A City of Color: An Anthology

The Red Tape

The masks were expertly designed, and expertly produced. They were durable. They were sturdy. They were not comfortable. They clung to the face like a metallic claw, biting into the flesh until it went numb. It was constantly whirring and humming. Too faintly for anyone else to hear, but a constant thunder for the one wearing it. Eventually one would go deaf to the sound.
The uniforms were made to look nice, made to give off the tried and true aesthetic of the ideal watchman. A hard black vest, with thick blue pants protected by just as hard, just as thick, black knee and shin guards. Black boots with hard heels. A rubbery blue undershirt, the sleeves tucked under the gloves (though some preferred to roll theirs up), and elbow pads. Of course, even with all those the look just doesn't work. That is, until you add the cap. Its flat top and flat forward facing bill is what puts it all together.
Charles liked the jackets they wore when it snowed, or during cold nights. Thick blue military jackets. The kind a general would wear.

He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for his floor, letting out a deep sigh as the doors slowly closed. A hand came between them. The doors opened back up. Charles sucked his sigh back in, standing up straight as the woman entered. She gave a small smile, her head tilted at an exact 80 degree angle. An unspoken apology for the slightest, most minuscule of inconveniences.
Handlers, auditors, pencil pushers. The officers had all sorts of below the table names for them, mostly because they didn't have an actual name. That is, not one they knew. That didn't matter though. They didn't need an official title or name. They just needed...

Charles lost his train of thought. At least, he assumed he had been thinking. The mask always made it hard to tell. He glanced over to the woman standing next to him. Must be one of the hopper types, he thought. Some of the handlers never left their office building, but some were moved between them every now and then. He saw the lady reach into her suit pocket and pull out a...phone, that's a phone, he did a mental nod, his great grandfather used a phone for his entire life until his family convinced him to drop it. Charles' thoughts buzzed a bit more, he felt like he knew this woman, he'd seen her before.
Oh, right. The one with the pet. He felt uneasy now, waiting patiently for the ding of the elevator to save him. "Charles right?"
His eyes almost broke through his visor, just barely managing to stop himself from jolting.
"How long have you been an officer?"
He couldn't breathe.
"Sorry, that was rude, it's just that I went over the report of that...bar raid? Is that what you'd call it?"
He didn't want to die.
The woman positioned herself in front of him, the doors opening behind her. She reached out her hand. Her hair was blue. Startlingly blue. Bright blue. Electric blue. Synthetic hair, not dye. He could tell by zooming in on the roots.
I don't want to die.
It was cut in a short, boyish style, made to show off her face. Some of the other auditors had styles like that, though it was a 50/50 split between that, and longer, unkempt hair, usually put in clips and tails.
I haven't done anything wrong.
Her sleeves were casually rolled up to her elbows, perfectly aligned at the exact same length.
I'm scared.
The woman smiled.
"Livia."

They shook hands, and she left the elevator. Charles would have crumpled to the floor if he weren't paralyzed. He could have been given a death sentence just then. And that woman, like all of those suit striding bastards, would have given it to him with a polite smile. No, he was exaggerating, he needed to breathe. He needed to calm down before-
The mask let out a hiss, and he felt needles in his flesh for the briefest of moments. His heart slowed, his lungs filled with air. He gathered himself.
Whoever came up with the idea for handlers must've been real proud of themselves. After all who wouldn't be, somehow finding a way to turn androgyny into a weapon.