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Serious question:
How much do you like my content? regardless of whether it's AI or selfies?
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The Church Wants You (All of you) - Part 8
Please leave a like or comments. Your interaction makes me motivated to continue.
Thank you!
---
Rick draped the cape around the customer's shoulders and adjusted the chair.
The young man sitting in front of him looked barely twenty-two. Clean-cut already, but trying very hard to look even more respectable.
"So what are we doing today?" Rick asked.
"Just tidy it up."
Rick picked up the comb.
The customer glanced around the shop.
"One guy from our congregation said you're good barber, and that you are part of the community."
Rick almost laughed.
The young man grinned.
A few minutes passed.
Then the customer lowered his voice.
"You know, I'm not really convinced by all the church stuff."
Rick paused for a second.
"No?"
The young man shook his head.
"I mean... maybe. Maybe not."
Rick continued cutting.
"But?"
"But they helped me find work."
He shrugged.
"People trust you more when you look the part."
Rick looked at him through the mirror.
The customer continued.
"I got offered an apprenticeship."
"Nice."
"Yeah."
The young man smiled.
"My parents are happy."
"And church?"
The customer rolled his eyes.
"I go."
Rick laughed.
"You sound excited."
"I'm not."
The young man lowered his voice further.
"Honestly? I'm just trying to get my life together."
Rick stopped for a second.
That sounded painfully familiar.
The customer continued.
"I don't need to believe every story."
"Then why go?"
The young man shrugged.
"Maybe it helps."
Rick thought about that.
Maybe it helps.
He remembered the council.
The housing program.
The customers standing outside this morning.
The fact that the shop suddenly wasn't empty.
Maybe it wasn't forever.
Maybe it was just one year.
One stupid year.
One year of playing along.
Then life could go back to normal.
At least that's what he kept telling himself.
---
Meanwhile Peter sat alone at the apartment.
The white short-sleeved shirt felt stiff.
The tie hung loose.
His collar was open.
The apartment was quiet except for the turning of pages.
One of the books Daniel had given him lay open in front of him.
Peter had expected nonsense.
Instead he found himself actually reading.
And worse—
paying attention.
One passage caught his eye.
He read it again.
> "Men are, that they might have joy."
He stared at the sentence.
Simple.
Short.
Strangely comforting.
Another passage a few pages later talked about people carrying burdens and finding strength through faith and patience.
Peter leaned back.
The words weren't exactly revolutionary.
But they weren't what he expected either. No burning bush or angles on the clouds.
He rubbed his forehead.
"What the hell."
He closed the book.
Then opened it again.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"Seriously, what the hell."
The doorbell rang.
Peter nearly jumped.
When he opened the door Daniel stood there.
Dark navy suit.
White shirt.
Tie perfectly centered.
Collar completely closed.
Every button exactly where it belonged.
The same neat appearance Peter had seen all day.
Daniel smiled.
"Good afternoon."
Peter stepped aside.
"Come in."
---
A few minutes later they sat at the table.
The book remained open between them.
Daniel noticed it immediately.
"You were reading."
Peter looked away.
"Maybe."
Daniel smiled.
"How was it?"
Peter hesitated.
"I expected worse."
Daniel laughed.
"I'll take that as progress."
Peter rolled his eyes.
"Don't get excited."
For a while they talked about the passages.
Then Daniel became quieter.
More serious.
"You know," he said, "I feel better than I ever did before."
Peter looked at him.
Daniel continued.
"I spent years chasing things that made me happy for a few hours."
His hands rested on the table.
"But peace is different."
Peter remained silent.
Daniel stared out the window.
"I never thought I'd have peace."
"What changed?"
Daniel smiled faintly.
"Lots of things. This town needed the change. Even more after the country collapsed."
Then he looked directly at Peter.
"You should pray."
Peter groaned immediately.
"Daniel."
"I'm serious."
"You always are."
"Ask God for a sign."
Peter shook his head, scratching his neck.
Daniel's eyes drifted toward Peter's collar.
The tie.
Loose.
Top button undone.
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
Peter immediately noticed.
"What?"
Daniel pointed.
"Is that appropriate? Is that the best one can do to please God?"
Peter froze.
For several seconds he honestly didn't know what to say.
Finally he answered.
"...No?"
Daniel smiled.
"Then fix it."
Peter sighed dramatically.
"You sound like a school principal."
Daniel laughed.
"I used to do the exact same thing."
Peter looked surprised.
