Tuxedo Armor

BZZZZZZZZZT!

I vault out of bed and slap the button on my dresser. A screen folds down from the ceiling, showing the grim face of the Chief Dandy.  The briefing begins as I pull on my socks.

"Good morning, Agents. Moments ago, we received a report of a category-3 violation at a cocktail party downtown."

Trousers. The screen changes to show a late-twenties man sipping from a wine glass.  Narrow face, high cheekbones, receding hairline.  For our safety, the outfit he's wearing has been pixeled out, but they wouldn't have called us if it was pretty.

"The party is hosted by Duchess Harrington.  The time is 1:14 AM, and the subject just showed up.  Intel suggests that he may have been bar-hopping at establishments outside our jurisdiction for most of the night."

Shirt. Harrington is part of the upper crust; her parties never run out of ice. The Duchess is getting along in years; she'll never survive a direct look at this creep.  There's only one way to deal with scum like the man on my screen.

"Tachyon scans show plaid pants and white socks. Top Hat won't be overhead for another 40 minutes; obviously we can't wait that long."

Jacket. It wasn't easy to get Parliamentary approval to put a death laser in orbit, but it made enforcement of the Code so much easier.  As long as we can drive a target out into the open, phtoom, the kill sat takes care of the rest.  Big 'ol column of glowing photonic energy, visible all the way from France--why, it makes me a little excited, just thinking about it.

"In accordance with the Apparel Standards Act of 2031, you are requested and required to apprehend the subject for trial on charges of Dress Crime.  If the subject resists, you are authorized to correct his wardrobe by any means necessary. Good luck, Agents. Out."

Cummerbund.  I check myself in the full-length mirror.  I look glorious.  "Deploy armor," I say softly; the black tie at my throat picks up my voice, and my outfit stiffens and inflates slightly, providing nearly impenetrable protection.  I nod at my reflection and head for the door; it wouldn't do for us not to be properly dressed.  "Flight mode."  As I soar into the sky, a grim smile haunts my features.  People think they can get away with anything; we're here to teach them different.  I don't know who tonight's perp is, but he's a fool if he thinks he can run from the Fashion Police.

(This was my first major assignment for my class in Raster Image Processing. The background is a heavily modified image from public-domain-pictures.net using this tutorial: [link] Everything else I made in Photoshop and Illustrator. The quote in the lower-left is Latin for "Power Through Clothing.")