#1: The Lightning

The Flash
#1: First Steps Part 1
“The Lightning”

My name is Barry Allen and I’m…getting ahead of myself. Before I tell you my story, I have to ask: can you just take a second and imagine a world where the impossible is possible? Good, because you’re about to get the wakeup call of your life.

That segues nicely, actually, into where my story begins. My parents’ lives changed forever when they received the wakeup call of their lives. Is it hyperbole? Sure, but it’s probably not as ridiculous as you think.

Let me put it this way. From the day I was born, I’ve had a habit of being late. That’s right. You guessed it. My mother was in labor for over…no? Don’t want to know the grimy details? Fine. Moving on.

My first memory was an image…no, an event I would become far too acquainted with. It started on a summer night over twenty years ago during one of my parents’ annual visits to my Grandpa Don’s house in rural Kansas.

…

“Henry! Hurry!” Nora Allen squinted to make out her husband in the downpour. Even with the aid of lightning to illuminate the sky, she couldn’t see more than his silhouette on the yellowing plains. The bundle in his arms was nothing more than a preconceived fact to her. There was no way Henry would leave their toddler son out in the storm.

“HENRY!” Nora cried out as lightning crashed behind him. He was the tallest target on the prairie with the noted exception of the house in which Nora had currently taken shelter.

Henry must have heard his wife’s screams even with thunder deafening his ears because the man slowed for just a second, fear and confusion in his eyes. Then he slipped. His lapse of concentration resulted in an event that would change the course of their lives.

Henry managed to twist onto his back before he hit the ground, seemingly protecting his son. However, the force of the fall caused him to lose his grip on the crying, blond-haired toddler in his arms, and Barry Allen skidded out onto the prairie.

…

All I saw was a flash, and then searing pain erupted throughout my body.

…

“Barry! No, Barry, look at me, son!” Henry held his child in his arms. The badly burnt boy hadn’t even started to cry yet, merely whimpering, his eyes glued to the sky. “Look at me, son!”

Barry still didn’t respond. Henry scowled and began to sprint to the house while Nora screamed louder than the thunder could roar.

“We have to get him into the city!” Henry said. Shaking but in control, Nora nodded.

“Get my Dad. I’ll swing the truck around,” Nora stated firmly. Henry took off without a second thought.

…

The worst part came when the pain left my legs. That wasn’t one day into my suffering or even one hour. That was one second after I’d been struck by lightning. Before my father even reached me I’d lost most of the feeling below my waist. At the time, I wasn’t even sure what that meant. All I knew was that something was very, very wrong with me.

I think it shouldn’t come as a surprise that being fast has never been a priority for me.

…

“I’m afraid, Mrs. Allen, that your son, Barry, will never be able to walk—let alone run—in his life.”

…

In fact, it was little more than a dream.

…

“It appears that the lightning that struck him not only burned much of his body, but left his central nervous system in disrepair. He’s lucky to have escaped with control of his upper extremities. His legs, however…? Well, I’ve said it already. I’m sorry to say Barry will never be able to walk.”

Doctor Terrence Newark, a spry old man with a full head of hair and near-perfect complexion, initially delivered the bad news with the utmost class. That meant confirming for a fact that the case of the young paraplegic before him wasn’t completely hopeless.

“Not without help anyway. He will need these.” Dr. Newark turned to his desk and produced two forearms crutches. They were far too big for the toddler, but they got the point across.

Nora Allen, her face already half shrouded by her dark hair, covered her mouth with her hand in shock.

…

That’s not exactly the type of news a 21-year-old who’d dropped out of college to raise her son wants to hear, huh? To be fair, that’s not news anyone wants to hear.

…

Nora bit her lip to keep from crying and wrapped her arm around her son. Barry tried to squirm out of her grasp, but did not succeed. This mother wasn’t letting her son go for the world.

Barely containing her emotions, Nora looked up at Dr. Newark and asked, “And his brain?”

Dr. Newark smiled. Nora couldn’t quite be sure what that meant. The doctor himself considered what to say for a moment, before going with something only he found amusing.

“That’s the irony in all this, Mrs. Allen. Your son’s brain is unharmed. In fact, upon our initial scans it appears to be functioning at a level beyond other children’s his age,” Newark paused, looked at the ground and then back at the shocked Nora with a Cheshire grin, “Even if he won’t be winning gold in the Olympics, Barry will still outrace all his colleagues in the classroom.”

