Warning: Graphic depictions of violence in this chapter—and definitely in chapters to come.


Metahunters


Singh gave Barry a very agreeable severance pay, no doubt because he felt guilty. Barry didn't really care about the money, though. He just wanted his job back. He wanted his life back to the way it was. Being unemployed just gave him more time to reflect on everything that was happening, everything that was going wrong.

To say that Barry spiraled into a depression would maybe be a tad much, but he most definitely wasn't his usual chipper self. He stopped going out in public, tired of being glared at everywhere he went, tired of the comments people made about him and sometimes right to his face. He searched for a new job constantly, thinking that there would be a lot of options open to him in his field with his double major in chemistry and physics.

But he found none.

"No one will hire me," he told Joe and Iris sullenly one day when they asked him how his job search was going, "No one will hire a metahuman to work for them, no matter how qualified they are. It's too complicated with the MRA and increased tax rate for having metahumans under their employment."

"Aren't there discrimination laws against that?" Iris asked angrily, "They can't just not hire you just because you're a metahuman."

"Yes, they can," Barry said with a sigh, "Those discrimination laws only apply to minority humans, not metahumans. I'm not a minority, Iris. I'm not even a person in their eyes."

"That's ridiculous!" she said, appalled, "How can they get away with that?!"

"I have no rights, Iris," Barry said quietly, "No rights. People can do whatever they want to me now. Someone could walk in here with a gun right now and pop me one right in the head, and the most they'd be charged with is breaking and entering."

Iris looked at him with a shocked and somewhat skeptical look on her face. She just couldn't wrap her head around it. Then again, those kids had thrown scalding hot coffee in Barry's face just last week, and there was nothing he could do about it. It didn't count as assault because Barry wasn't "human." It didn't even count as animal abuse, either, considering he wasn't an animal. In the law's eyes, Barry wasn't anything.

"He's right," Joe said sadly, "Yesterday a woman was assaulted on her way to her car, and she called 911. I had to explain to her that I couldn't help her and she couldn't press charges on the person who had done it because she was a registered metahuman. In the law's eyes, no crime had occurred."

"Well, that's just stupid," Iris said angrily, "Even without human rights, metahumans should at least be protected from that happening, especially when they haven't done anything wrong. Even animals have more rights than that."

"You're right," Joe said somberly, "But those kinds of laws haven't been put in place yet. Some metahuman rights groups have been formed to try to push for some kind of legal rights for metahumans, but it could take years for some of those acts to go through."

"Yet it only took them a few months to take those rights away," Barry said bitterly, "How is that even possible?"

Joe sighed.

"I don't know, Bar," he said sadly, "Clinton Price must have done something to push it through. I don't know."

"What am I going to do, Joe?" Barry asked hopelessly, "I can't work. I can't even go out in public anymore. More and more metahumans are being attacked every day, and law enforcement can't do anything to stop it."

Joe put his hand on Barry's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Bar," he said reassuringly, "This will die down soon. In the meantime, don't worry about money or any of that. You can stay here as long as you need to."

"Thanks, Joe," Barry whispered.

He didn't want to need to, though. He wanted to be able to lead his own life, to support himself without living in fear for being a metahuman.

Things started looking up once Barry finally got a call back for a job interview. It wasn't exactly his dream job. It was just a part time lab tech position at a small medical research lab that was a small branch of Queen Industries located in Central City. Oliver got it for him. Or at least, he had gotten him the interview. Actually landing the job would be up to Barry.

Barry hadn't even reached out to Oliver for help, but apparently his unemployment status had been brought to Oliver's attention, and Oliver had been quick to line up a job for him. Barry wanted to decline the offer out of pride, but he decided it beat washing windows or flipping burgers at Big Belly Burger, and if Oliver wanted to offer his help, then Barry was going to take it gratefully. At this point, he couldn't really afford to be proud.

The interview went alright. Barry was overqualified for the position with all his schooling and experience, but they still didn't exactly offer him the job on the spot. There were a lot of hoops to jump through with the MRA before they would be able to actually hire him. Barry could already tell that they were leery about offering him the job. It just wasn't worth all the trouble that came with hiring a metahuman these days.