Daniel nodded.
"Whenever Emily wasn't around."
Peter stared.
"What?"
"I'd loosen the tie."
Daniel mimicked the motion.
"Open the collar. Oh how I missed my tank tops."
Peter couldn't help smiling.
Daniel continued.
"Then she'd tell me to fix it."
"And?"
"And eventually I realized it was less exhausting to leave it alone than constantly argue with myself. And Emily."
Peter stared at the tie.
Strangely enough...
that actually made sense. If he's gonna be around those guys, he will never win.
He slowly buttoned the collar.
Then tightened the tie.
The familiar pressure returned.
He hated it.
Yet something unexpected occurred.
A strange relief.
Not comfort.
Not enjoyment.
Just relief.
The decision was gone.
No more constant debate.
No more "should I loosen it?"
No more "what if somebody says something?"
His mind suddenly jumped somewhere unexpected.
The hoodies he loved so much.
The endless shopping.
Matching shoes.
Matching colors.
Trying to look right.
Trying to hide things.
He touched his neck.
Then froze.
"Oh."
Daniel looked at him.
"What?"
Peter blinked.
"I think I know why I liked hoodies."
Daniel waited.
Peter laughed awkwardly.
"This is stupid."
"What?"
"They covered my neck."
Daniel remained silent.
Peter touched his collar again.
"I always thought my neck looked thin. Kids in high school used to make fun of me..."
The realization felt embarrassingly obvious.
"I hated it."
Daniel nodded.
"White shirt is the sign of purity. And the tie can easily work with your self consciousness. Give it a try. I can definitely tell your neck doesn't look that thin anymore!"
Peter laughed again.
"So apparently half my wardrobe decisions were insecurity."
Daniel smiled gently.
"Most people have something. But this sound to me like you found the solution."
---
A little later Daniel folded his hands.
"Let's pray."
Peter sighed.
Again.
But this time he didn't refuse.
They bowed their heads.
Silence filled the room.
Peter closed his eyes.
At first nothing happened.
Just awkwardness.
Then he began thinking.
Dear God...
The words felt strange.
Unnatural.
I don't even know if I'm talking to anyone.
He almost laughed.
I've never really prayed.
Another pause.
Never felt the need.
His breathing slowed.
But why do I feel calmer afterward?
That question lingered.
He remembered one of the passages he had read.
The one about joy.
The one about burdens.
Not proof.
Not certainty.
Just ideas.
Ideas about hope.
About patience.
About enduring difficult things.
Peter suddenly realized something.
Maybe the calm feeling wasn't magic.
Maybe it was simply the first time in years he had sat quietly with his own thoughts.
No phone.
No distractions.
No noise.
Just stillness.
When the prayer ended he opened his eyes.
His shoulders felt lighter.
Not transformed.
Not converted.
Just...
lighter.
Daniel noticed.
"You okay?"
Peter nodded slowly.
"I think so."
---
For a while neither spoke.
Then Peter asked something unexpected.
"Do you miss him?"
Daniel frowned.
"Him?"
"Your old boyfriend."
Daniel immediately corrected him.
"I never had a boyfriend."
Peter raised an eyebrow.
Daniel continued calmly.
"I had attractions."
Peter looked unconvinced.
Daniel continued.
"I had relationships I shouldn't have had."
Silence.
Then Daniel smiled sadly.
"The attractions didn't disappear overnight."
Peter listened.
"But I've found other things that matter more to me."
"The possibility of building a family."
"The peace I feel."
"My faith."
Peter studied him.
Daniel wasn't speaking like someone pretending.
Whether Peter agreed or not—
Daniel genuinely believed it.
Daniel leaned forward.
"Let me ask you something."
Peter groaned.
"That's always dangerous."
Daniel smiled.
"Do you want Rick to be happy?"
Peter answered instantly.
"Of course."
"More than you want to be right?"
Peter stopped.
That question landed harder than expected.
Daniel continued.
"I'm not telling you what your future should look like."
Peter looked skeptical.
Daniel laughed.
"Fine. Maybe I am a little."
That earned another eye roll.
But Daniel's voice remained gentle.
"What I'm saying is that people change. I can see you changing."
Peter stared at the table.
Daniel stood.
The lesson was over.
As he reached the door he looked back.
"Just keep reading."
Peter sighed.
"You're impossible."
Daniel smiled.
"So I've been told."
Daniel suddenly stood up.
"Come here."
He led Peter to the wardrobe, reached inside, and pulled out one of the hoodies.
