Unbetitelt

Note from author: This marks the end of Ethan's story—for now. But don't worry, a new sequel set in the town of Riverdale, taking place alongside Ethan's adventures, is already on the horizon. And who knows? This may not be the last time we see Ethan...

---

When they got inside, the argument didn't last long.

Mark demanded to know what the Moral Guards had taken.

Emily stood silently in the middle of the living room, looking guilty.

Finally she admitted it.

"They found Ethan's sci-fi comics."

Ethan froze.

"What?"

"They said they violated the new family guidelines."

"They were comic books."

"They issued a fine."

Mark closed his eyes.

"A fine? Emily, how much?"

Emily quietly told him.

The room fell silent.

Ethan suddenly understood why both of his parents looked so worried.

"We can't afford that, can we?"

Mark slowly shook his head.

"Not if we want to keep this house."

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Then Emily disappeared upstairs.

When she came back, she was carrying garment bags and cardboard boxes.

She opened them.

Rows of white shirts.

Dark trousers.

Dark ties.

All identical.

Government-approved Family Program clothing.

Ethan stared at them.

"No."

"Ethan—"

"No."

"We need the compliance credits."

"I'm not wearing that."

Emily sat beside him.

"You know how hard your father works."

Ethan looked away.

"You know how much stress he's under."

"Mom—"

"If we don't cooperate, we'll get more fines."

She paused.

"And I don't know what happens then."

Ethan glanced toward Mark.

His father looked exhausted.

For the first time Ethan noticed how tired he really looked.

The fight drained out of him.

An hour later he sat on the edge of his bed while Mark tied a dark tie around his neck.

The collar felt stiff.

The tie felt strange.

The mirror reflected somebody who didn't look like himself anymore.

Then Emily stepped forward holding a small black badge.

"What now?"

She pinned it neatly above his shirt pocket.

Ethan looked down.

ELDER ETHAN.

His stomach sank.

"What is this?"

Emily hesitated.

"The fine can be reduced."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"You've been enrolled in the Moral Guard Youth Organisation."

Ethan stared at her.

"You signed me up?"

Neither parent answered.

That answer was enough.

---

Later that afternoon the doorbell rang.

Ethan opened the door.

For a second he didn't recognize them.

Then he did.

Jacob and Andrew.

His best friends.

He had known them for years.

But now both were dressed exactly like him.

White shirts.

Dark ties.

Black name tags.

Polished shoes.

Each carrying a book.

It was strange seeing familiar faces inside uniforms.

Jacob grinned.

"Took you long enough."

Ethan rolled his eyes and let them inside.

A few minutes later all three were sitting in the living room.

The conversation immediately turned to the new rules.

"This sucks," Ethan said.

Jacob laughed.

"We know."

"Our parents made us dress like this at home too," Andrew added.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Ethan looked relieved.

"So you hate it?"

"We did."

"What changed?"

Andrew shrugged.

"We got bored."

"Bored?"

"Complaining every day gets exhausting."

Jacob nodded.

"So we started trying some of the new Offline Life programs."

Ethan frowned.

"The government ones?"

"Yeah."

"They actually pay people to attend."

Ethan blinked.

"Wait. They pay you?"

"A little."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

Jacob picked up the Book of Mormon from the coffee table.

"Also, have you actually read any of this?"

Ethan laughed.

"No."

"You should."

"It's a religious book."

"So?"

Jacob flipped through a few pages.

Then he started describing wars, rivalries, betrayals, heroes, journeys, and entire civilizations collapsing.

The way he described it sounded more like some huge fantasy saga than a religious text.

Ethan found himself listening despite himself.

"That's actually in there?"

"Yep."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

For the first time Ethan became a little curious.

Not because of the book.

Because Jacob genuinely seemed interested in it.

---

Eventually the conversation shifted.

"The Youth Organisation pays pretty well too," Andrew said.

Ethan sighed.

"Yeah. About that."

Both boys looked at him.

"What?"

"I'm already signed up."

Jacob burst out laughing.

Andrew nearly fell off the couch.

"Welcome aboard, Elder Ethan."

"Don't."

"Elder Ethan."

"Stop."

"Elder Ethan."

Ethan threw a cushion at him.

---

A while later he tugged at his tie.

"I still don't understand something."

"What?"

"How are you comfortable wearing this all the time?"

Jacob shrugged.

"Relaxation sessions."

"The what?"

"'Get Used To Relax.'"

Ethan stared.

"That sounds ridiculous."

"Maybe."

"But it works."

Andrew nodded.

"I used to live in tank tops and jeans."

"And now?"

"I honestly don't even notice this anymore."

Ethan looked skeptical.

"You're serious?"

"Completely."

Jacob pointed at Ethan's collar.

"You'll stop noticing it too."

"I doubt it."

"Come with us tomorrow."

"Where?"

"We've got outreach work."

"What kind of work?"

"Going house to house explaining the family plans."

Ethan groaned.

Then Jacob added:

"And afterwards we're doing a relaxation session."

Ethan looked at his two best friends.

They were still joking.

Still teasing him.

Still acting like themselves despite everything that had changed.

That mattered more than he wanted to admit.

Finally he sighed.

"Fine."

Both immediately smiled.

"You'll come?"

"I'll come."

Jacob leaned back.

"See?"

Andrew smirked.

"You're already getting used to it, Elder Ethan."

"Don't call me like that."

