boldlyloudcat Blog

The Central Allocation Hub was a cathedral of controlled light and color, a place where the Chroma-System expressed its rigid hierarchy. The air hummed with the noise of sanctioned transit, and the population moved like a carefully sorted box of components.

Kael, a tall man whose skin was the deep mahogany of the equatorial belt, wore the deep, aggressive crimson of the Enforcer Caste. Every thread of his uniform was woven with the privilege of the military family that had generated him. Red was command, swift action, and unquestionable authority. He did not walk so much as traverse, his movement deliberate, his eyes scanning for dissent or, worse, confusion. He carried the weight of his inherited color like armor.

Milo, lean and precise, a South Asian man whose spectacles caught the fluorescent light, moved nearby. His tunic was the rich, tailored emerald of the Steward Caste. Green meant ledger, liquidity, and the careful management of all resources—including the salaries that kept the Reds supplied and the lower classes pliable. Milo was rushing to secure an asset manifest for a high-priority shipment. His job was to ensure the colors balanced.

Milo clipped a corner a little too sharply near a maintenance access port, causing his secure datapad to slip from his hand and clatter onto the reinforced plasteel floor, dangerously close to Kael’s crimson boot.

Kael stopped instantly. To step over an unsanctioned object was an impurity. To acknowledge an object dropped by a Green in his direct vicinity was an irritant. Kael simply stood, radiating annoyance, waiting for Milo to retrieve his error.

“My apologies, Enforcer Kael,” Milo stammered, hurrying to retrieve the financial asset. He hated having to stoop in front of a Red; it felt like a visible admission of inferiority, even though the Green Caste held immense leverage over the infrastructure.

At that moment, the third man emerged from the narrow, semi-dark corridor labeled "Infrastructure Access."

Finn wore the uniform of the Utility Caste: a pale, non-committal Grey. Grey was the color of generalized labor, mixed blood, and the lowest rung—valued for being average at everything and specialized in nothing. He was a young Latino man, and the sleeves of his utilitarian jumpsuit were rolled up past his elbows, revealing strong, capable arms that were currently smudged with multi-purpose lubricant. He was invisible by design.

Finn’s job was to perform any task that required a body but no specific expertise. He saw the Green man struggling, the Red man judging, and the datapad—a critical asset—left exposed on the floor. Without breaking stride, and acting on pure, practical instinct, Finn bent, scooped up the datapad, and handed it to Milo.

The contact was brief, a transgression against the system's unspoken law: the Grey Caste did not touch the Green’s high-value assets, or interfere with any primary caste interaction, without express command from a Red.

Milo clutched the datapad, stunned into silence. He looked from Finn to Kael, terrified of the Red’s reaction.

Kael’s gaze was fixed on Finn. He wasn't seeing a Grey; he was seeing a kinetic efficiency that bypassed protocol—a concept alien to his inherited life.

“You exceeded your designation, Grey,” Kael stated, his voice a low, flat command, but lacking the expected immediate fury.

Finn didn't flinch. He simply wiped his hands on his Grey thigh. “It was on the floor, blocking the path, sir. The flow must be maintained.”

Finn then turned and pulled open the heavy maintenance hatch, the loud hiss of the seal breaking a deliberate distraction. He dropped back into the noisy sub-level, disappearing into the practical darkness where color didn't matter, pulling the heavy metal door shut behind him.

Milo looked at the sealed hatch, then back at Kael’s still, crimson form.

“He solved the problem, Enforcer,” Milo whispered, testing the boundaries.

Kael slowly nodded once, the movement barely perceptible. “The problem is solved. The protocol was violated. Ensure the next violation is reported immediately, Steward.” Kael continued his patrol, the crimson of his uniform a silent, dominant assertion. The system had bent, but it had not broken. It never did.