Chapter 301: Barry on the Brink of Death

Things have recently gone somewhat beyond Ma Ma Zhaodi's expectations.

He had originally planned to set up a stall while touring the entire Central City, not only to familiarize himself with the local terrain but also to lay the groundwork for his future movements in every corner of the city, but the problem now is that he cannot tour the whole city.

"Old Ma, Old Ma—are your buns ready?"

"You damn guys bought three hundred just a few days ago; have you finished them? You want more?"

Hearing the voice on the phone, Ma Ma Zhaodi's face instantly darkened; he should have known better than to be soft-hearted and leave his phone number with those students, and now every day the phone rings with voices urging him to cook.

What kind of tour is this? Those two groups have been buying in bulk for the next two weeks; they haven't even finished the buns they took back before they plan to snatch the next batch.

"Take it easy; buns don't spoil that quickly. Can't I cook some food without selling it all to you?"

"What about that pot of braised pork from the day before yesterday? Where's the spice bag? Keep cooking the meat; you can at least cook it three more times."

"Is there such a good thing?!"

"Boil it once in the morning and once in the evening to sterilize; remember to add salt and water. Soak the meat to remove the blood, and cook the meat over medium-low heat—and there's one more thing."

As he spoke, Ma Ma Zhaodi raised his head and looked around; at this moment, his surroundings were already packed with students holding thermal containers, densely gathered beside the three-wheeler, completely blocking off the small stall.

"How many traitors do you guys actually have? I feel like after two weeks, all the students within a ten-li radius have run over here."

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the Central City Police Department has not been as cheerful as Ma Ma Zhaodi's side recently.

"Good morning, West."

"Good morning, Eddie."

Joe West, the middle-aged Black detective, Iris's father, and Barry Allen's adoptive father, arrived at the Central City Police Department for work as usual today; the moment he entered the station, he saw his new partner, Eddie Thawne, greeting him.

Joe forced himself to muster some energy, nodded at Eddie, then ignored him completely and walked heavily to his own desk.

This was not because he had any objection to his partner being replaced; in fact, Cullen was already advanced in years, and now he had added a gunshot wound to his abdomen; even without mentioning that he was still in the hospital, even if he were to be discharged later, he should retire and go home to enjoy some peace and quiet.

He had no objection to Eddie either; this was a very cheerful young blond man, handsome, capable, ambitious, and polite in his dealings with others; saying he was a promising young man was no problem at all. Even though he was a bit green now and lacked some experience, he was still far better than a complete newcomer—even considering that this young man had once helped his daughter catch the thief who stole the computer, he should add a few points to his opinion of him.

Police stations naturally operate on a model where veterans train new recruits; he could quickly bring Eddie up to speed.

But he currently had no energy to build rapport with this new colleague; in fact, he currently did not want to build rapport with any colleague.

"Barry."

He tiredly held his head, thinking of the scene he had witnessed that morning outside Barry's hospital room—Barry Allen, the son he had raised for so many years, still lay unconscious on the hospital bed, covered in wounds and on the verge of death.

He saw burn marks covering Barry's body, saw certain patches of his skin and flesh dried out and cracked, the charred color resembling charcoal. Even though he had been trying to call out to him these past few days, Barry had no response to his voice; he lay on the bed with his eyes closed, like a vegetative patient.

Or rather, he had indeed become a vegetative patient.

"Mr. Barry Allen is very fortunate; his body was indeed struck by lightning, and he was also drenched in chemicals, some of which may have entered his bloodstream through his wounds." The doctor in the white coat said to Joe: "Anyone in his condition would face a high risk of death, with a very high probability of dying on the spot, but Mr. Allen did not."

"He survived the lightning strike and held on until emergency treatment; now, his vital signs have even stabilized, but the only problem is that he has not woken up. We believe the lightning strike may have damaged certain brain nerves, or it could be the effect of the chemicals—regardless, Mr. Allen remains in a state of unconsciousness; he has become a vegetative patient who will not die, but also will not wake up, and we cannot predict when he might regain consciousness."

"It could be half a minute, it could be half a year, or he might never wake up; regardless, whether to continue maintaining his life is entirely up to you, Mr. West."

"Hey, Joe."

At some point, Eddie had come to the desk and said to Joe: "Did something happen to you?"

Joe looked at Eddie.

"My adoptive son is unconscious, and my partner was shot and retired," Joe replied. "Nothing happened to me, Eddie; I just need some time alone to think—do you understand?"

"Of course, no problem."

Eddie awkwardly walked away from Joe's side.

Sorry, Eddie.

Joe watched Eddie's back and silently sighed.

In fact, the things troubling him were not limited to these two—just yesterday, the mastermind behind the particle accelerator explosion, Dr. Harrison Wells, came specifically to find him.

At that time, Joe was in the hospital, sitting by Barry's bedside.

"Dad? Are you asleep?"

Iris's soft call startled Joe awake; he suddenly opened his eyes and saw Barry lying on the hospital bed.

Holding a cup of coffee, Iris gently closed the hospital room door, came to his side, and lightly patted her father's shoulder: "You fell asleep in the chair."

Joe said nothing; he just tightened his clothes, sat up straight, and prevented himself from leaning against the backrest and falling asleep again.

"It's been three weeks; you haven't eaten or slept properly," Iris sighed, advising him: "You should go home and rest."

Joe looked at the still unconscious Barry, shook his head, reached out to take the coffee cup from Iris's hand, and replied: "Barry hasn't woken up yet; when he recovers, I will go home."

These past few days, Joe went to the police station during the day and ran to the hospital at night, guarding Barry's bedside; his face visibly grew tired and thin.

Beep—

Suddenly, the monitoring instrument beside the hospital bed emitted a loud and urgent warning sound; Joe and Iris's nerves instantly tensed; they saw the intubated Barry suddenly convulse violently on the bed, his body jerking like a dehydrated fish struggling on the verge of death.

"Oh God! Oh!"

Iris, her face full of panic, pressed down on Barry's body, while Joe ran out of the hospital room in three long strides; his hoarse, desperate shouts almost shook the entire hospital corridor.

"Doctor, doctor! Save my son!"

The hurried footsteps of doctors and nurses immediately echoed in the corridor.

(End of this chapter)