Shiva (Arrow - Oliver Queen)

12 / third degree burns

The next day, Sandra didn't head to the Foundry until late into the night. She slipped into the abandoned steel mill, rolling her neck out. Her hours had been devoted to research and reconassiance on Somers. Oliver wanted to wait to strike? Fine. That wouldn't stop her from pulling apart any law suit, news article, and itinerary she had access to. Somers would have a weak spot: a hole in his schedule, a late night in the office--and that's when they would  move in on him. 

In the meantime, Sandra went to the Foundry to train. Her apartment didn't exactly have the space, and she doubted her neighbors (or landlord) would appreciate her putting holes in the wall with throwing stars. Her research had taken up most of the day. It was nearly midnight when she arrived, but sleep felt too distant for her to do anything else. She presumed Oliver would be at home, with his family. When she descended into the Foundry, however, she found the lights were on. 

"Hello?" she called, trotting down the stairs. 

Silence met her. Was he in the backroom? If Oliver was here, she wouldn't mind a quick sparring session. It would take her mind off Chien for a while-

Sandra stopped dead when she saw Oliver's wooden trunk thrown over one of the metal tables. The lid hung open. It was empty. His bow was missing, along with his quiver, dozens of arrows... and his suit. 

She came to the conclusion at a startling speed, and her blood boiled: 

Oliver had lied. 

"Son of a bitch," Sandra hissed, and then she was reaching for her own suit. 

Within minutes, she was outfitted in her own suit and two sleeves of throwing stars, charging from the Foundry to Martin Somers' port. Oliver had left his computer open, too, and the location was circled on a map by his desk. By the time she arrived, locating Oliver was no difficult task--all she had to do was follow the sound of gunfire, and the trail of arrow-ridden bodies. 

Above her, Oliver was fighting men on a fire escape outside the main building. More thugs lined the way down, like a retro arcade game. Sandra scaled the metal scaffolding with ease, dropping behind the man Oliver was currently fighting. She reached up, twirling a ring dagger in one hand, and slit the man's throat. He fell, revealing Sandra standing behind him, looking like a wraith of fury against the midnight backdrop. 

Oliver faltered, taken off-guard. "What are you doing here?" 

Sandra could have laughed at his hypocrisy. "What the hell are you doing here?

Any words were cut off by an onslaught of bullets aimed at their heads. Sandra and Oliver ducked, running across the catwalk as sparks showered over them. Oliver knocked an arrow. A split-second later, the body of the gunman slumped to the floor. 

Oliver ran ahead of her to descend the fire escape. Sandra vaulted over the railing, landing in front of two more bodyguards. Neither of them could see--much less defend against--the thin throwing knife that slipped into her hand. She swiped the blade across both their necks in a single flourish. They were not wasting time here. 

The shipyard was fat with shipping containers, stacked together like a hedge maze. Oliver took a running start to scale the side of a shipping container, and Sandra followed. From up here, she saw a single man scurrying from the chaos behind them like a rat fleeing a flood: Martin Somers.