Holding it up, he asked quietly,
"Is this cheap piece of fabric really more important than you and Rick having a home and moving forward with your lives?"
Peter opened his mouth but couldn't answer immediately.
Daniel handed the hoodie back.
"I'm not asking if you like it. I'm asking if it's worth everything you'd lose for it."
Then he simply walked back toward the living room, leaving Peter staring at the hoodie in his hands.
The door closed behind him.
The apartment became quiet again.
Peter looked at the book.
Then at his tie.
Then back at the book.
He went into bathroom and looked at himself.
For a moment he considered taking the tie off.
Instead he left it where it was. And made it even tighter.
Not because Daniel said so.
Not because he suddenly agreed with everything.
But because for the first time all day...
he wasn't thinking about it anymore.
Throwback to the day Rick visited Daniel.
If you could read Rick's thoughts in that moment, what do you think he'd be thinking?
Simple Monday
Helping Around the House
Jordan had just moved into his first apartment, finally getting out of his parent's basement. As much as he was looking forward to his independence, he realized he had taken a lot for granted. For example, the first week after moving in, his toilet started leaking. Jordan's dad usually handled these things, but he wasn't about to call his old man so quickly. Unable to fix it himself, he called up a number for a handyman he saw on flyer in the apartment foyer. "Unity" these guys called themselves, but they offered cheap help for home repair.
Unity sent over a man who called himself 59145, a designation he wore proudly on his uniform coveralls. Jordan figured it was just an old-school plumber uniform, but 59145 informed him that all Unity brothers wore the coveralls. It was their "standard uniform" he said, before smiling and heading to work.
59145 made quick work of the leaky toilet. Jordan was impressed and even offered a tip, but the Unity brother turned him down. Instead he offered an alternative, a brief chat about Order, Discipline, and Clarity. Jordan was not about the say no after such an efficient job. So 59145 spoke about how he joined Unity after he finished college and needed some direction. In Unity he found the support of like-minded brothers and embraced the value of community.
Jordan then came to realize that independence is not really what he was looking for. He was dependent on his parents before but in a brotherhood like Unity he would help support his other brothers too. 59145 invited Jordan to learn more about Unity and by the next month, Jordan had joined as a brother. Now known by 69145, he worked alongside 59145 on plumbing assignments to help recruit new brothers.
Hail Unity!
The Church Wants You - Part 17
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.
"You see, it's better like that. This is the only way guys our age should dress. Even at home haha."
One last look in the mirror. One last touch to fix your jacket. One last second of your own mind before you are in uniform and completely under Master’s control again. Be ready to serve. Be ready to obey.
me next
Another Monday of complete obedience and submission in my school uniform.
As the weeks go by, the rigidity of the uniform becomes an inseparable part of my new personality. 🔒 👔
Áras-106 da Óglaigh na hÉireann
Bonfire of Vanity Society Poster Series
Entry Three: Graduation Status — The Final Standard Earned Through Obedience
The third entry in the Bonfire of Vanity Society poster series presents the final stage of correction: Graduation Status.
This is not an ordinary completion. It is not a ceremonial endpoint granted for attendance, patience, or outward compliance alone. Graduation is reserved for those students who have wholly embraced the teachings of the Society and proved, over time, that correction has become character.
For Student 27-118, formerly Barron Rich, graduation marks the point at which obedience is no longer an effortful performance but a settled instinct. Discipline has become second nature. Vanity has ceased to define him. The old self no longer waits beneath the surface to return at the first opportunity. That is the standard required.
A student is considered for graduation only if several conditions are met in full.
He must have accepted the Society’s teachings not merely in appearance, but in conduct, speech, habits, and inward discipline. He must have demonstrated sustained obedience, modest bearing, and a willingness to remain regulated without resentment. His record must show that correction has taken root deeply enough to continue beyond the institution itself.
He must also have shown particular seriousness in the area of chastity and restraint. The student who reaches graduation status is one who has worn the chastity cage as required and has accepted it not as a temporary humiliation, but as part of his lasting reform. Graduation further requires that he swear to continue wearing it after release, in accordance with the standards laid down by the Society.
Just as importantly, he must have shown that even progress has not become a new form of vanity. This is especially true of the bowl cut stage. Many students long for regrowth simply because they miss having hair again. That is not enough. The bowl cut is meant to test whether a student can receive visible progress without turning it into a new object of self-admiration. A student becomes eligible for graduation only when it is clear that even the bowl cut did not make him vain.
