Black Sheep

500 Miles

She caught herself thinking about Lucius again. Getting dressed she made her way to the coffee shop.

Victoria stood behind the counter at the coffee shop, wiping down the espresso machine as the mid-morning rush began to taper off. The quiet hum of the café was a welcome reprieve from the whirlwind of her thoughts. Work had become her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the rhythm of steaming milk, pulling espresso shots, and chatting with customers.

The soft chime of the bell over the door drew her attention. As she glanced up, her eyes widened slightly at the man who stepped inside. He was impossible to miss.

Standing at least 6'5", the man exuded an imposing presence. His muscular frame was cloaked in white robes adorned with a striking blue cross that ran down its length, the fabric flowing slightly as he moved. His blonde hair was neatly combed, and round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the light as he scanned the room.

He strode to the counter with a purpose, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Victoria. She felt a subtle unease in his presence, though his expression was calm.

“Good morning, lass,” he said, his voice deep and rich with a lilting Scottish brogue. “I’m looking for someone, and I was told you might be able to help.”

Victoria set the cloth she’d been holding down on the counter. “Uh, sure. Who are you looking for?”

“Alistair,” the man replied, his gaze unwavering. “Or, more specifically, Lucius.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, and Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. She gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening.

“Lucius?” she repeated, feigning ignorance. “I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about.”

The man’s smile was faint but held a knowing quality. He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “I think ye do, lass. And I think ye know exactly how dangerous he is.”

Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact. “Who are you?”

“Father Victoriaander Anderson,” he said, straightening up. “Servant of the Church of f**k Around and Find Out, protector of the innocent, and hunter of those who’ve gone astray.”

Victoria swallowed hard, her mind racing. “What do you want with him?”

Father Anderson’s smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “To talk. Alistair gave me a ring. He was my…assisstant.”

Victoria clenched her jaw, a mix of fear and defiance rising within her. She didn’t know how much he already knew, but the thought of Lucius—or Alistair—being hunted by this man was unsettling.

“I haven’t seen him,” she said carefully, choosing her words. “But if I do, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

Anderson studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded. “Aye, do that. And remember, lass... there’s always a choice. For him, and for you.”

He turned and walked out of the café, leaving Victoria standing there, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched through the window as he disappeared down the street, his white robes billowing slightly in the breeze.

The café was quiet again, but Victoria’s thoughts were anything but. Who was this man, really? And what would happen if he found Lucius? Or Alistair? This also wasn’t the first time she had heard of that particular holy order.

The day suddenly felt a lot heavier, and Victoria knew she couldn’t ignore the storm that was clearly brewing.

Victoria couldn’t get it out of her head. That night, after closing the café and locking up, she sat in her dimly lit apartment with her laptop open on the table. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating before typing “Church of f**k Around and Find Out.” She hit enter, her breath held.

The search results were sparse—far too sparse for any organization that supposedly carried out operations against corrupt politicians, CEOs, and despots. Most of the links led to conspiracy forums, vague articles, and barely substantiated rumors.

The few articles she found painted the Church in a polarizing light. To some, they were defenders of justice—an elite group of warriors who did what governments and the legal system couldn’t. They took down untouchable people who thrived on exploiting the powerless.

One thread on a conspiracy forum stood out. A user claimed to have witnessed a Church operation in Brazil, where a corrupt governor known for human trafficking had disappeared without a trace. The post was filled with speculation:

“These guys aren’t amateurs. They’re ex-military, ex-intelligence, highly trained. They don’t kill randomly—they’re precise, calculated. But they have no oversight, no accountability. They’re judge, jury, and executioner. You think they’re heroes? Wait until you’re the one they decide to come after.”

Another comment countered:

“They only go after the worst of the worst. Politicians who steal from the people, CEOs who destroy communities, warlords who kill children. If you’re afraid of them, maybe you’ve got skeletons in your closet.”

The tone of the threads made Victoria’s stomach twist. Who were these people? And how did they justify deciding who deserved to live or die?

Digging deeper, she found a heavily redacted report from what appeared to be a private intelligence contractor. It described the Church as a “paramilitary organization operating outside of any known jurisdiction, employing unconventional warfare tactics to eliminate high-value targets.” But even this report had no names, no locations—just mentions of rumored operations and their supposed targets.

