|
You are only seeing a fraction of my work. If you want to see it all join my Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/itsmetoo If you are already a supporter, go to the Table Of Contents on my Patreon and click the proper link to get the new password. |
Captioned Images Series: New Harvey Adjusted
Created: 02/05/2026
The fluorescent lights of Henderson & Associates Accounting Firm hummed their usual Monday morning dirge. Coffee percolated. Keyboards clattered. Everything was precisely as it should be—until the elevator doors opened.
Marjorie at reception looked up from her computer, her greeting dying on her lips.
The figure that stepped onto the beige carpet moved with an unhurried confidence that seemed foreign to the third floor. She—she?—wore a hot pink nylon minidress that plunged in a dramatic V-neck, cinched at the waist with a crisp white belt. Black sheer pantyhose whispered with each step of her high heels. Gold earrings dangled and caught the light. Her lips were a bold scarlet slash, matching her nails and eyeshadow, and her short brown mousy hair was styled in a practical, no-nonsense cut.
She looked to be somewhere north of fifty-five, carried herself like she owned the building, and walked directly to Harvey Pemberton's desk.
Then she sat down. And logged in.
"Good morning, Marjorie," she called out, in a voice that was undeniably, impossibly, Harvey's.
Marjorie dropped her stapler.
The thing about the Trait Swapper is that nobody ever sees it coming. It operates in shadows and whispers, in the space between Friday evening and Monday morning. Somewhere across the city, perhaps a bold, confident woman in her fifties had woken up feeling timid and anxious, suddenly obsessed with bowties. Perhaps a dozen people had found themselves reshuffled like a deck of cards, their attributes traded without receipt or return policy.
Harvey didn't understand the mechanics. He only understood the results.
He looked down at his manicured scarlet nails hovering over the keyboard, at the unfamiliar topography of his new form beneath the hot pink nylon, and felt... remarkably unbothered. The girdle was a bit restrictive, certainly. The heels would take some getting used to. But inside, beneath the pantyhose and the padding, he was still him—still possessed the same anatomy he'd had on Friday, still remembered every tax code and depreciation schedule.
The difference was the fear. Or rather, its absence.
Gerald Morrison, Senior Partner, appeared at Harvey's desk at 9:47 AM. His face was the color of an overripe tomato.
"Pemberton," he sputtered. "What in the name of—this is a professional establishment! You can't—the dress code clearly states—"
Old Harvey would have crumbled. Old Harvey would have apologized profusely, stammered excuses, and probably cried in the bathroom during his lunch break. Old Harvey lived in perpetual terror of the words you're fired.
New Harvey adjusted a dangling earring and smiled pleasantly.
"Gerald," she said—he said—the name rolling off scarlet lips with casual familiarity that made the Senior Partner's eye twitch. "I've processed seventeen accounts this morning. That's four more than my usual Monday average. Now, would you like to discuss my productivity, or my neckline?"
Gerald's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I'll have the Henderson quarterly on your desk by noon," Harvey added, turning back to the spreadsheet. "Was there anything else?"
There wasn't.
By lunch, the office had achieved a state of bewildered equilibrium. Yes, Harvey Pemberton now appeared to be a middle-aged woman in club wear. Yes, this was inexplicable. But also, yes, the Henderson quarterly was flawless, and the Mitchelson audit had been completed two days ahead of schedule.
Sandra from Human Resources had attempted an intervention at 11:15, armed with a copy of the employee handbook and a concerned expression. She'd left fifteen minutes later, somehow having agreed to let Harvey head the committee on workplace inclusivity.
"It's the confidence," muttered Dave from IT, watching Harvey stride past in those improbable heels. "He's like a completely different person."
"She," corrected Amanda from Payroll, uncertain of the protocol.
"Same person," Harvey called over his shoulder, earrings swinging. "Just... redistributed."
Made with Ideogram Generator