He must also have participated in one of the Society’s supervised “Get Ready With Me” recordings in the fully corrected nerd style. This requirement serves a lasting purpose. It publicly severs him from the image on which his former reputation depended. The polished rich boy who once curated himself for admiration is replaced, permanently and unmistakably, by the corrected young man who now presents discipline, glasses, braces, uniform order, and structured self-restraint. The reputational break is intentional. The old social identity must not remain intact.
Finally, graduation is not granted unless the father is willing to receive the son back under a clear condition: this corrected identity must remain permanent. The Bonfire of Vanity Society does not return the old son refined. It returns a changed son under terms.
The Privilege of the Graduation Makeover
If all of this applies, the student may be granted the privilege of the Graduation Makeover — Bonfire of Vanity Society Standard.
This is the final adult appearance. He leaves behind the freshman shaved-head stage and the advanced bowl-cut stage. He is no longer dressed as a boy under immediate induction, but as a corrected young gentleman whose life is now to be lived under continuing discipline.
The graduation standard includes:
* a conservative bespoke dark suit worn as the permanent daily standard from this point onward
* a crisp formal shirt with French cuffs at all times
* elegant but restrained cufflinks
* a proper tie
* polished, bespoke, elegant shoes that show refinement without showiness
* knee-length black socks, now permitted in silk or sheer black
* large, unfashionable glasses, which remain mandatory
* visible fixed braces, which also remain mandatory
* concealed shirt, sleeve, and sock garters beneath the finished look
* a severe, permanently lacquered graduation hairstyle
The Final Hair Standard
Perhaps the most striking element of the graduation makeover is the final hair style.
At this stage the bowl cut is removed, but freedom is still not granted. The graduation haircut is the opposite of freedom disguised as style. It is severe, glossy, lacquered, and held so rigidly in place that not a single hair may wander out of order. The sides and back are cut very short and kept close. The top remains only so long as necessary to force the hair straight back in one disciplined direction. The forehead remains fully exposed. There is to be no softness, no casual texture, no natural looseness, no playful wave, and no private vanity hidden in the grooming.
The intention is not fashionable elegance. The intention is permanent control made visible. Although the graduation look is more refined than the earlier stages, important elements of the Society remain beneath it.
The shirt garters, sleeve garters, and sock garters do not disappear. They are merely hidden now. The student no longer needs them displayed to be reminded of their purpose; they remain part of the structure under the surface.
The same is true of the braces and glasses. They are not removed at graduation. The Society does not erase correction simply because progress has been recognized. The braces remain visible on the teeth. The glasses remain on the face. Both continue to signal humility, correction, and permanence.
Thus the graduation appearance is not a return to privilege. It is a disciplined adulthood built upon the same principles that governed the earlier uniform stages.
Conduct at Graduation
The outward look alone does not define graduation. It is matched by a required manner of bearing.
A graduating student must stand and sit with complete composure. He must speak modestly. He must show no frivolous self-display. He must not present the final suit as a luxury costume or as a restored social triumph. He must carry it as a uniform of serviceable adulthood.
The old Barron Rich would have worn a bespoke suit to impress others.
Student 27-118 wears one because he has learned how to be governed by standards rather than impulse.
The Graduation Contract
Graduation concludes not only with a makeover, but with legal and moral submission.
Before release, the student signs the Graduation Contract, a binding document that confirms his continuing obligation to the Bonfire of Vanity Society. With that signature, he acknowledges that the transformation is not temporary, theatrical, or symbolic. He agrees that the standards learned within the Society remain the framework of his life after departure.
The contract binds him to the corrected self he has become.
It confirms:
* that he accepts the graduation standard as his permanent presentation, not as a ceremonial outfit or temporary release condition
* that he will continue to uphold obedience, discipline, modesty, restraint, and chastity after leaving the Society
* that he will maintain the required outward markers of correction, including the severe lacquered hairstyle, glasses, braces, formal dress, concealed garters, polished shoes, and disciplined bearing
* that he understands the return of his former name is not a return to his former identity
* that upon induction, Barron Rich was suspended and replaced by Student 27-118, so that vanity, family status, reputation, and entitlement could be stripped away
* that upon graduation, he is granted the privilege of using the name Barron Rich again, but only as a corrected graduate of the Bonfire of Vanity Society
* that his final signature as Barron Rich is the last formal act of the transformation: the old name is reinstated, but its meaning is permanently changed
* that by signing with his actual name, he binds Barron Rich himself — not merely Student 27-118 — to the Society’s standards for life
* that any future use of the name Barron Rich to revive arrogance, vanity, luxury display, sexual self-indulgence, or social dominance is a violation of the graduation contract
* that he renounces any return to the vanity-based identity from which he was removed
* that he accepts his father’s reacceptance under these terms: he may return home only as the disciplined, obedient, corrected Barron Rich
* that if he breaks these conditions, the Society may treat the reinstated name as evidence of breach, because he signed freely under that name and accepted its corrected meaning
In this sense, graduation is not liberation from the Society. It is lifelong membership through internalized discipline.