Her last search led her to an obscure blog written by someone claiming to be a whistleblower. The post described a group that operated in cells, each one self-sufficient, with no direct ties to any central leadership. Their missions were supposedly handed down through encrypted channels, and their operatives were ghosts—people with no pasts, no futures, just a singular purpose.

The blog ended with a chilling line:

"They don’t just fight evil—they become it, to destroy it."

Victoria sat back in her chair, her heart pounding. The more she learned—or didn’t learn—the more uneasy she felt. If these online whispers were true, Lucius’s involvement with the Church, whether current or past, was more dangerous than she had imagined.

Her thoughts spiraled. Was Alistair safe? Was she? And how much of the man she cared about was tied to this shadowy organization?

She closed her laptop and stared at the wall, her mind racing. Secrets like this didn’t just stay buried—they came with consequences.

As Victoria sat in her apartment, lost in her swirling thoughts about the Church and everything she’d uncovered, her phone buzzed on the table. The sharp vibration pulled her back to the present, and she picked it up, glancing at the notification.

It was a text from Alistair:

"Hey, dinner tonight? There's a little spot I think you'll like. My treat. Pick you up at 7?"

She stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. After everything she’d learned—or tried to learn—about the Church of FAFO and Lucius's potential connection to it, her feelings toward Alistair felt more complicated than ever. But this was Alistair, not Lucius. His sweet, earnest text was a reminder of the part of him that made her feel grounded.

She typed back:

"Sure. Sounds nice. See you at 7."

Her reply was short, but she hoped it carried the right tone—casual, normal. She couldn’t afford to let on how heavy her thoughts were.

The next few hours passed in a blur as she got ready. She opted for a simple black dress, understated yet elegant, pairing it with a light cardigan. As she looked in the mirror, she took a deep breath.

"Just dinner," she told herself, smoothing her hair. "Keep things normal."

At 7 p.m. sharp, she heard the familiar rumble of Alistair’s car outside. She grabbed her bag, gave herself one last glance in the mirror, and headed out the door.

Alistair was waiting by the passenger side, dressed in a crisp navy button-up shirt and dark jeans, a casual yet put-together look that made her heart ache a little. He opened the door for her, smiling warmly.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice soft but genuine.

“Thanks,” she replied, sliding into the seat.

The drive was quiet but comfortable, the city lights casting a warm glow on the car’s interior. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t pry, just let the radio play softly in the background.

When they arrived, Victoria was pleasantly surprised. It was a cozy little restaurant tucked away in an unassuming corner of town, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with dim lighting and the faint hum of conversation.

Alistair pulled out her chair for her, and as they settled in, she allowed herself a moment to breathe.

Over dinner, the conversation flowed naturally. Alistair talked about mundane things—his day, a funny story he’d heard, little observations that made her smile. For a while, Victoria felt like she could set aside her worries, like she could just be here with him, in this moment.

But the questions lingered at the edges of her mind. Was he aware of Lucius's actions? How much of Lucius’s life was Alistair oblivious to? Could she keep pretending everything was fine?

Alistair must have noticed the flicker of something in her expression because he reached across the table, his hand brushing hers gently.

“Hey,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “You seem a little distracted. Is everything okay?”

Victoria hesitated, her mind racing for an answer. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not yet.

“I’m just…tired,” she said, forcing a small smile. “Long day at work.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Well, you’re here now. Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”

She nodded, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away.

For now, she thought, she’d let herself have this moment. But deep down, she knew the truth wouldn’t stay buried for long.

As dinner went on, Victoria found herself caught between the warmth of Alistair’s presence and the cold weight of her secrets. The food was delicious—some kind of fusion cuisine that paired rich, tropical flavors with comforting European classics. Alistair was animated as he spoke, his hands occasionally gesturing to emphasize a point. He was so...him. Earnest, charming, the kind of guy who could make anyone feel like the center of his world.

But even as she laughed at his stories, her mind kept wandering. To Lucius. To the Church of FAFO. To the things she’d done in the bunker that still haunted her. She felt like she was leading two lives, and the strain was starting to show.

When the dessert came—a decadent coconut panna cotta—Alistair leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” he said, his tone soft but probing. “I mean, quieter than usual. Is it just work, or is there something else on your mind?”