Kill Or Be Killed (Open Novella Contest)

Chapter 1

When you're young in an office job, people tend to stare.

Especially if it's just a boring, dead-end paperwork job, with most of the staff white people ages 50 and up, and I'm a 23-year-old black guy who got this job fresh out of college. 

It's not like they don't like me. Well, some of them don't, but most people here like me. Even though I don't talk to most of them, they still offer a slice of our weekly cake or compliment me on my hair. Lucy, the middle-aged lady who sat next to me, always gave me a nice smile when I walked in and offered me a cookie if she had baked some the night earlier for her kids. Still, not the best job-sitting at a desk for hours on end for a kid who can't sit still to save his life. 

I glance at the clock near my cubicle for the seventh time and saw that it was finally only a few minutes until my lunch break. I turn back to my laptop and continue typing out my report. I finish just as my watch timer gives a small ding.

I stand and take my coat from the back of my chair, slipping it on and heading to the elevator to clock out and meet Rosé, my best friend, at our favorite lunch spot. But just before I reach it, I'm knocked off my feet by an Earth rumbling crash. The air suddenly erupts with noise, traffic stopping and horns sounding, the entire office getting out of their seats to gather near the windows.

"What the hell is that?" I hear someone say. I scramble to my feet and push my way through to see. Through the open window, right outside my cubicle, buried at least 2 feet into the street, is a sleek, blindingly reflective, black box. People nearest it are out of their car, circling it. 

Suddenly, the box opens, spewing out a mass of orange smoke. It envelopes the closest ones, and the people still visible are coughing and sputtering, stumbling out of reach and trying to wave the smoke away. People in the office are starting to yell, some people are already running to the elevator to get away. I slam the window shut and follow them, the smell of sewage and freshly baked chocolate cake wafting through the air. Some people are already starting to cough. One man is slamming his head onto the down button. A few are taking the stairs. 

And then, one by one, they start to drop like flies. Some are faster to go, the older ones. The old man hitting the button falls forward, slamming into the wall and sliding down. Suddenly everyone around me is on the floor, I can't tell if they're dead or just passed out. My mind races and I start to panic. I expect to drop myself, but nothing happens. I stumble back, expecting to hit the wall, but the elevator doors open and I tumble into the small box.

As soon as the doors close I stand and call my parents. There's no answer. I go down the line, my ex-boyfriend, my ex-girlfriend, my college friends, my grandparents. Every call ends in it going to voicemail. Finally, I dial Rosé, feeling hopeless. What's happening? Is this going on in other places? It rings three times before I hear a click on the other line. I sigh in relief.

"What the fuck is going on?" She yells into the phone. I run a sweaty hand through my hair and pace around the tiny room.

"How the hell should I know? Everyone inhaled some orange shit and now everyone except for me is dead or passed out!" 

There's a pause on the other line.

"Oscar why were we the only ones who weren't affected?" She asks. 

"I've been thinking the same thing. There's a lot of things going on-"

"They're waking up. Oscar, they're waking up," Rosé interrupts me with a relieved tone. But then, a bloodcurdling scream erupts on the other end. I yell out her name, which rattles around the elevator, but there's no answer. After a few seconds, I hear her again.