So this is the first chapter in my new story, The Sharp Horns of Dilemmas. Please please please leave me feedback if you can, I really want to know what I can do to make it better. Also, I have edited it, but it's un-beta'd, so if you spot any mistakes please let me know!


Fog crept across the docks, brought in by the rolling waves of a sleepy sea. The night was dark and thick; the sky was low and heavy and the street lights around the warehouses were barely lifting the weight of the blackness. It was either really late or really early, Oren couldn't tell, but the air had teeth and they were sharpened with cold. He pulled the lapels of his coat tighter around his neck to try and block out the chill. It was unusually cold for mid-September and he was severely underdressed for the occasion; his pants were thin and sharply cut; his shoes more appropriate for a board meeting than the bite of the sea breeze, but still he waited, pacing in ever smaller circles to try and generate warmth.

There was fear in him, anyone watching would be able to see, but Oren was lucky; the weather was poor, and it was late. There was nobody there to watch him squirm. When life leads you to a fork in the road, you gotta take the route that doesn't lead you to certain death, right? Even if that road makes you morally uncomfortable and leads to standing by shady warehouses on the docks when the rest of the city was sleeping soundly in their beds. He still had time to say no, but contemplating the wisdom of his decision at this point seemed redundant. He had arrived, he had waited, and though he technically could still run out on this job, there was no guarantee he'd live long enough to find another.

The fog deadened the sounds around him, and it wasn't until the helicopter was almost directly above that Oren had even noticed the rhythmic whirring of the rotating blades. As the helicopter descended the air whipped into a hurricane around him, ruffling his hair and buffeting his ears with knife edges on the wind. Everything was muffled and close, and the helicopter touched the concrete with the grace and weightlessness of a falling feather. A door on the side slid open and an arm reached out and beckoned him closer. His feet failed him for a moment of nervous hesitation as his stomach rolled over, but he quickly dismissed the sensation before he ducked his head and hurried into the transport.

"Good evening, Sable." He greeted his new companion, finding great difficulty in maintaining eye contact with the woman for longer than a few moments. Her aura was imposing, and it was reinforced by her visage. A tight bun of dark hair sat atop her head, her skin was pale and smooth over pointed curves and a sharp face.

"Good evening Mr Lightfoot. I'm glad you decided to accept our generous offer." Sable DeSauveterre put Oren on edge. She was knowing smiles and comforting pats on the back, but there was always a dagger concealed in her palm.

"I didn't realise I had any choice in the matter." He replied, straightening his jacket.

"Of course you had a choice, but our organisation is very good at making particular options more… Desirable." A smirk crossed his new companion's face as a spark of dangerous amusement flashed in her eye.

"Threats of pain and death tend to have that effect." Oren tried to bite his tongue, but the cold had already worn his patience down to a nub.

"Technicalities, really. You will be handsomely recompensed for your efforts towards our cause, I can assure you." She flicked her hair back over her shoulder and nodded to the pilot, who took the signal and delicately lifted the helicopter into the air. Oren adjusted his feet and grasped at a handrail, suddenly aware of how deep he found himself in a mess he'd desperately tried to avoid. She had given him his chance to leave and he hadn't taken it, and now he was sharply aware of how easy it would be to drown.

"I hope you're ready." She teased, her voice was laced with honey and malice, her posture sure but relaxed, and she knew that he was hers.

"I don't know if it's possible to be ready for something like this, but if you're asking if I can do my job? You already know the answer." The helicopter banked and he tried to keep his stance stable, his knuckles blanching as his grip on the handrail turned to iron.

"And that is why we wanted you, Mr Lightfoot. You will be an exceptionally valuable asset to our cause, and my team looks forward to working with you."

The edge of the ocean disappeared entirely from view and Oren gazed at the barren streets below. He couldn't help but wonder what would be left of them all when this was over.

"What took you so long?" Zerua's voice snapped like an icy twig underfoot as the door opened. Tangible nerves poured out of her body and she twitched with energy. It had been hours and there had been hot breath on her neck demanding answers.

"Calm yourself, we have company." Sable's voice was calm and the artificial pleasant tone made Oren's feet prickle. She walked through the door with Oren close on her heels. His shoulders were tight and his eyes darted around the room, checking the corners and exits with a time-worn habituality. Zerua frowned, her arms crossing over her chest as her eyes quickly scoped the man from his wind-mussed hair to his polished black brogues. He was a cliché, she decided, and unimpressive. He also didn't trust them, which was smart.

"He doesn't look like he's worth the money." She muttered, her chin tilting up in an attempt to pull rank over Oren, but he simply chuckled.

"You don't look like you're worth the air in your lungs, but here we are." His voice was gentle and without bite, and he didn't even expend the effort to look at her properly as he spoke. Zerua huffed in the back of her throat as Sable let an easy laugh escape and walked over to place a soft hand on the slim girl's shoulder.

"He has bite, my darling, and he will do what must be done." Sable snatched at the girl's chin and tilted her face to hers. "Will you?"

"Yes, of course!" She stuttered, her eyes wide and filled with the need to please. "Anything."

"Good girl." Sable patted Zerua's cheek gently and walked past, beckoning the two to follow her over to the desk in the corner. She gestured for Oren to take a seat, and Zerua naturally moved to stand to attention to the right of Sable as she sat in her chair.

"So, how are we doing this?" Oren lazily crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, trying to force his body to relax in the company of this innately unsettling woman. He couldn't tell if Sable made her little pet uncomfortable too, or if the lanky girl was always that twitchy. Sable took up her scroll in hand and flicked across the screen with ease. A few taps and she pinged a picture to Oren, which he opened and glanced at before setting his eyes back onto her. "What use are kids?"

A sadistic smile crept across her face, anticipation and excitement bubbled at the surface and Oren could taste her overconfidence on the air. "My dear Oren, these aren't just any children. They are her children, and they are worth their weight in dust." She twisted her scroll on the desk and a text file shot over to his, filled with notes. "When we have them, we have her."