Chapter 332: Panicked, Panicked

As a science-and-book-loving STEM guy, Barry fits the public stereotype pretty well; he also likes sci-fi or superhero movies and enjoys video games.

But he knows the difference between games and reality very clearly—for instance, that "the red and green grass in the police station's potted plants are actually miracle healing herbs," or that "I, a ruthless killer, became the richest man in Los Santos by robbing and committing crimes every day," or that "a mysterious shady merchant who is everywhere, anytime, and can pull out a set of high-tech black-tech gear at any moment" are obviously fantasies existing only in film and television works.

Until the roadside food cart vendor asked him which kind of chocolate he wanted.

"What do you mean by 'the kind that supplements nutrition' and 'the kind that strengthens the body'?" Barry's eyes were somewhat confused: "Do you know what you're talking about?"

"What's wrong? Is there a problem?" Ma Ma Zhaodi retorted: "My family's chocolate is a hereditary craft, a five-hundred-year-old brand; is it strange that the products undergo some iterative upgrades for functionality?"

This statement was half true and half false; actually, only the liqueur center was a hereditary craft.

"Five hundred years?" Barry couldn't hold back anymore: "Fun fact, the world's first solid chocolate was made by Fry & Sons of Britain in 1847; to date, it hasn't even been five hundred years, not even two hundred."

"What do you know?" Ma Ma Zhaodi waved his hand: "The herbal ingredients inside the chocolate are hereditary, a five-hundred-year-old prescription; everyone who drank or ate it said it was good."

Hearing this, Barry immediately thought of an old friend in his mind—the Green Arrow located in Star City, who had once told him that he previously met a Chinese man named Yao Fei on the Island of Hell, and that man possessed a quite miraculous herb whose effect on treating external injuries could be called a miracle.

Is this person related to Yao Fei? Or does everyone in the East Great have a piece of miraculous herb? Do they have a magic academy?

He immediately asked Ma Ma Zhaodi: "Do you know Yao Fei?"

"Who is Yao Fei?"

"Nothing, nothing..."

The East Great in Barry's heart was immediately covered by another layer of mystery again: "They must have a magic academy."

See, stereotypes are formed just like this.

"Then what do these strange chocolate functions mean?"

"Isn't that very easy to understand? The type that supplements nutrition is, of course, suitable for people with high physical activity, or for people with poor health." Ma Ma Zhaodi explained: "I just saw you jogging last time, so I'm developing some customers."

"What about the one that strengthens the body?"

"That is for practicing martial arts; we researched some drugs to enhance physical constitution, which can make people's bones and tendons solid, so naturally they can take a beating—I see you are also someone from the police station, your muscles are quite good, you must be a martial artist, right?"

"Uh no, no, I haven't learned any fighting or hand-to-hand combat..."

Barry awkwardly waved his hand, thinking that what action movies depict is indeed correct; all Chinese people learn kung fu.

See, stereotypes are deepened just like this.

"Then I'll take the nutrition type." Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "In case new chocolate varieties are iterated out later, you can come and taste them all."

"Thanks..."

"You're welcome, one hundred dollars per piece, thank you for your patronage."

"Ah?"

Is your chocolate made of gold? That was Barry's first thought. But when he considered the food costs arranged by the laboratory, he actually felt this chocolate saved money and trouble; at the very least, the price of over a hundred hamburgers or several dozen high-energy bars would definitely be higher than one hundred dollars, and he would also need to spend a long time using the Speed Force to eat.

Satiety is certainly very important, but the feeling of stuffing so many things into the stomach at once... only Barry himself knows.

"Alright." He sighed: "I hope I can get some reimbursement from the Doctor when I get back."

But the Doctor didn't want to reimburse now; he wanted to kill.

At this moment, in that secret room of S. T. A. R. Labs, Wells was standing in front of the news report announcing the Flash's disappearance, his face grim and terrifying.

The light source of the newspaper projected by the AI was clearly visible; the front-page headline above seemed to have changed nothing, still the Flash's disappearance, still April 25, 2024.

But some things had changed.

"Wrong, wrong, this shouldn't have been like this before."

Wells reached out his hand, through the void, and stroked the few small news items at the very bottom of this newspaper page letter by letter; they didn't look conspicuous, but to Wells they were unbearably glaring.

He was too familiar with this report; over the past ten-plus years, he had looked at this newspaper layout again and again, almost able to recite it word for word—or rather, there would be no problem if he simply removed the word "almost."

"This item should have been the bankruptcy announcement of Stagg Industries; why? Why is it gone!"

Actually, Wells didn't care much about Stagg, nor about Stagg Industries as a whole; in fact, before the accident at S. T. A. R. Labs occurred, he had also had conversations and negotiations with Stagg as a scientist at the height of his fame; he had personally seen this so-called humanitarian, great philanthropist.

The two sides ultimately did not carry out any cooperation because his evaluation of Stagg was very simple: fool, liar, hypocrite, a person blinded by greed.

Cooperating with such a person was an insult to the proud Wells.

He didn't care about the fate of Stagg Group; the only thing he cared about was that every news item on this newspaper was a node anchoring the future time, and now, a small node had already changed.

The news "Stagg Group announced bankruptcy yesterday" had now become "Black Medical Company achieved another technological breakthrough again; the medical cost of cloning therapy will hit a new low."

That is to say, the originally determined future has now begun to produce some tiny changes—and since the small news below has already changed, the front-page headline above is no longer safe either.

"Why... what event caused Stagg not to go bankrupt in '24? Where did Black Medical Company suddenly appear from?"

Wells frowned tightly; his brain was now operating at high speed, thinking about the causal relationships of events related to Stagg, but he still could not find the answer.

As a genius scientist, he himself knew his goals very clearly and did not lack the perseverance and means to execute plans; over these ten-plus years, he had always been cautious and meticulous in his thinking, so he did not believe he caused this news item to change.

"Why? Why?"

"Dr. Wells? Where are you? Barry is back."

When Cisco's voice sounded in the earpiece, the gritting-teeth Doctor immediately regained his reason; he sat back in his chair, already had an idea in mind, and his face returned to the usual calm-to-the-point-of-cold appearance.

"Cisco, I'll be there in a moment; have Barry wait for me in the lobby."

(End of Chapter)