Albert Thornwell struggled to fit the tiny pieces together.

"I'm getting old", he thought wearily to himself. The constant concentration needed for this job tired Albert out, but, according to Albert, it was well worth it for the money he would make. Albert was only concerned with his wife's well being, in fact, looking after his wife was what he now lived for. Anything he could do, he did. The pension Mr and Mrs Thornwell received was not nearly enough to pay the extensive doctorsÕ fees, so Albert had to work. He continually regretted his foolishness in not getting health insurance for himself and especially his wife, but he knew it was too late to change that.

The laboratory Albert was working in was dead silent, being situated in one of the most deserted areas of the huge, busy city. Not only to prevent unwanted sound but also, as Mr Cacharel had said, it was safer to have it here and Mr Cacharel was always right. He knew about these things. "Yeah right", Albert thought.

Albert seemed out of place surrounded by the precision instruments and equipment that lay scattered on the bench in front of him. Aged 52, Albert didn't look like a typical scientist, no white coat or thick, black rimmed glasses, instead he wore jeans with a precise crease down the middle and a worn jacket with leather patches at the elbows. His long, grey streaked hair was untidily pulled back in a ponytail, a telltale of Albert's early morning, and his green eyes were even more bloodshot than usual. He didn't look the part but he had all the qualifications needed for the job, and although naive, he was extremely intelligent. Mr Cacharel's proposal was a challenge to Albert. It required inventing, working long hours alone, but most importantly, breaking the law.

Mark Elliott was working hard at the Depot Sandwich Bar, his second source of income. He worked part time, all day every Friday and Saturday, making sandwiches, coffee, and delivering lunches to the nearby businesses. It wasn't Mark's favourite pastime. The customers often gave him headaches, but he put up with all the problems for the money. Today was no different. The small area was filled with sound and action. A child was crying because she wasn't allowed an ice cream. A young couple were swearing at each other. The new kitchen hand was cursing because he had burnt a foccacia, and the smell of burnt bread was beginning to waft through the kitchen. Outside, trams clattered in and out of the depot, and summer thunder sounded in the warm air. Mark sighed.

Mr Cacharel entered the quiet Lab wearing the same pinstripe suit and paisley tie that he did every day. Albert resisted the temptation to tell him that his clothes didn't match. "Are they ready yet?" Mr Cacharel demanded and Albert shuddered at the cold voice. "You know they must be complete by next Friday or the plan will be ruined!" "They will be", Albert mumbled feeling inferior. Mr Cacharel, a stingy 40 year old 'business' man, had developed a love for money and didn't seem to care about anything else, Albert included. Albert tuned out to the harsh words being spoken and pictured his loving wife.

The giant, black flies buzzed towards Albert and his wife. He shielded his wife from the threatening, unsightly creatures as they tore his flesh apart. Albert woke up sweating. Mrs Thornwell comforted her husband as he realised it was a dream and for a split second he noticed the strangeness of the reversed roles. It was usually Albert comforting his wife. The image of those giant flies would not leave him, and neither would the new founded apprehension he had for the deal.

Mark had been working at the Depot Sandwich Bar for nearly a year, and would probably work there for another year. Mark did like one part of his work, he was a delivery 'boy', as none of the other workers would do it. All the small businesses along Lennox Street, the struggling, friendly businesses, would order sandwiches or something similar from the sandwich bar and each Friday and Saturday at 12:00 p.m. Mark would set off for the short walk, delivering. Mark loved this time of day. The sun would be high in the middle of the blue sky and if he tried hard enough Mark could make believe he was away from the noisy, dirty city, which is where he wished to be. He was saving a deposit for a big house in the country where he would live with his wife. Sometimes, though, the delivering depressed Mark. The small companies only just survived. Lairot Insurance, for example. The large grey building without windows, stood behind a cracking footpath. It always seemed as though no one thought it important enough to fix it. It was a caring company with 40 people working there in total, all hard honest workers. They provided their patrons with low rates and hence never seemed to have enough money. Mark thought of the friendly receptionist, always efficient paying the sandwich bar bill early every month. She always had a smile for him, regardless of the state of the company. Mark would sometimes go in and chat to the receptionist about work and his wife, but he hadn't in a while because his boss kept telling him that if he was to continue getting back late, he would be fired.