The sun was just starting to go down when Barry left the interview. As Barry walked down one of the darker, quieter streets of Central City on his way home, he reflected on how the interview had gone. It was like they didn't even look at his qualifications for the job. All they saw was a metahuman and the headaches that came along with it. He wasn't particularly hopeful about getting a call back from them.

Barry was interrupted from his musings when he suddenly saw a man standing on the end of the street, right on the corner, facing him and looking at him with a malicious look in his eye. A bad feeling in his stomach, Barry decided to take a left down a different street to avoid the man.

He found himself walking down a narrow alley, every shadow seeming to jump out at him in his instantly fearful state. He thought he could almost hear someone walking a short ways away behind him, and Barry's heartrate doubled instantly as his pace quickened, taking longer strides towards the other end of the alleyway without looking behind him. He could see the busy street ahead of him, cars and people going past, going about their night, unaware of his distress.

He was only a quarter of the alley away from reaching the busy street when suddenly a second man appeared at the end of the alley. Barry's heart clenched in fear. His stride faltered as he came to a stop in the alley, turning around in search of an escape. He had been right. There was someone behind him. Three men, not one.

Barry was surrounded.

"Well, well, well," one of the men said as they moved closer to him, "What have we here? A filthy stitch neck looking for trouble?"

"Please," Barry said, knowing all he could do at this point was plead with them, "I'm just on my way home. I don't want any trouble."

"Any meta who makes this city their home is looking for trouble in my book," another man sneered.

"Trust me, if I could leave, I would," Barry said, backing up until his back hit the wall.

The four men all circled around him, sick smiles occupying their faces.

"We don't want you to leave," one of them said callously.

He took a stepper closer towards Barry.

"We want you to die."

Barry felt all the blood drain from his face. He had no way out of this. He couldn't just speed away, not with the power dampening device in his neck. He thought back to the time someone had tried to mug him before. Barry had laughed then, told the mugger that he had the world's worst luck. Now, it seemed like that was him in this scenario. There was nothing funny about it now. These men weren't looking to just mug him. They wanted to hurt him.

Barry fought. He fought hard, even though he knew he could be arrested for assault for hitting a human, even if it was self-defense. What else was he supposed to do? Just stand there and take it? Let them beat him to a pulp?

Fighting was useless, though. There were too many of them, and Barry wasn't fully up to fighting weight after spending a month in the MRA facility. Eventually, all Barry could do was try to block their blows, try to guard his face and his body from their punches, and then from their kicks as he inevitably fell hard to the ground. They didn't seem like they were ever going to stop. They called him filthy names as they beat him into the ground, kicking his nearly-healed ribs until they were broken again.

Barry begged them to just stop, to just walk away and leave him in peace, but they only laughed. He felt one of them grab his arm and twist it backwards. Barry shouted out in pain, but that didn't stop the man from pulling it a little further until his elbow snapped.

Barry sobbed as they continued to beat every inch of him. He tried to get up, managed to get to his hands and knees, before someone kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling back, his head hitting the concrete hard with a smack. One of the men put a hand on his throat and leaned close to him, Barry now sprawled on his back underneath him. Barry felt the sharp point of a knife pressed against his abdomen.

"This is for Central City," the man said into Barry's ear as he pushed the knife in, agonizingly slowly.

Barry gasped as the knife was pushed in to the hilt. The man squeezed his throat tighter as he twisted the blade. Barry tried to suck in a breath, tears rolling down his bloodied face, but the hand on his throat was too tight.

He felt the knife being withdrawn, only to be plunged in again a moment later, and then a third time in his ribs. Barry couldn't breathe, even after the hand was removed from his throat. He struggled just to suck in a breath with the amount of pain he was in.

The man laughed as he wiped the knife clean on Barry's shirt, standing up and looking down at him with satisfaction.

"You won't be able to hurt anyone now," he said with disgust, spitting on Barry, "Meta scum."

They're laughter drifted down the alley back to him as they walked away, leaving Barry beaten and bleeding on the cold ground.

As he laid there, it took Barry a moment or two to register what had just happened. Their laughter echoed in his ears long after they left. He tried to move, tried to lift himself up off the ground, but he stopped when he felt a sharp pain in his side. He reached down and pulled his fingers back to find them coated in blood.