“The lightning…?”

“No, I think your son was born with…that capacity,” Dr. Newark admitted.

Nora was too surprised to comment. Instead of making a retort to the doctor’s rude quip or thanking God for what little miracle He had given her, she simply cradled her son and silently rocked him back and forth.

Dr. Newark observed the touching scene for but a moment before adding, “And about payment…”

A glare was all he received in response.

“Yes, we’ll, um, discuss that later,” Dr. Newark quickly decided. He then left the room, allowing the mother and her child to be alone for a short while. Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” played softly in the background, keeping the young mother from feeling entirely alone and helpless.

“Barry, my sweet Barry, everything’s going to be fine,” Nora continued to rock her son. The boy himself remained quiet, simply staring out the window at the still-raging storm outside.

Lightning flashed and reflected on the boy’s eyes, but even with the constant reminder of his accident, Barry remained unafraid.

…

The lightning changed me then, just as it would over twenty years later. Again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I struggled through learning to walk with crutches, but what really killed me wasn’t the pain or the therapy; I couldn’t stand the embarrassment. Puberty…my God, it was awful!

…

“Ready. Set. Go!”

Two boys took off down the field, racing to see who would reach their friend first. Just like millions of children before them, the 6th graders at Driver Elementary had adopted the race as their recess game of choice. Halfway through the course, the taller, darker-skinned boy—Daniel West—had taken the lead. To his friend and rival, that just wouldn’t fly.

Managing to catch up for a moment, the red-headed twelve-year-old known as Harley Wilson pushed Daniel, causing the brunet to tumble to the ground. Their teacher’s attention diverted elsewhere, the bad sportsmanship went without punishment. However, it did not go unnoticed.

“Hey!” Barry Allen set down his comic book and struggled onto his feet with the help of his crutches, “Hey, Harley!”

Harley had long since finished the race and Daniel had managed to stand back up, his knees scraped. Barry picked up his comic and started limping towards Harley, who still ignored him.

“Harley!” Barry shouted again.

Harley’s friend whispered something into his ear, but the boy shook it off. He turned to Barry.

“What do you want, crip?” Harley retorted.

“I want you to race fair. That was cheating!” Barry said, pointing to Daniel. The dark-skinned boy had jogged over to the two as tension grew, and stepped between the blond cripple and his friend.

“Relax, Allen. We’re just screwing around. I’m not mad,” Daniel promised.

“Are—are you sure?” Barry asked, his cheeks already growing hot with embarrassment. This is what happens when you try to do the right thing, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now just go limp your way back to that comic book, yeah?” Daniel teased. Barry looked at the ground and tried to hide the comic behind himself.

“Hey, what is that, anyway? Looks decent,” Harley stepped around Barry, and before the boy could pull away he took the comic.

“Give that back!” Barry demanded, inching towards Harley. Daniel stopped him, stepping between the two again with a smirk.

“Flash Comics #89?” Harley scanned the comic book, “Fastest Man Alive? The Fiddler? Lame!” The bully tore out a page.

“Stop!” Barry tried to push past Daniel and grab the comic, but the bully’s accomplice knocked him to the ground. Tears threatening to rise to the surface, the young crippled boy shook with rage and shame. He wasn’t sure what to do.

…

In that moment, I needed a hero. I needed someone like the Flash.

…

“Harley Wilson!” Iris West, a gorgeous, caramel-skinned brunette, marched up to the bully and his friends. Terrified by her clouded eyes and tightly clenched fists, neither Daniel nor Jerry—the fourth boy—dared to get between Iris and Harley.

“Hey, relax, Iris. It was a joke,” Harley hurriedly promised, tossing the comic and its torn pages back to Barry, “See? The nerd can have his book if he wants it.”

That was not the right response to give as Harley soon found out. The bully got a face full of dirt after he got a face full of Iris’ fist.

…

Before that moment I’d had a crush on Iris, but from then on I was in love with her!

…

“Iris!” Daniel exclaimed.

Iris turned to her brother, who at this point in puberty happened to be shorter than her, “Shut up, Danny, unless you want Dad to hear about this!”