Albert joined the last two pieces on to the twentieth fly and looked proudly at the robot bugs surrounding him. Each fly had an important job to do. His pride quickly vanished as Albert remembered the unjust deal of 65% to 35% being far from fair, 35% for all his hard work. A feeling of guilt had started to grow inside Albert. He'd never broken the law before. If only he could have helped his wife in some other way, but at least now they could afford her treatment. Albert, who had never had many friends, had been alone most of his life. His parents died just before his eighteenth birthday leaving him an orphan. It was ten years later when he met his future wife, his cherished Margaret. From then on she had been there for him, supported and loved him. How could he let her down?

Another week had passed and Mark found himself getting ready to work at the Sandwich bar. The 6:00 a.m. start, the long hours that he endured twice a week, just so he could make that extra money. Mark showered and dressed quietly. He didn't want to wake his wife. He walked out of his house and watched his bus drive past.

The day arrived. Albert called it 'Bug Day'. Everything was ready. Even Mr Cacharel even seemed remotely pleased with Albert's work, but his forced smile did not last long. The flies were to be let off at the entrance of Lairot at 12:15 p.m. sharp by Albert, who would then casually walk down the street. Albert arrived at 12:13 p.m. Too early. He looked down at the bag he carried, the bag holding the destructive creatures,and then up at the grey building in front of him. An ear splitting siren rang in a nearby street and stunned Albert, leaving him shivering, thinking someone was watching him. The image of Margaret's frailness that morning came to him and he walked to the door of Lairot and released the flies. Albert locked the padlock onto the outside handles of the door and walked away. The rest was up to the flies and Mr Cacharel.

Ten bugs contained concentrated ether gas to put the workers to sleep. The remaining ten flies were programmed to hover for 10 minutes and then go to the main computer. These flies would type in a complicated code tht Mr Cacharel had accidentally discovered, so that he could easily hack into their system and transfer all funds into his account. Mr Cacharel would then transfer 35% into AlbertÕs account and close his own account. He planned to move to Perth for a year, but Albert didn't know where he would go after that and he didn't care.

Mark was again looking forward to his delivering. Work had been hectic and the boss was annoyed because Mark had again been late. Mark needed a break. He glanced at his watch as he wiped up a spilt cappuccino; 11:51 a.m.

The hungry workers at Lairot didn't even notice the flies come in. It wasn't as though they were out of the ordinary in summer, especially now that the air conditioning was broken and the air was continually sticky. Gradually the employees fell into an unpleasant sleep. The ether gas filled the office air. It would be ten minutes before the remaining flies would start towards the computer, just enough time to make sure everyone was asleep.

Mark walked closer to Lairot. He anticipated the smiles that he would receive and cheered at the thought. He looked at his watch; 12:19 p.m.

Mark looked through the glass panel of the door at Lairot and saw the receptionist asleep at her desk. Was this the same receptionist who was always so perky? Why would she be sleeping? In a corner a heavy man was covering his mouth coughing, gasping for breath. He collapsed, his important documents fluttering to the ground around him. A woman with red, watering eyes stumbled towards the door and beckoned desperately to Mark for help. He looked down and noticed a padlock holding the door shut. Questions flooded Mark's mind. He dropped the brown paper bag of fresh sandwiches on the cracked footpath as thoughts rushed through his head. He again looked at his watch; 12:21 p.m. The long list of deliveries still to be made was in Mark's hand and as he took a step away from Lairot he envisioned his angry boss, he was supposed to be back by 12:30 p.m. at the latest.

"I need this job!" Mark was overcome with anxiety "I was already late once today!" Mark imagine how lis life long dream would change if he got fired. He grabbed the dropped bag from the footpath and turned and broke into a jog down to the next business.

The next day Mark read of the take over of Lairot in the newpaper. "Receptionist dies as hackers takeover" read the head-line. Further down the quote from the hospital, "If only someone had been there to let in some oxygen in, she may well have lived". Guilt and remorse filled his body as self hatred gradually began to sink in.

Ten days later, the paper was still by Mark's side as he slumped on his couch, encircled by empty beer cans and cigarette butts. The living room was dark, Mark hadn't opened the curtains or even stepped outside the safe walls of his house since reading the paper. Mark's wife didn't yet know of his encounter with Lairot, he'd told her he wasn't feeling well. Only streets away, in a similar house, Albert sat alone, with the same paper by his side. It was open to the half page photography of Albert's dead victim, smiling out to him. Albert's horrified eyes were wide with huge, black circles under them, all he could dream about was oversized, evil flies attacking him. His wife was in hospital finally having her treatment, but Albert would never be the same. Alberts long hair framed his colourless face as he wept silent tears.

Somewhere a fly buzzed.