At first, Thea was still debating whether or not to find that cursed African idol.
In the original timeline, Oliver would, in his fourth year, help the organization H.I.V.E. acquire that very idol—only for it to eventually fall into Damien Darhk's hands and wreak havoc on Star City.
Instead of letting that happen and cleaning up the mess later, Thea figured it was better to destroy it ahead of time.
But no matter how hard she searched, she couldn't sense any magical energy on the island besides the Horus Orb she carried.
Different magical systems, maybe? Or perhaps the idol doesn't emit energy when dormant?
Whatever the reason, she gave up. There were still nine years before Damien nuked Star City. If needed, she could always kill him early.
Her "Purgatory Island" trip was already more than halfway complete. The only task left was rescuing Sara Lance.
The two of them didn't exactly have a friendship, so Thea didn't plan on asking whether Sara wanted to be saved. She'd just haul her back to Star City—instant reputation boost with Captain Lance and Laurel.
If Sara were far away, Thea might have been too lazy to bother, but since the woman was literally on a ship anchored off the island's west coast, it would've been rude not to swing by.
Without hesitation, Thea launched herself into the night sky. After several days of treasure-hunting, she was no longer disoriented by the island's terrain. Orienting herself by memory, she flew west.
Finding one person might've been tricky—but finding a large ship glinting on the sea? Easy.
That ship belonged to Dr. Anthony Ivo, a scientist who'd once researched Japan's World War II bioweapon project: Mirakuru.
He'd hired an entire crew of mercenaries to help him find what he called "the miracle serum." Whatever noble reason he might've once had, Thea couldn't care less. As far as she was concerned, he was scum.
Scanning with infrared from above, she counted dozens of heat signatures—over a hundred people, by rough estimate.
She landed silently on deck, timing her descent between patrols. The hoverboard wasn't ideal for tight corridors anyway.
Now speed was everything. Gripping the necklace Malcolm had given her, she whispered the incantation engraved on its chain.
"Gale Step."
A faint azure mist coiled around her as the spell took hold.
She tested her movement—good. Not Flash-level, but at least six hundred kilometers per hour.
After a second of thought, she dismissed her hoverboard entirely. The ship's narrow passages didn't call for fancy maneuvering.
Drawing on her League of Assassins training, she slipped between patrols, following shadows into the ship's interior.
Halfway through, she caught a lone mercenary and knocked him out cold—didn't bother checking for brain damage. A quick mix of Suggestion and Dreamspell magic cracked his mind wide open for memory extraction.
Within minutes, she knew the ship's full layout. There weren't as many mercs as she'd feared—two squads total, fifty men. And since Dr. Ivo had taken one squad ashore that morning, only twenty-five armed guards remained.
Most of the other heat signatures she'd detected weren't soldiers at all, but captives—test subjects for Ivo's grotesque experiments.
Sara Lance, however, had fared surprisingly well.
To Thea, Sara was maybe a six out of ten at best. But after years at sea, to a half-crazed scientist, she was a goddess. One thing led to another, and she'd somehow ended up as Dr. Ivo's "personal assistant."
Now that Thea knew how weak the defenses were, there was no need to hide. A couple dozen thugs scattered across the ship? Child's play.
She summoned her psychic duplicate, handed it a bow. The gesture was clear: If you see anyone—kill them. If you don't—move on.
Her main body drew her sword and dagger. The moment she spotted a patrol team in the corridor, she lunged forward like a gust of wind.
To ordinary eyes, the mercenaries were well-trained professionals. But to Thea—faster, stronger, and deadly precise—they were walking piles of open targets.
Slash, thrust, pivot—every swing dropped another man.
Her duplicate loosed arrows, taking down those who raised their guns to shoot back.
Thirty seconds later, silence. Thea flicked the blood from her blade. The main body had slain five, the duplicate three.
"Not a single decent fighter," she muttered smugly.
The duplicate rolled her eyes. "Then go find more. I'm ranged support, remember?"
Bickering with one's own clone felt like arguing with a mirror, but oddly entertaining. And in the dim light, Thea noticed something new: her nighttime duplicate seemed alive in a way it wasn't before—almost feeding on the thrill of combat.
Great, she thought. So I'm supposed to play the saint by day and the executioner by night? What kind of weird talent tree is this?
After wiping out another patrol, she followed the memories she'd taken earlier straight to the captain's cabin.
The iron door was locked and looked thick—but she wasn't about to knock politely.
Powering her mechanical arm to maximum, she punched where the keyhole should've been.
Crunch!
To her surprise, the "thick" door crumpled inward like tin foil, ripping free of its hinges and crashing to the floor.
A high-pitched scream pierced the cabin.
Sara Lance had been sleeping comfortably. The accommodations weren't luxury-level, but compared to the test subjects in cages, she was practically royalty. Ivo hadn't made any obscene demands—yet—and even if he had, she wouldn't have dared resist.
She'd resigned herself to this strange new "life," until the night shattered with distant screams.
At first, she'd thought it was a nightmare. Then the metallic scent of blood hit her nose, sharp and real. Her heart froze.
Now, with every noise outside going silent except for approaching footsteps, she panicked.
Just as she considered hiding, a metallic arm punched through the door, ripped it off entirely, and tossed it aside.
Sara screamed again, mind flashing with scenes from every horror movie she'd ever watched—Terminator, Alien, take your pick.
And she sure as hell wasn't the killer—she was the terrified girl about to die.
Thea stepped through the doorway, blinking at the trembling woman curled on the floor with her eyes shut tight, screaming so hard she could've shattered glass.
"…Am I really that scary?" Thea muttered. "Well, no wonder they call you the Canary. That voice could kill."
Dismissing her clone—no need to show off the creepy magic—she crouched down and said gently, "Hey, I'm here to rescue you."
Sara didn't respond. Her own shouting drowned out Thea's words completely.
This was someone she actually knew—through Oliver, Laurel, and Captain Lance—so dragging her out by force seemed rude.
With a sigh, Thea decided to wait it out and let the woman scream herself hoarse.
As for the rest of the mercs on board? Either they'd been scared stiff by Thea's killing spree… or were sulking in jealousy that the boss's girlfriend had gotten all the attention.
Whatever the case, none of them dared come running to save her. Each one hid quietly in a corner, pretending to be dead.