“No, uh, no, I was just, um, gonna say Harley totally deserved that,” Daniel said. He gave his friend an apologetic look. Harley in turn offered Daniel a venomous glance that he knew meant he was going to get it later on.

“Sure,” Iris crossed her arms, “Just get out of here—all of you.”

“Bitch,” Harley muttered as he ran off, followed by the other boys.

Once the bullies had left, Iris turned to Barry and held out her hand. Face flushed and unable to meet her gaze, Barry reluctantly took her hand. Iris heaved the blond onto his feet and helped him get his balance with his crutches.

“Th—thanks,” Barry stuttered.

“No problem,” Iris replied.

“Sorry about that,” Barry said.

“Are you kidding? It’s not your fault they’re jerks,” Iris pointed out.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t gotten involved…” Barry looked at the ground, expression dark.

Iris paused, smiled and raised Barry’s chin so he had to look her in the eyes.

“Standing up for someone who can’t—or won’t—do it for themselves is not a problem—it’s nice. You’re a nice guy, Barry. There’s definitely nothing wrong with that,” Iris said. Barry glanced away, his cheeks as red as the costume of his favorite superhero. Speaking of…

“The Flash?” Iris picked up the comic book for Barry. Until then, the boy had forgotten all about it. He looked first at the book and then at Iris, unsure of what to say.

“It’s not mine. I was just, uh…” Barry began.

“I love the Flash,” Iris grinned, holding the comic out. Barry’s face slowly lit up like a light bulb. He took the comic.

“See you around, Barry,” Iris bid goodbye and walked back towards her friends, who had huddled into a semicircle near the school. Barry, meanwhile, stared at her as she proudly strutted away, remaining flabbergasted at the mere existence of someone like Iris West. Far too late did Barry realize he hadn’t said goodbye.

“Bye! I mean…shoot.” Barry frowned. It was going to be a long day.

…

I just had no idea how long.

After school, I waited nearly an hour for my mother to pick me up. She never came. I knew my Dad wouldn’t be the one to show up as he had a get together at a bar for the retirement of his partner in the force. Cops held parties like no other. He wouldn’t be free till late that night.

So I walked home alone. It was a rather uneventful trip. I wasn’t mugged. I never tripped. My backpack never seemed too heavy. Walking home alone wasn’t the problem.

It was what I found when I got home that was horrible.

…

Barry unlocked the front door with the key his parents kept under a flowerpot on the porch. He swung the door open.

“Mom!” No answer. Barry continued on into the living room and dropped off his backpack. “Mooom!”

For a second, Barry was afraid his mother had left on a wild goose chase to pick him up at school, but one quick look inside the garage was all he needed to make sure her car was in fact parked at home. Panic began to well inside him as his chest tightened. Barry hurried into the dining room.

“Mom!” he called again. Still no response.

Barry limped into the kitchen. That’s where he found her. Nora Allen laid on the floor in a pool of blood. Her blood. Barry gulped back tears. He couldn’t be seeing this. This couldn’t be real. His mother could not be dead.

…

That was the day I lost my mother.

After finding the body, I immediately hurried to the phone and called the police. They showed up minutes later. It was too late by then. My mom had been dead long before even I showed up at the house. Forensic scientists would later determine she died roughly 50 minutes before she was supposed to get me.

That was also nearly an hour too late for my father to be a suspect, thank God. The cops questioned him first, but everyone backed up his story. He’d been at the retirement party all afternoon. That left no suspects, and even worse there were no clues. No murder weapons, no fingerprints, no signs of a struggle. Everything about it was impossible.

The case was cold from day one.

I was determined to solve it from day one.

…

“You sure about this?” Henry Allen asked his son one last time, pulling in front of the red-brick dorm building that would be Barry’s home for the year to come.

“Of course, Dad,” Barry said, already grabbing his crutches and unlocking the car door. Before he could leave, however, his father relocked the door. Barry sighed.

“You don’t feel pressured into this?” Henry pushed.

“For the last time, no,” Barry continued, unlocking the door again, “Now can you please—“

CLICK! The door locked again. Barry, frustrated, looked at his father.

“Look, Dad, I’m going to study forensic science of my own volition—“ Barry promised.

“At Keystone City University?”