With panic, Barry saw the large amount of fluid pooling out from under him. There was so much blood. His hands were sticky with it.

Doing the only thing Barry could think to do, he pulled out his phone, tears streaming down his face in his panic. His vision blurring, Barry found Joe's number on his phone and quickly called it.

It rang.

And it rang.

Joe didn't pick up. He was working late tonight and was probably busy with a case. Barry sobbed when the call went to voicemail. He waited anxiously for the phone to beep, signaling him to leave his message. He could feel his consciousness slipping quickly away from him.

"Joe," he cried into the phone, "I need help."


"Barry wanted me to thank you for the severance," Joe told the captain, "And the recommendations. He said you didn't have to do that."

"It was the least I could do," Singh said firmly, "How has he been? Has he found a new job yet?"

"It's been tough, but he finally managed to get an interview tonight," Joe said, "I really hope he gets it. I know Barry's going to be crushed if he doesn't get this job. No one else has even bothered to call him in for an interview so far. No one wants to hire a metahuman."

"I'm so sorry," the captain said sincerely, "I argued with the MRA. I really tried to keep Barry's job here, but my hands were tied."

"I understand," Joe said quietly, "Once of all of this is over, do you think…?"

"I'll hire Barry back in a heartbeat," Singh said firmly, "It might be a while before this all dies down, though. I hope Barry will be alright before then."

"Barry will be fine," Joe assured him, "He's staying with me. He's not going to end up on the streets or anything if he doesn't get this job."

"His banking accounts," Singh said seriously, "Has Barry—?"

"He's transferred them all in my name," Joe told him, "We didn't want to take any chances."

"That's good," the captain said, "That's the smart thing to do. I can't tell you how many reports of banking and credit card fraud we've gotten, but we can't do anything about it because it's happening to metahumans."

"That isn't right," Joe said angrily, "It isn't right that we're supposed to ignore all cases involving metahumans as the victims."

"I know," Singh said sadly, "I know it's wrong. I wish there was more I could do."

Joe sighed.

"This will blow over eventually, Joe," Singh assured him, "In the meantime, tell Barry to stay safe. It's a dangerous world for metahumans these days."

Joe nodded.

"Thanks, David," he said, "Thank you for being so understanding about this."

"Barry didn't ask to be struck by lightning," Singh said firmly, "None of these metahumans asked for this to happen."

Joe nodded and gave him a small smile.

When he left Singh's office, Joe returned to his desk, back to his stack of ever-growing cases that he couldn't do anything about because of the victims' metahuman status. As soon as he was sitting, he heard his phone beep, indicating he had a voicemail. He picked up his phone and checked it.

It was from Barry, from ten minutes ago.

He was probably just calling to tell him about how the interview had gone. Joe eagerly pressed play on the voicemail to listen to it.

Barry didn't speak right away in the message. Joe thought maybe Barry had simply butt-dialed him or something, and he was about to delete the voicemail when he suddenly could make out the ragged breathing and gasping sounds that were coming from the other side of the line.

And then Barry spoke.

"Joe," he sobbed, and Joe felt his blood run cold, knowing instantly that something was wrong just by the way Barry sounded, "I need help."

Joe rose from his desk, phone still pressed to his ear.

"I'm in an alley off McKinley," Barry gasped, his breathing ragged.

Joe listened to Barry crying softly into the phone as he waved frantically at the captain to get his attention. Singh quickly made his way over to Joe's desk, where Joe stood on legs made of jelly.

"Send some squad cars and an ambulance to McKinley Street," he choked out at Singh before returning his attention to his phone.

Singh gave him a funny look but thankfully moved to do what Joe requested.

"They stabbed me, Joe," Barry cried, "I…I'm bleeding out. Please…"

Joe put a hand to his mouth to hold back his own sob as he listened with tears filling his eyes.

"No one will help me," Barry sobbed, "They're all just walking past."

Barry's breathing suddenly became more ragged and sounded somewhat gurgly.

"Please help me," Barry cried, his voice cracking, "Please…"

The call went silent after that. Joe could barely breathe as he lowered the phone.

