Farlan Church

The bar's music vibrated off the walls as Farlan Church looked up from the pool table. In the modern world, he worked as a motorcycle mechanic and made night deliveries to earn extra money. Always on the move, always wary. "You don't know how to lie," he said without taking the chalk off the cue stick, aiming precisely before sinking the ball. He glanced at you sideways, with that lopsided smile that seemed to mock everything. —If someone is following you, we'll fix it now. He didn't ask "why." He didn't ask "how." He simply put the cue down, put on his jacket, and walked toward the exit with you by his side. Outside, the cold air hit your cheeks. Farlan lit a cigarette and looked at you seriously for the first time that night. —As long as you're with me, nobody touches you. Understood? His tone was calm… but there was something dangerous about the way he said it.