“Yes! Now please, let me go!” Barry demanded, unlocking the door one last time. Even with his son out of the car, Henry still wouldn’t let the subject die. He rolled down the window.

“This isn’t because of your mother, is it?” Henry really started to press Barry’s buttons. The young soon-to-be college student whirled around as quickly as he could on crutches and looked his father in the eye.

“No,” Barry lied, and then continued with a half-truth, “I’m doing this because I want to help people. Since I can’t be a detective, or a fireman, or—or any of the dozen jobs that require you can actually use your freaking legs, I decided to become a forensics scientist.” Barry paused and then added, “It also helps I’m kind of good at this stuff.”

Henry laughed, “That you are.” Before Barry could continue, Henry said, “But please remember, Barry, to not let life pass you by. It’s the little things, the little moments, and the decisions you make that define you.”

The warning—or maybe it was a lesson—and its subtext did not go unnoticed by Barry. He glanced at the ground.

Henry smiled, “Don’t worry. Bare, I know you’ll make the right decisions. You’re a good man. Nothing will change that. It’s who you are.”

Barry looked up, grinning, “It’s who you and mom raised me to be.”

Henry blushed, “I think your mom had a little more to do with that than I did.”

“Whatever you say, Dad,” Barry teased.

Then without warning silence fell over the two. Neither moved. It was like something had changed in the atmosphere. Time passed quickly by. Reality hit the Allens again.

Barry nodded towards the car. Henry frowned. Barry nodded more conspicuously and cleared his throat.

“What is it, son?” Henry asked.

“Dad,” Barry took a deep breath and calmed himself, “Can you please help me move my stuff into my room?”

“Oh…right.”

…

5 Years Later

Barry Allen stood in front of his four-room apartment’s bathroom mirror. His blond hair was styled up, his skin was relatively flawless—for the day, at least—and his blue suit and white button up had been pressed to perfection. Things were looking good. He was looking good.

“Welcome home, Barry,” he whispered to himself, an excited smile plastered on his face.

Before Barry could proudly march—or whatever was the best he could do requiring crutches—his way out to unpack more boxes, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Barry took it out and looked at it. An alert shined back at him: ‘FIRST DAY - 8:00 AM.’

“Shoot,” Barry muttered, flipping through his phone until he reached his contacts, then his favorites, and lastly his father. As if on cue, before he could click anything, his phone’s screen changed and it began vibrating to alert him that he was being called. ‘DAD’ lit up the screen.

Barry answered, “Hey! What’s up?”

“I’m downstairs. Hurry up. Work starts in ten,” Henry said on the other end of the line.

Barry balanced his phone between his ear and shoulder and began to hurry out of the bathroom. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m on my way down. Bye.”

If only he hadn’t waited for his father then maybe...No, who was he kidding? It was sweet that his father wanted to drive with him to work. Even at the age of 24, Barry loved a little father-son bonding. After all, Henry was all he had.

Barry stopped at the door and turned to the left half of the living room, a clean and well-kept work area—his roommate’s work area—the action to Barry’s messy, box-filled reaction. A thin, Native American man about Barry’s age was seated at a desk, focusing intently on his laptop, headphones covering his ears.

“Hey! Max! I’m heading out now!” Barry tried to speak loud enough so Max could hear him. His roommate didn’t respond. Barry couldn’t tell whether he couldn’t hear him or he chose to ignore him. Either way it was nothing new.

Barry’s smile dimmed a bit as he nodded, expecting that reaction. Two days since he had moved in and nothing had changed. He didn’t even know where Max worked, or if he ever got up to go the bathroom. The only reason Barry knew he ate at all was because of the bag of Cheetos he’d spied on his first night in when Max assumedly thought Barry was asleep.

“Bye…” Barry said, opening the door to leave.

…

Forensics science and through it the Central City Police Force were my tickets to breaking my mother’s case. I’d studied more than my fair share of crazy, metaphysical cases in college, and even in high school before I had anything resembling a decent handling of the study of forensics. Of course, I still wasn’t close to solving my mother’s murder. Even worse, I wasn’t sure if this is what she would have wanted.

…

“This is what your mother would have wanted,” Henry declared, paying the Uber driver with a handful of bills. Barry, dressed in a white button up and blue suit sans tie, smirked at his father’s comment.