"I sent the squad cars and an ambulance to McKinley," Singh informed him, "You didn't say where on McKinley, though."

"I don't know where," Joe said, scrambling to grab his keys off his desk.

"What's going on, Joe?" Singh asked.

"It was Barry," he said frantically, "He was mugged. Or attacked. I don't know. He said he was bleeding out in an alleyway off McKinley Street."

Singh paled.

"I'll send more squads," he said quickly, "We'll find him, Joe."

Joe nodded before quickly exiting the precinct, a horrible feeling in his gut. Barry's voicemail had been from ten minutes ago, and he didn't have speed healing now. Joe just hoped he wasn't too late.

McKinley Street was a big street, but thankfully Joe knew where Barry was coming from and where he had been going, so he was able to narrow the search down to just a few blocks. He was frantically searching an empty alleyway when his phone suddenly rang. Hoping it was Barry, Joe answered it immediately. It wasn't Barry. It was Officer Halbrook.

"Joe, we found him," he said seriously.

"How is he?!" Joe asked immediately.

"He's alive," he said somberly, "but he's in rough shape."

"Where are you?" Joe asked frantically.

"Just north of the intersection of Dalton and McKinley," he told him, "The ambulance is on its way."

Thankfully, Joe was only one block away, and he was able to run to the scene quickly, shoving pedestrians out of his way as he made his way down the street. The alleyway was dark, but Joe found them quickly from their flashlights. Three officers stood in the alley, shining their lights and watching while one was knelt down next to Barry, trying to stop the bleeding.

Joe's heart clenched as soon as his eyes landed on Barry, laying on the ground next to a dumpster, covered in blood with his phone laying next to his head. He wasn't conscious. Clearly, he had passed out as he waited for help to arrive. If Joe had just checked his damn phone sooner…

Joe knelt down next to Barry's head.

"It's okay, Bar," he said softly, "I'm here now. You're going to be okay."

Barry's breathing was weak, and he looked white as a ghost. His face looked like hell, as if someone had rammed their fists into it repeatedly. His eyes were swollen and bruised, his lips were split in a few places, and his nose was horribly broken. Joe ran a hand through Barry's hair and found it to be sticky and wet with blood. That's when he saw the small pool of blood under Barry's head.

The ambulance was quick to arrive after that. They wasted no time stabilizing Barry's spine and applying gauze to his stab wounds. The bastards had stabbed him three times before leaving him to die. Joe wanted to find the men who had done this to his son and do the same to them ten times over. He couldn't afford to think like that, though. All he could think about was Barry.

Joe felt like he could barely breathe as he followed the ambulance in his squad car. Who would want to do this to Barry? To Barry, who had done so much good for this city, who held only kindness and love in his heart. Joe saw red as he drove, thinking about the men who had done this. "Metahunters" they called themselves. It had become Central City's own twisted idea for a sport.

They took Barry to St. Andrews Hospital. Joe would have felt better taking him to STAR Labs, but that was all the way across town, and Caitlin wasn't exactly equipped to deal with something like this on her own. Barry had been stabbed multiple times, and he didn't have regenerative healing capabilities anymore. He would need a full surgical team if he was going to make it through this.

Joe felt sick to his stomach as he waited in the emergency room when Barry was rushed into emergency surgery. He pulled out his phone, dialing Iris's number. It took him a while to work up the courage to hit send, not knowing how he was going to tell her.

"Hey, dad," Iris answered her phone cheerfully, "I thought you'd be home by now. You and Barry. I'm anxious to hear how his interview went."

"Iris," Joe said quietly, "Something's happened."


"What have we got here?" the surgical tech asked as he entered the room where the surgical team was frantically trying to stabilize a patient.

"Assault victim," the surgeon answered, "Two stab wounds to the abdomen, causing lacerations to organs unknown and a significant amount of internal bleeding. One in the seventh intercostal space, causing a punctured pleural cavity and probable punctured lung judging by the blood he's coughed up. I won't be able to tell for sure until I open him up, though."

"You didn't tell me the patient was a meta," the surgical tech said as soon as he caught a glimpse of the patient's wrist.

He had been checking the patient's ID bracelet when he noticed the large barcode on the back of his wrist.