Contract Photo: Signed Graduation Contract of Student 27-118
The Meaning of Graduation
Graduation status is therefore the Society’s highest endorsement: not of personality, not of charm, not of wealth, and certainly not of self-expression — but of correction made permanent.
The student who reaches this stage has shown that he can be trusted with refinement without turning refinement back into vanity. He has shown that he can wear a better suit without seeking admiration, can possess hair without styling for ego, can look in the mirror without performing for himself, and can live under rules without needing to rebel in order to feel alive. The name reversal is one of the most important parts of graduation. At induction, Barron Rich ceased to exist inside the Society and was reduced to Student 27-118. At graduation, the name Barron Rich is returned, but not as a restoration of the old self. It is returned as a disciplined title, permanently altered by correction. His signature as Barron Rich is therefore not a celebration of freedom; it is the final act of submission. From that moment on, the name belongs not to the spoiled son who arrived, but to the corrected graduate who has sworn obedience, chastity, restraint, and lifelong discipline.
That is why the graduation standard is earned only through obedience, chastity, and discipline.
Barron Rich once dressed to be noticed.
Student 27-118 graduates dressed to remain correct.
The Church Wants You - Part 9
The Morality Guards stopped acting like a student club.
They started acting like a government.
Every Friday afternoon they organized assemblies in the front courtyard. At first these gatherings were voluntary. A few dozen boys attended. Then hundreds came because attendance seemed safer than absence.
A wooden platform appeared in front of the main entrance.
Behind it stood rows of Morality Guards in pressed shirts, collars fully buttoned, hair slicked back so uniformly they almost looked like a single organization rather than individual students.
Large banners surrounded the platform.
NO JEANS.
COLLARS BUTTONED.
WHITE SHIRTS MONDAY.
CHARACTER BEFORE COMFORT.
Most students stood silently while the leaders gave speeches about standards, discipline, respect, and tradition.
Many students did not actually agree.
But they had learned something important:
Disagreement attracted attention.
Attention attracted problems.
One afternoon a Guard leader paused during a speech and pointed directly into the crowd.
A boy wearing jeans and a navy polo froze.
Every head turned.
The Guard called him forward.
The student hesitated.
The crowd became silent.
Then he slowly walked toward the platform because refusing felt even worse.
The leader began speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"This is what happens when standards become optional."
The student stared at the ground.
The Guard wasn't really interested in the jeans.
He was interested in the audience.
The entire event was a demonstration.
The leader criticized the student's appearance, claiming it looked careless and undisciplined. Another Guard brought khaki pants from a box kept near the stage. The student was pressured to change into the approved clothing.
When he finally appeared wearing the replacement pants and with his polo neatly tucked in, the leader raised his hand dramatically.
"Now look at him."
The crowd was encouraged to applaud.
Many students clapped.
Not because they believed it.
Because everybody else was clapping.
The boy stood there red-faced while the applause echoed across the courtyard.
The Morality Guards celebrated it as a victory.
But many students walked away disturbed.
What made the event powerful wasn't the clothing.
It was the public conformity.
Everybody had just learned what happened to people singled out in front of hundreds of witnesses.
The following Monday revealed how deeply that lesson had sunk in.
The "White Shirt Monday" policy technically still had limited authority.
Yet when students arrived, almost the entire school was wearing white button-down shirts.
Even boys who privately mocked the movement.
Even boys who hated the movement.
Even boys who had never attended a single relaxation session willingly.
White shirts filled the hallways.
White shirts filled classrooms.
White shirts filled the cafeteria.
The reason was psychological rather than ideological.
Most students were not suddenly converted.
They were adapting.
Humans are social creatures. When uncertainty rises, people often copy visible behavior around them because standing apart carries risk. Every student looking around that morning saw dozens of others already following the rule. Nobody wanted to become the obvious exception.
