In Ardon, jackets weren’t just clothes—they were everything. The Businessman wore sleek pinstripes, the Doctor donned pristine white coats, and the Lawyer cloaked themselves in power stitched with authority. The Movie Star wrapped themselves in glamour, basking in admiration, while the Politician’s jacket changed with the winds of public opinion, always adjusting to the mood of the people.
But beneath the threads and prestige was a darker truth. Ego. Each jacket was a reflection of self-worth, an extension of one’s identity in the eyes of society. The more ornate the jacket, the stronger the ego. The more a jacket fed into that ego, the harder it was to imagine life without it. To remove one’s jacket was to strip away the illusion of power, to stand naked before the world, vulnerable and diminished.
In Ardon, a jacket was everything, and nothing.
In Ardon, the jacket you wear isn't just a reflection of who you are—it’s a fragile mask. Remove it, and the world will no longer see you.
Tanner’s jacket wasn’t adorned with fame or prestige, but it served its purpose—a high-vis vest that marked him as part of the working class. It wasn’t glamorous, but it made him visible. The vest announced to the world, “I am here. I matter.” Without it, he was nobody.
For some, like the Banker, the jacket was a symbol of wealth and control. For the Doctor, it was authority over life and death. For the Lawyer, it was the weight of justice. But Tanner's jacket was different—his vest was practical, ensuring he didn’t disappear in the noise of the city. But was it enough?
One day, Tanner walked into the Tailor’s shop, a place whispered about in hushed circles. They said the Tailor could mend any jacket, restore lost dignity, or even fashion a new identity. But the cost was never just coin.
Inside, Tanner saw people struggling with their jackets. A Movie Star desperately trying to tighten her shimmering coat that no longer seemed to fit the fading glimmer of her career. A Politician, adjusting his jacket to match the opinions of everyone in the room, but losing himself in the process.
Then Tanner saw him—the Soldier. His military jacket was frayed and torn, ripped apart by the wars he had fought. He tugged at it, trying to make it fit once more, but it hung loosely on his battle-worn body. The horrors of conflict had twisted the jacket beyond repair, and no amount of effort could make it fit in the society he had returned to.
“The jacket no longer belongs to him,” said The Tailor, watching Tanner’s gaze.
“But why doesn’t he take it off?” Tanner asked.
The Tailor gave a knowing smile. “Because without the jacket, he’s nothing. He clings to it, despite the pain, because losing it means losing himself. Without it, society will cast him aside. Just like…” His eyes shifted to the window, where a man sat on the curb—without a jacket at all.
The man on the street was a shadow, unseen by those who passed by, ignored, forgotten. Once he had a jacket like everyone else, but now it was gone, and with it, his place in the world. Without the jacket, he had lost his identity—his Ego shattered.
“The worst thing you can do in Ardon is lose your jacket,” the Tailor said. “Without it, you become invisible. Society no longer sees you. You’re as good as dead.”
Tanner shivered. The bright yellow of his high-vis vest had always felt like a burden, marking him as a worker, a cog in the machine. Now he realized the terrifying truth—it was the only thing standing between him and nothingness.
Ego, he understood, was a double-edged sword. It gave you power when society saw your jacket. But when that jacket was stripped away, so too was your sense of worth. You could disappear in an instant, fading into the void like the jacketless man outside.
As Tanner left the shop, his fingers clutched the fabric of his vest. The world outside was no different, but his understanding of it had shifted. The jacket wasn’t just cloth. It was a tether, tying each person to the fragile illusion of their place in the world. Some, like the Movie Star and the Politician, spent their lives adjusting it to suit the world’s expectations. Others, like the Soldier, found that no matter how hard they tried, they could no longer wear their past.
And the man without a jacket? He was the most tragic of all—cast out, unseen, and forgotten, his Ego dissolved into the ether, a reminder of what happens when the world no longer recognises you.
