I'm unbeliveably terrible when it comes to writing opening chapters (and in general), but whatever. This is super work-in-progress also.

“Thibault! Move your fucking arse!”

Thibault didn’t even have time to open his eyes before his face was met with a book, courtesy of his ashen-haired, pyromaniac ‘apprentice’ Liz. As you may be able to guess, she was a bit of an abrasive one.

“We’ve got a job!” Liz’s words arrived alongside Thibault’s FAMAS, landing on his legs. “Gear up!”

Few people are excited to run into a dingy warehouse with decent chance of having their head spread over the walls, but Liz had been waiting for weeks, as one half of Thibault’s world first publicly organised Counter-Terrorism Unit – if you could say that a past-his prime ex-GIGN operator and a nineteen-ish loose cannon, two rifles, and an irresponsible amount of improvised explosives really counted as one. Clunky exposition - I know, but i'm not going to be all mysterious about it when you've probably read the blurb.

Thibault picked himself up, greeted by the sight of Liz strapping her mish-mash light armour and helmet on over her hoodie and skinny jeans, barely taking a moment to breathe. “Stand-off near Old Trafford, ten civvies dead.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Thibault muttered sarcastically, leaning off the rifle to step himself up. “And we’re cleaning up the mess, I guess?”

“Aye!” Liz shoved more of Thibault’s ancient equipment into his torso and he chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“I don’t know why expected things to change.” Thibault said with a sigh, putting his helmet on. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t even start.”