The safest choice became conformity.
Each individual thought:
"I don't really believe this, but everyone else is doing it."
The result was that everybody did it.
Another strange behavior emerged.
Students started buttoning their collars in the hallways.
Not because someone was physically forcing them every second.
Because they had become hyperaware of being observed.
A boy might leave home with the top button undone.
Then halfway through first period he would notice several Morality Guards nearby.
Suddenly he would feel self-conscious.
His attention would jump to his collar.
Without even fully thinking about it, he'd reach up and fasten the button.
The action became almost automatic.
A small ritual of compliance.
Teachers noticed it too.
Entire groups of students adjusted collars whenever a Guard walked past.
By November the school looked dramatically different from only a few months earlier.
Rows of white shirts.
Dark trousers.
Buttoned collars.
Neatly combed hair.
Quiet hallways.
And silence.
A lot of silence.
The relaxation rooms changed most of all.
Earlier in the year students whispered, laughed, shifted in their seats, and exchanged jokes.
Now the rooms were nearly motionless.
Students entered.
Sat down.
Put on headphones.
Closed their eyes.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody tested boundaries.
The rooms felt less like classrooms and more like waiting areas.
Some students genuinely found the sessions calming.
Others simply learned that remaining silent was easier.
The Morality Guards considered this proof their program was succeeding.
But a few teachers quietly worried.
Because there is a difference between agreement and compliance.
From the outside those two things can look identical.
Inside the school, fewer and fewer people were sure which one they were seeing.
The Church Wants You - Part 4
Chris had not expected how good it would feel walking through the grocery store dressed like that.
The pale-blue short sleeve button-down sat crisp against his shoulders, tucked perfectly into dark navy trousers. Top button fastened neatly. Black belt centered exactly. Hair combed smooth with a careful side part.
Even pushing the shopping cart felt… orderly.
Purposeful.
He caught people glancing at him occasionally as he picked through apples with calm concentration. Instead of embarrassment, he felt pride blooming quietly in his chest.
This is how a respectable man looks, he thought.
The thought arrived automatically now.
Natural.
—
“Chris?!”
He turned.
Mark stood frozen halfway down the aisle holding chips and frozen pizza, staring at him like he had just seen an alien.
“What the hell happened to you?”
Chris blinked once calmly.
“Hello, Mark.”
Mark walked closer slowly, eyes moving over the tucked shirt, polished shoes, perfect posture.
“Dude.” He laughed nervously. “Are you cosplaying a Mormon missionary or something?”
Chris smiled faintly.
“I lost a bet.”
“A bet made you look like a youth pastor?”
“It’s just clothing.”
Mark kept staring.
The weirdest part was not even the outfit.
It was Chris himself.
Too calm.
Too composed.
Like every messy, sarcastic edge of him had been ironed perfectly flat.
Mark pointed at the collar.
“You buttoned the top button voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell.”
Chris looked down briefly at his cart.
“You should come over tonight.”
Mark smirked. “For intervention?”
“For beer.”
That finally got a laugh out of him.
“Okay. Fine.”
—
When Mark arrived that evening, he stopped dead inside the doorway.
“…Jesus Christ.”
The apartment looked transformed.
Everything organized.
No clothes lying around.
Books aligned.
Kitchen spotless.
Shoes paired neatly beside the wall.
Soft warm lighting.
Even the air smelled clean.
Chris stood waiting in the living room wearing the same pale-blue shirt, sleeves smooth and perfectly folded.
Top button still fastened.
“Come in,” he said gently.
Mark walked farther inside slowly.
“Dude. Did your mom visit or something?”
“No.”
“What happened to your apartment?”
Chris simply smiled.
Mark noticed framed scripture verses on the wall now.
Then he saw the dark blue book resting carefully on the coffee table.
His expression changed instantly.
“Oh no.”
Chris picked it up reverently.
“The Book of Mormon.”
Mark groaned immediately.
“Oh my god, they actually got you.”
“You should read it.”
“Nope.”
Mark took a step backward.
“Chris, seriously, this is weird. I’m leaving.”
But Chris calmly opened the book.
Something inside the pages hummed softly.
Mark frowned.
“What are you—”
Then he saw it.
A strange spiral pattern hidden between the pages.
Moving slowly.
Rotating.
His eyes locked onto it unintentionally.
Chris’s voice became lower. Softer.
“Just relax, Mark.”
