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EPISODE 02: "FLASHBACK" MARSEILLES, FRANCE SIX MONTHS AGO
Emmanuelle "Twitch" Pichon stood outside the bank in Marseilles, France, paralyzed by the realization that they were all too late.
The gun in her hands, the drone at her feet, years of training, her fellow operators, the French police surrounding the bank... none of them mattered.
The bomb detonated. The explosion erupted slowly, a rippling ocean of fire that burst outward towards them all, licking at everything it passed.
Flames speared through a million shards of glass. The ground shook, throwing her and dozens of onlookers to the asphalt. Twitch's masked face was peppered with chunks of concrete and dirt as she was thrown flat on her back. She was vaguely aware of Montagne in the distance shouting in alarm as he planted his feet with shield raised, in attempt to block the on-site hostage negotiator from shrapnel.
Dust plumed out onto the street, covering everyone and everything. Voices of both civilians and the police sounded like a haunting call from a land forgotten, far and away.
Twitch propped herself up on her elbows, coughing on the dust while trying to blink away the haze of her blurred vision.
The chaos swirled around her in a storm. A hundred men and women were moving, shouting, screaming, running, crawling... but it was the little boy at the steps of the bank that Twitch's eyes found.
He was so overcome by flames that he could not even scream for help. The boy fell down the steps outside, like a rolling pillar of fire.
Twitch screamed through her tears, and she cried out for the boy who couldn't cry out for himself.
* * *
A hand touched her shoulder. "Emmy?"
Like a bad dream, the Marseilles bombing fell away. The screams of the wounded vanished. The taste of dust was gone.
"Emmy," came the woman's voice again. "You okay, hon?"
Twitch blinked, feeling lost for a moment. Her blonde-haired sister Mélanie stood in front of her, light blue eyes narrowed in concern.
They were in the middle of the beautiful, marble-tiled ballroom of Les Salons Hoche in Paris. Well-dressed men and women mixed and mingled around the hall, bathed in soothing pink light. A man was playing a grand piano in the corner, gently accompanying the voices and laughter of guests.
"Sorry," Twitch murmured. She brought her champagne to her lips and downed the entire glass in one go. "I need another."
Mélanie smiled understandingly. "Let's go get some air, hm? There's a balcony outside."
A moment later, the two women stood alone outside on a dimly lit balcony, gazing out at the Paris city lights.
Mélanie set down her champagne and lit a cigarette.
Emmanuelle raised her eyebrows. "Thought you quit."
"No," Mélanie replied with a grin. "I was doing okay for awhile. Mom hates it, but what can I say? We've all got something, don't we?"
Emmy chuckled. "Oui. We do."
A wordless minute passed. Soft wind explored the streets around them. A car horn in the distance honked angrily at a pedestrian, who returned an obscene gesture. Below them, a couple strolled along the sidewalk.
Emmy watched in quiet jealousy as the woman threw back her head in laughter and leaned into the tall man she walked with, who pulled her close with an arm around the shoulder.
Mélanie watched her sister knowingly. "We're all glad you came - especially mom. She was worried you wouldn't be able to make it."
Twitch smiled. "It's good to see you all. I've missed you. Would've been nice to be back in Nancy, though."
"It hasn't changed," Mélanie laughed. Her smile slowly faded as she watched her sister gaze out at the city. "Are you doing okay? After Marseilles?"
Emmanuelle's eyes smoldered at the sudden question, and forced her gaze back to the city. "Yeah."
Mélanie put out her cigarette. She stepped close and lowered her voice. "Give me a hug, Emmy."
"I'm okay. Promise."
Mélanie ignored her sister's apprehension and wrapped her arms around her. She could feel Emmy stiffen in response.
"I know you're strong," Mélanie whispered. "We all do. We're all so proud of you... but nobody is okay after something like that. Talk to me, okay? If you ever need to, I'm here."
All of Emmanuelle's life's training, strengths, and accomplishments couldn't stop the tears from wetting her eyes. She slowly relinquished control and returned Mél's embrace, crying into her shoulder softly.
Music from the party flowed out past the two sisters from behind closed windows and out into the night. The women shared the moment in silent reverence, both recognizing it as the sort that would one day be a fleeting memory of old.