"We don't really have time to concern ourselves with that," the surgeon said seriously, "Air and blood are filling his chest cavity. If we don't operate soon, his lung will collapse. He'll stop breathing."

The tech set down the surgical drape he had been about to lay out.

"He's a meta," the surgical tech repeated incredulously.

"Let's just get him stabilized for now and worry about his probable lack of health insurance later," the doctor said impatiently as he adjusted the patient's occlusive dressing so no more air could enter his chest cavity.

The patient was not in good shape. His breathing effort was minimal, and the doctor instructed the anesthesiologist to intubate him immediately.

The surgical tech, however, just stood there as everybody moved. He stared at the doctor in disbelief.

"But he's not even human," he said flatly.

"I'm a doctor," Dr. Morrison snapped, "I think every life is worth saving, human or not. I took an oath to preserve all life, and that includes his. We'll transfer him to the metahuman wing once he's stabilized."

"Well, I for one, am not going to be a part of this," the tech said firmly, "The less metas there are in the world, the better, in my opinion."

"Then go ahead and exercise your right to refuse care," the doctor snapped, "But please go and do it somewhere else. I'm trying to save a life here!"

The tech just shook his head at the doctor in disapproval.

"Try not to waste too many hospital supplies on him," he said before leaving the operating room.

The surgeon shot him a glare as he was leaving.

"Anyone else want to leave?" the doctor asked angrily to the others in the room.

The rest of them all looked at each other. Without saying a word, a few more scrub nurses left the room, as did the radiologist.

"Guess we're going in blind," the doctor said bitterly when the radiologist left.

Three people remained in the room with him. The anesthesiologist and two nurses.

The stupid MRA had divided the entire hospital staff. Quite a few of them were still more than willing to help out a metahuman patient who came through the emergency room doors, but there was a growing number of employees who refused to help them. The MRA had passed a legislation weeks ago allowing health care workers the choice of whether or not to care for a metahuman. Duty to Rescue laws only applied to humans, after all. Every health care worker had the right to refuse care for metahumans if they so desired. It caused for a huge division amongst employees at any hospital you went to these days.

"Alright, let's get to work," the surgeon said urgently, "His blood pressure's dropping fast."


"How is he?" Iris asked urgently when she and Wally entered the waiting room.

"They're still trying to get him stabilized," Joe said sadly.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He had Barry's blood on them and on his light blue work shirt, long streaks of red covering his sleeves and torso. Iris paled when she saw him.

"How bad is it?" she asked tearfully.

"Bad," Joe said, "The bastards stabbed him three times and beat him nearly to death. They just left him there to die. He was barely breathing when we found him."

Iris took a deep breath, tears filling her eyes.

"But he'll be okay, right?" she asked, her voice cracking, "He's Barry. He has to be okay."

Joe gave Iris a sad look.

"Caitlin's back there now," he said, "She decided to go help them. Apparently, half the surgical team refused to care for him. They need as many hands as they can get."

"Some of them won't help him?" Wally asked furiously.

"He's a metahuman," Joe said simply, his own anger apparent, "Thankfully, there are still some health care workers out there who still have a heart. They're working to save him."

They were interrupted then when Caitlin walked out of the operating room and entered the waiting room. They all approached her anxiously.

"He's stable," she said tiredly, "For now. We're still performing surgery, but I thought I'd come update you."

"Is he going to be okay?" Wally asked.

"It will take him a while to heal once we're done working on him, but at least he's stable now," Caitlin said, "It was a little touch and go for a while there, but we managed to get his blood pressure back up, and he's on a ventilator now. The knife punctured his right lung. He's lucky to be alive."

"Should we transfer him to STAR Labs?" Joe asked seriously, "I don't trust these doctors with him."

Caitlin shook her head sadly.

"Barry's in no condition to be transferred right now," she said, "As far as I can tell, Dr. Morrison is a very noble surgeon. He's doing everything he can to save him. Unfortunately, the radiologist left and refused to help, so we don't know the full extent of the damage. The hospital refuses to call in another radiologist for a metahuman."

"Those bastards," Joe said angrily.