Mark blinked hard.
“Chris…?”
“Look carefully.”
The room suddenly felt distant around him.
Warm.
Heavy.
Mark’s breathing slowed.
Chris stepped closer.
“That’s right.”
Mark’s hands loosened at his sides.
His expression emptied gradually.
The resistance drained from his face like water.
By the time Chris closed the book, Mark was standing perfectly still in the middle of the room staring blankly ahead.
Chris smiled softly.
“Good.”
—
The clothing box waited already prepared beside the couch.
Chris opened it carefully.
Inside sat a folded white dress shirt.
Dark striped tie.
Black trousers.
Name tag.
Belt.
Everything perfectly arranged.
Mark stood motionless while Chris worked.
First the black T-shirt came off.
Then the jeans.
Chris carefully dressed him piece by piece.
The white shirt slid over Mark’s shoulders.
Chris buttoned every button slowly and methodically.
Bottom.
Middle.
Chest.
Collar.
Until finally the top button closed snugly against Mark’s throat.
Mark barely reacted.
Chris smoothed both palms down the front of the shirt carefully.
Perfect.
Then came the tie.
He looped it expertly around Mark’s neck and tightened the knot until it sat firm beneath the collar.
“There,” Chris whispered. “Much better.”
The black trousers followed next.
Then the belt.
Chris tucked the shirt in tightly and adjusted the waistband until every line sat clean and straight.
Finally he attached the black missionary name tag over Mark’s chest.
ELDER MARKSON.
Mark stared blankly ahead the entire time.
Not speaking.
Barely blinking.
Chris stepped back admiring the transformation.
The sloppy college guy was disappearing already.
Now he looked disciplined.
Structured.
Proper.
—
In the bathroom Chris opened the styling gel.
“Hold still.”
Mark obeyed automatically.
Chris ran the gel carefully through his messy brown hair, combing it slowly backward into a clean missionary side-part.
Every strand pressed neatly into place.
Mark’s old appearance vanished more with each stroke.
When Chris finished, he tilted Mark’s chin toward the mirror.
Mark looked almost unfamiliar now.
White shirt.
Tie.
Perfect hair.
Top button closed.
Blank expression.
Chris smiled proudly.
“You look worthy.”
Mark did not answer.
—
A knock came at the door.
Chris opened it immediately.
The two missionaries entered carrying the machine.
Mark’s eyes flickered faintly at the sight of it.
Something buried deep inside him stirred suddenly.
Fear.
The blond missionary smiled.
“Ready?”
Chris nodded.
Together they guided Mark into the chair.
The metal hypnosis device lowered slowly over his head.
Wires.
Lights.
The humming spiral glowing brighter.
As the straps tightened around his temples, Mark suddenly jerked violently.
“No— wait—”
His eyes snapped back into focus.
“What the fuck is this?!”
The missionaries grabbed him immediately.
Mark thrashed hard in panic.
His tie yanked sideways crooked.
One hand clawed desperately at his collar until the top button burst open.
Air hit his throat.
“What am I wearing?!”
He struggled wildly against the chair.
“Chris! What the hell is happening?!”
The machine whined louder.
Blue spirals flashing rapidly across his terrified face.
“I don’t want this— let me OUT!”
The dark-haired missionary grabbed his shoulders harder while Chris tried pulling his hands away from the collar.
“Mark, calm down.”
“No!”
Mark twisted violently again, half-ripping the tie loose as panic flooded back into him.
“I’m not one of you!”
The Church Wants You - Part 5
Note: Strongly encourage following the attached pictures while reading. Enjoy!
Mark’s fingers clawed desperately at the metal band around his head.
The hypnosis machine sparked and whined as he twisted violently in the chair.
“I SAID GET IT OFF ME!”
With one sudden movement he ripped the device sideways free from the cables.
The missionaries stumbled backward in shock.
Chris grabbed for him too late.
Mark lurched to his feet breathing hard, tie hanging loose and crooked against his chest. His white shirt clung damply to him with sweat now, collar open from the struggle.
He looked terrified.
Wild.
“What did you do to me?!” he shouted.
The machine dangled from one hand as blue sparks flickered weakly across it.
Then Mark bolted toward the open doorway.
But Elder Jensen stepped in front of him fast.
“Mark wait—”
“MOVE!”
Mark shoved him hard enough to stagger him sideways.
For one second it almost worked.
He nearly reached freedom.
Then Elder Thompson grabbed his arm from behind while Chris seized his other shoulder.
