It started as a hum. A low, vibrating bass note that I felt in my molars before I heard it.
"Whoa," Kevin said, stopping mid-chew. "Is it an earthquake?"
"We're on the fourth floor, Kevin. Earthquakes don't sound like dubstep."
I stood up, adjusting my tie. A perfectionist habit. Then, the air in the center of the open-plan office rippled. It looked like heat haze on asphalt, but thicker. Oily.
"Is that… glowing?" Kevin pointed.
A beam of azure light, bright enough to sear retinas, blasted through the ceiling and punched a hole straight through the floor. It didn't break the building; it just erased the matter. Desks, chairs, and the communal photocopier simply ceased to exist.
"Evacuation protocol!" I barked, my brain switching instantly to crisis management mode. I grabbed my laptop—force of habit—and pointed to the fire exit. "Kevin, move! Don't take the muffin, leave the muffin!"
"But it's blueberry!"
The light expanded. It wasn't just a beam anymore; it was a swirling vortex, a whirlpool of neon blue energy sucking everything in. The potted plant by the water cooler got yanked sideways, flying into the light. It vanished with a wet pop.
"It's a singularity," I muttered, gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turned white. "Or a localized wormhole. The physics don't make sense."
"Artie! Help!"
I looked up. Kevin was holding onto a doorframe, his legs dangling horizontally as the suction force ramped up to hurricane levels. Paperwork swirled around us like a blizzard of bad news.
"Damn it, Kevin!" I lunged forward, grabbing his arm. The pull was incredible. It felt like gravity had decided to change directions just to spite me. "I told you to do more cardio!"
"I don't wanna die at work!" Kevin screamed. "I have so many unwatched shows in my queue!"
I braced my feet against a bolted-down filing cabinet. " nobody is dying today! That would require filling out an incident report, and I am not doing that paperwork!"
I heaved. I actually managed to pull Kevin back toward the hallway. He scrambled for purchase, his mismatched socks slipping on the carpet. He got a grip on the door handle. He was safe.
Then, my filing cabinet gave way.
There was a screech of tearing metal. The bolts snapped. My anchor point vanished.
"Artie!" Kevin yelled, reaching out.
But he was too slow. Or maybe I was just too aerodynamic. I slid backward across the floor, clutching my laptop like a shield. I hit the event horizon of the blue vortex.
The last thing I saw on Earth was Kevin, safe in the hallway, eating the last bite of his blueberry muffin.
"Inefficient," I thought.
Then the world turned inside out.