two jobs. Their construction job and their assassinations at night to make their construction jobs easier." It made sense. They were all dropouts living in impecunious situations. Easily manipulated by the like.

"You gave me the coded note," I realised. "But why did you code it?"

"I thought you would know it was me," Barry acknowledged. "The thing is, I need your help. I wanted you to see this because this is just the first level. This was to get Rupert Murdoch's attention."

"Then what's the next step?" I questioned, implying that I was onboard. Barry smiled gladly.

The next step involved hacking into the accounts of many of my superiors including Rupert Murdoch. We planned it out in my office through the night. No one realised that Barry was back. This was the plan. Barry ignited a protest against Bechtel by posting on their social media pages that Bechtel was a front for a criminal enterprise. This protest started early the next morning while I was in my office. Barry had gone down to the protestors to lead them. Bechtel Headquarters was a two story building. I had to wait safely in my office until the protestors breached the building. Crowd control forces reached Bechtel with a riot-shield barrier. It did not hold the brutal rioters from entering the building. They wrecked the building and spray-painted everywhere. Everyone left the building in a panic. But not me. I had to reach the server room which was behind my boss's office. The whole reason of this protest was for my boss to evacuate the building. My office was on the second floor. I had to make my way down to the first floor.

Barry called me on my phone.

You ready? A protestor will have left a package in the cubicle closest to the elevator. Don't use the elevator - take the stairs. You'll be in full sight of the media if you take the elevator. Avoid the protestors. They're a bit vicious. Good luck.