“Please!” Mark yelled desperately. “I don’t want this! Please don’t do this to me!”
The machine glowed brighter again.
The missionaries forced him backward into the chair as he fought wildly, shoes scraping against the floor.
“No no no—”
Chris held his wrists tightly.
“Mark,” he said softly, almost sadly. “You’ll feel better once you stop resisting.”
“I DON’T WANT TO!”
Tears welled in Mark’s eyes now from panic and exhaustion.
The metal band lowered back over his head.
Locks clicked shut.
The blue spiral pulsed directly over his forehead.
“No please…”
His voice cracked completely.
“Please don’t take me away…”
The humming deepened.
Low.
Rhythmic.
The room itself almost seemed to vibrate around him.
Mark strained against the chair one last time.
Then Elder Jensen pressed a small device against Mark’s side.
A sharp electric crack snapped through the room.
Mark screamed.
His entire body jolted violently against the restraints.
The tie jerked sideways again.
His shirt wrinkled heavily across his chest.
Then another pulse from the machine flooded through him.
The spiral spun faster.
Faster.
Mark’s resistance started breaking apart in fragments.
His breathing turned uneven.
His hands weakened.
“No…” he whispered weakly.
The tears rolled down his face now.
“I don’t want… this…”
Chris moved closer, holding Mark steady as the machine continued pulsing light into his eyes.
“That’s alright,” Chris murmured gently. “You don’t have to think anymore.”
Mark’s expression slowly unraveled.
Fear melted first.
Then anger.
Then confusion itself.
His shoulders sagged.
His head tilted back against the chair.
The spiral reflected faintly across his wet eyes.
“I…” Mark whispered blankly.
The machine emitted one final deep tone.
Then silence.
Mark went limp.
—
For a few seconds nobody moved.
Only the soft buzz of the lights remained.
Mark sat slumped in the chair breathing slowly, tie hanging loose around his neck, top button undone from the struggle.
Eyes half-open.
Empty.
Chris carefully reached forward first.
Almost tenderly.
He straightened the crooked tie little by little, sliding the knot upward again.
Then he folded Mark’s collar neatly back into place.
His fingers worked calmly now.
Practiced.
Button by button he fixed the wrinkled white shirt.
The loose collar closed again snugly around Mark’s throat.
Chris pressed the top button carefully through the hole and adjusted the tie until it sat perfectly centered beneath it.
“There,” Chris whispered softly. “That’s better.”
Mark stirred faintly.
A tiny flicker of awareness crossed his face.
His hand rose slowly toward the tight collar.
Fingers touched the knot.
The pressure.
The snugness around his neck.
For a second Chris thought he might undo it again.
But Mark only held the tie gently.
Feeling it.
Breathing quietly through the tight collar.
Then his hand lowered obediently back into his lap.
The resistance was fading now.
Almost gone.
—
Elder Thompson uncapped the styling gel.
The missionaries stood around Mark carefully grooming him while he remained dazed and passive in the chair.
Thompson combed the dark wet hair backward slowly.
Jensen smoothed the sides flat with precise fingers.
Every rebellious strand disappeared beneath the glossy clean side-part.
Chris watched proudly.
The transformation finally looked complete.
Disciplined.
Orderly.
Proper.
Mark’s old messy curls were gone entirely now beneath the slick polished missionary style.
Elder Jensen smiled faintly.
“He looks ready.”
Chris rested a hand firmly on Mark’s shoulder.
“Mark.”
No response.
Chris squeezed slightly.
“Elder.”
Mark inhaled softly.
Then his eyes opened.
Calm this time.
Focused.
No panic.
No confusion.
Just stillness.
Slowly he stood up from the chair.
Chris immediately adjusted the tie knot once more, tightening it snug against the fully buttoned collar while smoothing the front of the white shirt flat against Mark’s chest.
Mark smiled faintly as Chris fixed him.
Almost proud of it now.
Much different from earlier.
Elder Thompson stepped forward holding a pair of dark rectangular glasses.
“Final touch.”
He slid them carefully onto Mark’s face while Jensen straightened them evenly over his ears.
Mark blinked once behind the lenses.
Then smiled wider.
Clean white shirt.
Tie perfectly aligned.
Hair slicked neatly back.
Top button fastened tight.
Black name tag shining against his chest.
Chris stepped back admiring him quietly.
Mark looked composed now.
Refined.
Like the last pieces of the old him had finally settled into place.
