When strong hands suddenly wrap around her and throw her from her spot at the window, Jaz can't help the noise that escapes her mouth. It's some strange mixture of a cry and a gasp, a sound of shock at first and then pain as her back crashes against the wood floor. She knows she has no room for panic or hesitation, no time to consider who the assailant is – she needs to fight. Yet, as she tries to reach for the knife that she know is in her waistband, she finds herself unable to move, seemingly frozen to a standstill for the first time in her life. Almost immediately after throwing her down, her attacker has come to stand above her with a gun pointed squarely at her chest.

She can't see his face well as it's covered with a black mask, but his voice is accented, something eastern European that she can't place.

"You move, I pull the trigger."

A shaky breath escapes her lips and despite all of her training, she can't hide her fear. Her mind is screaming at her to stay calm, but a little voice beneath it all is overshadowing her senses, whispering the truth of her reality and making her blood run cold beneath her skin. Dalton and the team are on the ground, safe with the target. Just then, she realizes she must have alerted them with her scream: beneath the sound of her own blood pumping, she recognizes the distinct voice of Amir in her ear, attempting to make contact with her through the mic.

"Do they know I'm here?"

Jaz hesitates and, before she even realizes he has moved, a boot is crushing down on her wrist that was against the floor, the full weight of the man forced upon the bone. She hears a crack and then feels the blinding pain like nothing she has ever felt before. Once again, there is no stopping the scream. This time, it's loud and pained, the shriek like that of a wild animal that had been forced a powerful blow.

"Yes!" Jaz moaned, squeezing her eyes shut for a second before forcing her gaze back on the man. He had yet to remove his foot from her wrist but he wasn't applying pressure; she was sure that if she didn't answer him, he wouldn't hesitate before sending it crashing down again. "I'm on a mic."

Had she been on another team, she knew there would be a chance she would be left. There was still an American civilian in jeopardy on the ground that had to be the focus; she knew the risk of the job, and they all understood that their responsibilities lay first with protecting the people they had signed up to serve and then with their own safety. Still, she knew that they were likely formulating a plan at the moment, especially with her confirmation that somebody was with her. She couldn't imagine any of them leaving without at least an attempt to help her. Her thoughts are confirmed almost immediately as she hears the voice of Dalton shouting out orders.

For the first time, the man takes his eyes off her to look elsewhere in the room. She knows it's her only chance to take him by suprise. She can kick up and hit him between the legs with her knee, and hopefully it would be enough to give her 3 seconds of leverage so she could attempt an escape. Just as she is preparing to do it, her small hopes are dashed.

"They're on their way, Ant. Let's get her out of here now before trouble shows up."

Her gut sinks as she realizes there are at least two of them.

Against one she had a chance, but she was hurt and they had guns; she knew that any attempt she made would be foiled. There was no denying she was a good fighter and could be sly when it was necessary, but a soldier's intuition told her that any possible chance of escape was outweighed by the circumstances. They hadn't killed her yet, so it was likely they needed her as a hostage for some reason. This wasn't necessarily reassuring because she knew what happened to hostages - torture, assault, sometimes death - but being held would give time for rescue rather than instant death.

"We're coming, Jaz, hang on." She barely registers Dalton's voice over the mic at first, the pain and anxiety beginning to overtake her better judgement and her senses. She is sure that her wrist has been shattered, and she is aware that she is possibly entering shock as her vision begins to swim and her fingers begin to shake against the floor.

"Five floors and I'll be there," McG reports. She knows that is too long - both men have now gathered near her feet, looking down at her through their identical masks. There are some muted whispers between them but she can't make them out over the lull in her brain. One of them - the new one, Ant, who had been by the door - steps carefully around her figure to near her head before crouching down. He is close now, face hovering above her own and hands resting against his thighs. His eyes stand out from the dark mask, clear grey circles against dark lashes. Jaz tries to memorize them so she knows who to kill if given the chance. This time, when he shifts his weight as he crouches, she knows another blow is coming her way. Jaz barely gets the chance to wince before the butt of a pistol comes barreling towards her forehead. Though it is clear his intentions were to knock her out, Jaz finds herself blinking and dizzied, but still slightly aware.

"Tough one," he chuckles, voice thick and heavy above her. "You make it hard for yourself, girl."

She can't see his eyes anymore – her focus is gone, her head like it's rattling even though it's flat against the ground. There are voices in her ear – Amir? Dalton? – she can't tell, but the sound is comforting enough, especially when the vague shape of the black gun comes crashing towards her skull a final time.