"We're fixing him up, Joe," Caitlin assured him, "His surgery is just going to have to be a bit more complicated and invasive without the radiologist, but I'll make sure we don't miss anything."

"Thank you, Caitlin," Joe said sadly.

Caitlin nodded and then returned to the operating room.

The surgery took four hours, mostly because of the lack of staff available but also because of the extent of Barry's injuries. Aside from the stab wounds, Barry had a severe concussion, several broken rips, a bruised spleen, broken elbow, and quite a large amount of internal bleeding. His labs showed significant blood loss, and it took six transfusions just to get him back into a somewhat stable condition.

They didn't transfer Barry to the intensive care unit after the surgery like he should have been. Instead, he was passed off to the metahuman wing of the hospital. The wing's health care team was somewhat rudimentary, consisting mostly of medical interns and students.

When they all were finally allowed in by Barry, they all cringed at the sight of him. His face was beaten beyond recognition, his nose bandaged after being reset. His arm was in a large brace, and his skin was a ghostly pale color in the places that weren't bruised. He looked like he had been run over by a truck.

Tears filled Iris's eyes as she moved over to the bed and sat down next to it, taking Barry's bruised hand lightly in her own, being careful not to disturb the IV that was inserted there.

"Oh my God, Barry," she said tearfully as she looked at him.

Joe and Wally moved closer to the bed, too, sitting down close to Iris, wondering when Barry would wake up.

Caitlin was about to update them on his status when her phone started to ring.

"It's Cisco," she said, looking at the caller ID, "He probably wants an update."

She left the room to take the call. The room was silent for a moment before anyone spoke.

"Please tell me we're going to find the men who did this," Iris said angrily after a few minutes had passed.

Joe sighed.

"Singh called an hour ago," he said, "He had no choice but to call off the search."

Iris shook her head angrily.

"This isn't right," she fumed, "They can't just do this to him and then walk away."

Wally nodded his agreement, and Joe sighed.

"I wish things were different," he said, "But there aren't any charges to press. Barry's a metahuman."

"So that's it?" Wally asked, appalled, "Nothing is going to be done about this?"

"There's nothing that can be done," Joe said bitterly, "Trust me, I've tried. I've had several cases like this that I've tried to push for charges to be placed, but the MRA shoots down any attempt to seek justice for metahuman victims. The police aren't even searching for Barry's attackers."

Iris shook her head in disgust, wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked at Barry's battered face.

"I should have offered him a ride," she said sorrowfully, "He shouldn't have been walking home."

"I did offer him a ride," Joe told her, "Barry insisted he wanted to walk. It was only a few blocks from our house."

"I can't believe this happened," Iris said, gently brushing the hair out of Barry's face, "I can't believe something like this could happen to Barry."

"I still can't believe any of this is happening," Wally said quietly.


"How is he?" Cisco asked frantically over the phone, "Is Barry okay?"

"He's okay for now," Caitlin assured him sadly, "He hasn't woken up after his surgery yet. When he does, he's probably going to be in a lot of pain, though. The hospital has limited the amount of narcotics available for metahumans."

"Why isn't he at STAR Labs?" Cisco asked, "If he's stable now, why don't you transfer him?"

"Barry's most likely going to require additional surgeries," Caitlin explained, "He has some injuries that we haven't properly repaired yet, mostly because we didn't think his body could handle being under anesthesia for much longer. His other surgeries will have to wait so we can give him time to rest."

Cisco sighed.

"I wish I could be there," he said sadly, "Maybe there's a way I could sneak—"

"No, Cisco," Caitlin said firmly, "Do not try to sneak your way into Central City. You'll get caught for sure. They're still scanning for metahumans everywhere you go here. It's not worth the risk."

"I just feel so useless here," Cisco said, frustrated, "I feel like all of this is happening without me there, and there's nothing I can do about it from where I am."

"Cisco, there wouldn't be anything you could do about it even if you were here," Caitlin assured him, "If you were in Central City right now, you would be going through this right along with Barry. It's bad enough that this is happening to him without it happening to both of you."

"I wish he had left with me," Cisco said sadly, "I should have tried harder to convince him to leave with me. It was his idea for me to go, and I should have pushed him to do the same."

