** A/N: red fights- AKA, the non-lethal fights, have a strict rule, you can't kill your opponent. there is red lines that mark the fighters bodies indicating the major arteries in the body, so the fighters know where to hit and where not to hit. It's also another reason why they are called red fights.**
Mutt backed away, blocking his jabs and slashes with every step. He was out of control; there was no thought in his moves, only a desperate need to survive. The crowd was going wild. But then, somewhere within a flurry of limbs too fast for the eye to follow, something went wrong. The other Ghost froze in horror. The crowd fell deadly silent.
Then she felt something running down her leg, something warm and wet. She looked down and the world span around her. Embedded in her abdomen was a knife, his knife. Even as she watched a growing patch of deep red blood was soaking her top. Oh God, he had hit red.
The numbness in her stomach was replaced by a dull throbbing, that quickly grew to pulsing heat.
As her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed to the ground, she was vaguely aware of the crowd beginning to shout in unison. "Kill, kill, kill." Over and over again. But it wasn't her blood they were calling for, it was his.
He had broken the rules. Illegal moves were punishable by death.
A gunshot broke out through the pandemonium.
The pain was almost unbearable, washing over her in fiery waves, wiping out every coherent thought. She didn't even try to look at the body of the man who had stabbed her as it thudded to the ground next to her. She could only watch, her body beginning to shudder and twitch involuntarily as the same Watcher who had executed the other Ghost turned his gun on her, the muzzle pointed at her forehead.
She let her head roll to the side; she didn't want to watch as the Watcher put a bullet in her skull. She didn't try to keep her eyes open as they drooped shut: she didn't want to see the crowd either.
Suddenly a commanding voiced, his voice, barked across the room, "Stop."
Mutt forced her eyes open. Blurry and unfocused as her vision was, she could see someone whispering in Washington's ear. Washington was nodding. "Get her to medical. Now!" He barked.
She was falling in and out of consciousness; the awaiting blackness was a welcome relief but at the Lieutenant's words a part of her cried out. No, just let me go. In a pain-ridden haze she tried to reach the knife, to pull it out, hoping to bleed out faster. But she was too weak her and her hands were slick with blood; her fingers slipped uselessly on the handle.
"No, no, you don't want to do that." A gentle voice said. It was the same man who had been whispering to the Lieutenant. A hand pulled her hand away carefully. The strong arms that supported her torso and shoulder were different from the rough hands of the Watchers as they each grabbed a limb and carried her like a group of poachers carries a tiger out of the cage. On one of those arms she saw a hint of blue.
The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a trio of bluejays, taking off into flight.
Jay awoke with a gasp, bathed in a cold sweat. The hospital gown clung to her skin. She was shivering but quickly steeled herself; only the weak require more than they are given.
"JJ? Are you okay?"
Jay jumped at Morgan's voice but schooled her reaction, trying to minimize its impact on him. She hated the look of hurt and pity that flitted across her former teammates' faces whenever they perceived how much she had changed in three years.
