Since he began killing people, the Artist has always been a few steps ahead of everyone he's ever crossed. He's always been just a bit smart, or faster or more prepared. He's come close to killing men who knew how to adapt to any situation simply because he was able to change his plans faster than they could react.
Tonight, Frank Wells is not prepared to be faster than an arrow.
The projectile slams into his face driving him backward toward the concrete wall and embedding itself. Wells didn't think the other man would be the one to kill him; he thought it would the first guy.
He thought that Red Robin would come along to make his death into a work of art. Even now, Wells is somewhat satisfied as his life ends.
Killer killed in his cell.
This will be one hell of a front-page.
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