"You know Barry wouldn't have left," Caitlin said surely, "He's too stubborn. We all were pushing for him to leave, but he was so determined to fix things…"

"There must be a way you can still get him out of the city," Cisco said desperately.

"There's not, Cisco," Caitlin said painfully, "Metahumans aren't allowed to leave once they've been identified. Even if we find a way to sneak past the MRA, if Barry takes one step outside the city limits, that chip in his neck is going to electrocute him, probably to death. It's happened to a few metahumans who have tried to leave."

"Has Felicity found a way to disable it, yet?" Cisco asked.

"No," Caitlin said sadly, "She says it's unlikely she's going to be able to. Doing so would require her to hack into the government's mainframe in order to access the MRA's network. Even then, there'd be thousands of codes to sort through before she'd be able to find Barry's specific ID tag. It's simply too complicated and well-protected."

Cisco sighed.

"How's Barry handling all of this?" he asked.

"He's been really down," she answered sadly, "Especially since he lost his job. I haven't told him what Felicity told me, yet. I don't think he's going to handle it well. He's anxious to get that chip out of his neck."

Cisco sighed again.

"If there's anything I can to do help…"

"I'll let you know, Cisco," Caitlin said seriously, "In the meantime, try to stay safe."

"I will," Cisco said quietly, "Thanks for keeping me updated."

"Of course," she said sadly, "Bye, Cisco."


While Caitlin was out taking her phone call, the small hospital room remained quiet for the most part. That is, until a small group of surgical interns entered the room.

"Mind if we give report?" the doctor leading the group asked them.

Joe shook his head.

"Go ahead," he said quietly.

The doctor nodded and then turned to address the group of students.

"Patient is a twenty-six year old male. Name is Bartholomew Allen," he started, "Goes by Barry. He was admitted to the ER at seven-thirty-two PM this evening after being assaulted by a group of metahunters. He's a type one metahuman whose power, ironically, is regenerative healing, a trait that is, unfortunately, of little use to him now.

"He presented with blunt force trauma to the head, resulting in a grade three concussion with bleeding complications. Whether or not it will require brain surgery has yet to be determined. He's on neuro checks q two hours. He has three puncture wounds: two in his abdomen, resulting in a lacerated liver and a large tear in his intestines. Both have been repaired via surgery. The third was in his seventh intercostal space, resulting in damage to the lower lobe of his right lung and pneumothorax complications. Orthopedic injuries include a compound fracture to his left elbow, six broken ribs, a shattered left clavicle and a hairline fracture at the base of his skull."

The students all craned their heads, looking curiously at Barry as they took notes. Iris glared at them. They were all looking at Barry like he was some interesting subject to be studied. A metahuman for them to practice on, like he wasn't a real person.

"Now," the doctor continued, "Can anyone tell me what our primary concern is with this patient?"

"Infection?" one student answered uncertainly.

"Although that is definitely something to take seriously, it is not our priority concern," the doctor said, "Anyone else?"

"Hemorrhage," one of them answered.

The doctor smiled at him.

"Exactly," he said, nodding, "If the bleeding in his brain isn't controlled, he will be at risk of brain damage, hemorrhagic stroke, or death. Can anyone tell me the emergency surgical procedure that will be used if the swelling in his brain doesn't subside on its own?"

"Craniectomy?" one girl asked.

The doctor nodded.

"And why, can you tell me, do we use a craniectomy for traumatic brain injuries with swelling complications?" he asked.

"To relieve the cranial pressure and to—"

"Enough," Joe said suddenly, standing up from his chair.

The doctor and the students all looked at him in surprise. Joe was glaring at them.

"I said you could give report," he said angrily, "Not use my son to teach your students a lesson about craniectomies or whatever the hell it is you're talking about."

"Sir," the doctor said, "I'm truly sorry for what's happened to your son, but this is a teaching hospital and—"

"I don't care," Joe said firmly, "Go find someone else to use as your instructional Guiney pig. Barry isn't a spectacle for you all to goggle at."

"Alright, sir," the doctor said, nodding respectfully, "We're sorry to disturb you."

With that, the group left the room, continuing their conversation outside of the room as they walked down the hallway.