"Oh come on, it's on your name tag isn't it? Elder Ethan?"

Ethan laughed.

A cushion hit him in the face a second later.

The walk to the relaxation session felt strangely normal.

For the first time all day, Ethan wasn't thinking about fines, uniforms, name tags, or Moral Guards.

It was just him, Jacob, and Andrew walking down the sidewalk like they had done a hundred times before.

The only difference was the white shirts, ties, and books tucked under their arms.

The boys joked the entire way.

Jacob complained about having to polish his shoes.

Andrew claimed he had mastered sleeping through the longest morality lectures.

Ethan actually laughed.

Maybe things weren't completely ruined.

Maybe having his friends around made it bearable.

Eventually they reached a small building marked Get Used To Relax – Adjustment Center.

Inside, rows of cushioned chairs faced strange machines.

Headphones hung beside each seat.

"This is it?" Ethan asked.

"Pretty much," Jacob said casually.

The three boys sat down side by side.

An instructor gave a few quiet instructions.

Then everyone put on their headphones.

Soft sounds began playing.

Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

The collar still felt tight against his neck.

The tie still felt strange.

Then the sounds grew slower.

Softer.

Rhythmic.

His eyes became heavy.

The room seemed farther away.

The pressure of the collar faded.

The chair felt warmer.

His thoughts drifted.

The last thing Ethan remembered was seeing Jacob and Andrew sitting beside him with their eyes closed.

Then everything became distant.

And Ethan slipped into a deep, dreamlike trance.

When he woke up, Jacob and Andrew were already adjusting their ties.

"Oh God! You were right, I do feel less uncomfortable."

Jacob smiled and adjusted Ethan's tie.

The apartment was spotless. Josh had been on his floor for over an hour scrubbing the grout in the entryway tiles with a toothbrush when he heard the command:

“Living room. Kneeling.”

He dropped the brush, wiped his hands on his cleaning towel, and rose immediately—posture perfect despite the sweat on his brow.

Ryan was seated as usual, a tumbler of sparkling water in his hand. He looked calm, almost pleased. Beside him was a new folded outfit: khaki fabric, navy wool, and a tie draped over the stack like a final seal.

“Sport,” Ryan said, setting down his glass. “The shirt and slacks was a phase. A proving ground. Now that I know you can hold the line, I’m giving you a uniform that reflects something more refined. Clean. Collegiate. Controlled.”

He motioned to the clothes. “New standard. This is what you’ll wear from now on.”

Josh stepped forward, eyes scanning the pieces:

– Classic pleated khakis, crisply pressed, heavy cotton twill

– A pale blue pinpoint Oxford shirt with a button-down collar

– A thick striped tie—navy, burgundy, and gold

– A navy blazer, structured shoulders, brass buttons gleaming like medals

– Navy dress socks folded on top

– At the bottom: freshly shined burgundy penny loafers

“From now on,” Ryan said smoothly, “this is your daily uniform. Indoors, outdoors, doesn’t matter.”

Josh nodded, fingers brushing the edge of the crisp blazer.

“Shirt will be tucked tight. No sagging. Tie cinched all the way—no half-assed knots. Blazer buttoned whenever you’re standing. Socks over the calf. Loafers clean enough that I don’t even need to ask.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ryan stood and approached, lifting the tie off the pile and inspecting it casually before holding it up to Josh’s neck.

“This look’s clean. Conservative. Put-together. You wear this, and people see you’re disciplined. Controlled. Owned.”

Josh’s breath caught slightly at the last word—but he didn’t argue.

Ryan continued as he draped the tie into place. “I’ll pick your tie each morning. No speaking while I dress you. You’ll shave right before—no five o’clock shadow. From now on, you keep cologne light, part your hair properly, and your belt matches the shoes. You want structure, Sport? This is prep school for men who never break.”

Josh gave a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

Ryan leaned in, brushing a non-existent speck from the lapel. “You’ll walk straighter in this. Sit taller. People will notice. And if anyone asks why you dress like this?”

Josh hesitated. “I’ll say… it’s required.”

Ryan smiled.

“Exactly.”

He stepped back and waved toward the hallway.

“Change. I want to see it buttoned up and perfect in five minutes.”

Josh picked up the uniform with reverence, the thick fabric warm in his hands. And as he turned, blazer over his arm, he felt it: the weight of expectation, the clarity of submission, the unmistakable pride of being polished.

it was a baseline, a standard: if you were in the frat, or even just rushing—if you were to even cross the house's threshold without being stopped—you had to look the part, and this was the bare minimum. khakis. a tucked-in button-down. a belt. leather shoes. a haircut and a clean shave.

the brothers of sigma nu groaned and complained they looked like dorky, old-fashioned clones, but the frat's president had seen enough t-shirts and basketball shorts. enough sneakers and slides. enough mop tops and mullets and fades. it was time for tradition, a classic style, the masculinity that real brotherhood can foster with proper encouragement, structure, and discipline.

Damian was reunited to wear a white button down with a bow tie and suspenders every day. He has thigh high socks and new thick glasses. Finally he got braces installed. His PO threw out all his other clothes and this is all he has known for the last 2 years.

Honestly it's the best thing that happened to Damian, his old "friends" abandoned him but he's found a new group through a DnD campaign his PO made him attend. Damian has never been happier. He's a few months away from his sentence being over but he doesn't plan on changing a thing.

Rory Kinnear

BaldCafe