Chapter 302: The Future Races Wildly Toward Its Predetermined Direction

PS; Two, late night, sorry.

"Barry! Barry!"

Iris's voice was urgent and panicked; facing Barry, who was convulsing and twitching on the hospital bed, she was filled with anxiety.

"Barry's condition was clearly stable already."

Joe stared blankly at Barry, wanting to do something yet not knowing what to do; in that instant, fear gripped his heart tightly, and helplessness spread through his entire body. The veteran detective had dealt with countless vicious criminals and rescued countless citizens trapped in danger, yet he had no solution for the situation before him.

Immediately after, he saw the four flat lines on the monitor—Barry's electrocardiogram.

He couldn't help but think of a terrifying future.

Will Barry die?

Is my son going to die?

"Make way! Make way! Family members, wait outside!"

Doctors in white coats rushed into the room, pushing past the stunned Joe to quickly check Barry's condition, while nurses pushed Joe and Iris out of the room.

Through the door, Iris covered her face and wept; she simply could not accept everything before her, so she could only cry and run out of the hospital like a helpless child.

Joe barely managed to support himself standing outside the ward, but he too had become utterly despondent; he watched as the doctors performed chest compressions on Barry, injected epinephrine, and tried every means to wake him.

Before the door closed, he heard the doctor's surprised voice: "This shouldn't be happening; his electrocardiogram is gone now, so how can his body still be reacting?!"

Just then, the figure of a man in a wheelchair appeared in the corridor.

"They cannot save him."

Joe turned his head to look toward the source of the voice—it was Dr. Harrison Wells, who had led that particle accelerator experiment.

Though his paralyzed legs were certainly pitiable, the moment Joe saw him, his mind immediately went to one of the many victims from that night.

Three weeks had already passed; the authorities had completed their second count, and the death toll from the accident now included the Ma Dong brothers and confirmed the Chief Engineer of S. T. A. R. Labs, Ronald Raymond.

Two were guilty, one was innocent; all three had been utterly obliterated in that particle accelerator explosion. It wasn't just Joe who distrusted Dr. Wells; in fact, everyone in Central City now distrusted Dr. Wells.

A notorious criminal—that was everyone's current view of him; of course, the authorities had not actually sent him to prison because it was an experimental accident, and Wells himself was also one of the accident's victims.

Dr. Wells spoke again at this moment; even though he was now condemned by thousands, and even though his experiment had suffered such a catastrophic failure, the innate confidence and certainty seemed carved into his very bones; he said to Joe, "They cannot save Barry Allen, but I can."

"I know who you are," Joe said. "You are the scientist Barry once admired—you destroyed this city."

"You may call me Harrison Wells," the doctor made no defense against Joe's accusation, but continued to state One's Own Thoughts: "And now I wish to take him to my laboratory."

"You're insane."

"I know you do not trust me, and I do not intend to use any promises to convince you—Officer, give me a chance."

"I think we all already know your capabilities, Doctor; you injured countless people that night, and we still haven't been able to fully count the number of victims, but what is certain is that I do not want to give you a chance."

"Do you think my capabilities are limited?" Wells asked calmly. "Then what about these doctors inside the ward? Are their capabilities sufficient? Are they the best doctors in the city? Or perhaps the best in the nation?"

Joe had no answer; his salary was right there, and he couldn't provide Barry with a better medical environment. "Look at this group inside," Wells glanced at the doctors through the door. "They know nothing about the current situation, have no clue; everything happening to Barry is a mystery to them, and they have no way to solve this mystery."

"Can you solve it?"

"I certainly can."

When he said these words, Wells's face showed no special expression, as if merely stating a fact, and he indeed believed it was a fact: "The entire city, the entire nation, even tens of thousands of people worldwide have followed my laboratory on television, in newspapers, and through the internet and academic journals; it is the focus of all attention—what do you think they saw?"

Joe remained silent, offering no answer.

"They saw the future, Detective," Wells continued. "S. T. A. R. Labs is among the top laboratories in the city, the top in the nation, and even the top in the world, and I am its founder."

"And now, Mr. —please allow me to use the laboratory's top-tier technology and my professional skills to guarantee—your son will certainly have a future."

"Detective," Wells gazed into Joe's eyes. "Let me save him."

Joe still did not answer; he thought about the words Wells had spoken, then subconsciously looked at the doctors inside the ward.

Epinephrine, defibrillator, chest compressions, then the defibrillator again. They seemed to have used every emergency measure available, but Barry still did not wake, and the four lines on the monitor showed no fluctuation.

"Barry cannot die like this," Joe thought in his heart. "I cannot let my son die like this."

Moreover, Barry was not only his son.

Joe remembered his old friend Henry Allen, who before going to prison had entrusted his biological son Barry to him, and over these years he had always treated Barry as his own.

He looked again at Wells beside him.

"Save him, Doctor."

Ma Ma Zhaodi set up his stall as usual today.

Although it was as usual, it was still a bit different from normal, because those starving international students cried and wailed all day long, complaining bitterly, so Ma Ma Zhaodi received pleas every day like "Brother, sell a bit more," which later became "Dude, sell a bit more" and similar requests for more food.

Seeing that his seniority was about to spin out of control, he finally decided to slightly improve his cooking skills—this would give his cooking efficiency and speed an epic-level boost.

【Grandmaster Cooking Proficiency

Price: One hundred twenty thousand US dollars

Note: Want to create glowing cuisine? You are already very close; you just need to add a bit more money.】

Ma Ma Zhaodi flipped through the Shangcheng system slightly, confirmed that the "add a bit more money" referred to six hundred thousand US dollars, and immediately felt a bit depressed.

"This price could buy a Earthly Fiend Divine Art; do you think that's fair?"

【When a skill is hammered and refined until it approaches the Dao, the technique itself is sufficient to reach the divine—please note, the Shangcheng's pricing is determined not only by the item's strength but also by a comprehensive consideration of its practicality】

(End of Chapter)