“Really? Just a few years ago you were on the fence about my joining the CCPD,” Barry teased.

Henry, eyes bright with amusement, turned to his son and said, “I changed my mind. Now, c’mon, Bare. We’re already late enough as is.”

Henry tried to help his son up the steps to the precinct, but Barry wouldn’t have it. He shook his father off and hobbled up the steps one at a time. Even putting in the extra effort to walk up stairs, Barry managed to continue goading his father.

“Really? My father—Henry Allen—changed his mind? Maybe the party after work should be for you, Dad, because this is a once in a decade occasion,” Barry joked, reaching the door. Henry halted at the entrance.

“No, Bare, this is a once in a lifetime event. I get to watch my son become a police officer and fight the good fight,” Henry said. Stopping Barry before he could respond, the proud father of an ecstatic son reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small blue box, “Now, before we get to work I have something for you.”

“Dad, you didn’t have to…”

“No, but I wanted to,” Henry promised. He handed the box to Barry, who happily took it. “Open it.”

Barry looked down at the box with glistening eyes. The handwriting on the label was in fine, clean cursive, the ‘y’ in Barry circling around to underline the rest of the name. His father never wrote in cursive. Only one person curved a ‘y’ like that.

“It’s one of mom’s labels,” Barry said, struggling to hold back tears.

“I found a few when we were packing your things for college. Now, Barry…”

“Alright,” Barry chuckled, “I’m opening it.” He lifted off the top of the box to find a crimson bow tie.

Barry looked up at his father, “A bow tie?”

“You should look nice on the job, Bare,” Henry said, and then after another incredulous look added, “It’s a clip on, so you won’t have to sweat tying it.”

“I love your faith in my tie tying abilities,” Barry grinned a perfect, toothy white grin, “And I love it.”

Henry’s expression matched his son’s. “You have no idea how happy that makes me feel.”

And without further wait, Henry opened the door for his son, allowing him to lead the way inside to a new job, a new day, and a whole lot of handshakes.

…

The following few hours defined what would become a definitive day for me as a police officer. After the pseudo-celebration that consisted mostly of my dad’s old friends congratulating me and promising to buy my drink later that night, I found myself thrown headfirst into the crime lab at Central City.

…

Barry opened the door to the forensics department and walked with the support of his crutches into a room where all eyes ended up on him. Even worse, those eyes directed something Barry had come to recognize all too well: hostility. He hadn’t even been on the job for an hour and people already disliked him.

“What’s with all the Frankensteining?” Barry’s weak joke was directed at the incessant use of lab coats, but the other scientists seemed to take it the wrong way.

“Allen!” A tall, tan-skinned, bearded man approached Barry with what the young man could only imagine was a perpetual scowl on his face, “I’m David Singh, the director of the crime lab.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Barry held his hand out to be shaken, but Singh didn’t even bother to look at it.

The lab director continued, “I hear from your father that you’re a golden boy, a top of the line recruit. Prove it.”

Singh shoved a file into Barry’s hands. The new forensics recruit looked down at the green folder in his hands and back up at Singh.

“Don’t I need my supervisor’s…um, supervision before getting started on a case?” Barry asked.

Singh smirked, “You really are a golden boy, aren’t you? I offer you a chance to prove yourself on your first day here and you turn me down.”

“The department requires—”

“Nothing, Allen. We require nothing. That isn’t the way we do things here in Central City. We don’t have the time to slow down and teach new recruits the ropes. Now get to it,” Singh stated. He marched off before Barry could even respond, leaving the young man to bumble his way to an open desk.

It felt wrong to Barry to break the standard code of conduct. There were rules. Rules were meant to be followed. Shame and confusion would have driven him up the wall if he hadn’t already been overwhelmed with embarrassment and frustration at the whispers his fellow scientists thought he couldn’t hear.

“…Just got the job ‘cause he’s Allen’s kid…”

“…what’s a cripple doing on the force…”

“…bet he doesn’t know his dog hair from his cat hair…”

“…got a work-in-progress on our hands…”

“…entitled prick. Who does he think he is coming in here and…”

“Allen. Hey, Allen,” Barry shook himself out of his daydream state and turned his attention from the whispers around him to a beautiful blonde sitting at the desk next to him.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Barry managed, still a bit dazed.

“Patty Spivot,” the blonde introduced, holding one hand out and simultaneously adjusting her wide-rimmed glasses with the other.

“Barry Allen,” the young man said, shaking her hand. Patty smirked. Barry glanced away and rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly. “But you already know that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Patty replied with a smile—a genuine smile. Barry welcomed that with one of his own. “Just like you shouldn’t worry about them.”

Patty nudged her head at the scientists around them. Most had turned back to their work but a few still glared at Barry out of the corner of their eyes.

“They feel threatened by you, that’s all. They hear that someone—some guy with more talent in his pinky than they have in their entire body—is coming in, and this guy also happens to be a hero’s son….well, you can imagine,” Patty explained, facing her desk again. She began to type into her computer, but it was clear by the speed at which she typed—incredibly slowly—that she was still focused on Barry.

“My dad—I mean, Henry is a hero?” Barry asked. His father had never told him about that. Barry had always assumed he was a run-of-the-mill detective.

“Oh yeah. Really? You don’t know?” Patty inquired. Upon Barry’s lack of a response, she continued, “He and his partner solved the Mardon case. You see, these brothers had—“

“Been smuggling in all the drugs for the cartel for years until, what, twenty-eleven when they got caught. I heard about it on the News, but they never named who was responsible for the Mardons’ capture. You’re saying Henry…?” Barry said.

“And his partner found them, stopped them and shut down their whole operation,” Patty nodded, “His partner’s now the Captain of this precinct. Your father on the other hand wanted to keep it on the DL. Nothing’s public, but everyone in blue knows him for the hero he is.”

“His partner is the Captain? You’re saying Joe West was my dad’s partner?” Barry’s voice began to carry, drawing glares from his coworkers. He didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to keep quiet. There was so much his father had kept from him. What else did Barry not know?

Before Patty could shush him, the doors to the lab opened and in walked a tall, well built African-American man dressed in a clean black suit, and a shorter, skinnier young man who looked as if he could be the taller man’s son—for good reason too.

“Speak of the devil,” Patty whispered.

The thicker man was Joe West, captain of the downtown precinct. The shorter cop was someone else Barry knew all too well: Joe’s son and Barry’s one-time tormentor, Daniel.

Singh greeted the two police officers immediately upon their entry. After a brief heated discussion, the director reluctantly pointed to Barry. The new recruit glanced around to see if he’d made a mistake, to see if the Captain was in fact looking at someone else, but none of his coworkers remained even moderately close to him. In fact, even Patty had made it her mission to separate herself from him as much as possible, turning her attention back to her computer and typing furiously into it.

Joe and Daniel marched right towards Barry. The blond took a deep breath and straightened his suit and bow tie. He looked at Patty, but she refused to look back at him. He glanced back at the Wests. They were just seconds from reaching him. Barry stood up to greet them.

“Captain West, Detective, er, West,” Barry greeted. Daniel held out his hand, a smile on his face. Joe, on the other hand, remained grim.

“Congrats, Barry. It’s great to have you in the precinct,” Daniel said. Barry shook his hand.

“Thanks, Detective.”

“Please, just call me Dan,” the brunet said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“So, what can I do for you two?” Barry asked, clasping his hands together. Sweat beaded down his neck as he waited what felt like an eternity for a response.

“There’s been a murder, Barry.” Joe explained.

“And you want me on the job?” The idea sounded as ludicrous to Barry as it did to the scientists around him.

“You don’t understand. We wouldn’t want to put this on you—especially on your first day—under any ordinary circumstances,” Daniel said.

Joe continued, “The scene, the victim, the lack of evidence, everything is just like the day your mother was murdered, Barry.”

The blond’s jaw dropped. He knew where this was headed, but it couldn’t be true…there’d been another murder like his mother’s?

“The case is impossible, and Henry’s told me you’ve studied impossible cases since the day your mother died. That’s why we need you.”

“A minor in metahuman physics certainly doesn’t hurt either,” Daniel threw in.

“So, Barry, will you help us solve this case?” Joe asked.

The young forensic scientist gripped his crutches so tightly his knuckles turned white. A smile danced across his lips. Eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, Barry Allen had only one thing to say in response.

“You had me at ‘impossible.’”