"So why did they end up here?" Barry couldn't figure it out.
"Most of them came because they got sick," the nurse thought for a moment and said, "or due to sudden accidents, leading them to the hospital, but they couldn't afford the bills..."
"Wait," Barry interrupted and said, "but I see many of them seem to have drug addictions..."
"They got addicted after ending up on the streets," the nurse said, "Life gets too hard, and they seek some solace. Or their illness isn't treated, and they need something for the pain. There are people who cater to this business..."
"Who?"
The nurse shook his head and said, "Let's not delve into that. No one can stop the people behind it. Anyway, most end up here due to illness and accidents."
"What about insurance? Doesn't insurance cover them?"
"About 60% of insurance claims are denied," the nurse thought for a moment before saying, "Insurance companies expect you to be a perfect victim. Ideally, at the moment of a car accident, you should pick up your phone to record how the other car came, how your car flipped, how your leg broke, and how your head bled. Of course, if you submit this evidence, they'll say you staged the accident to commit insurance fraud—otherwise, how could you have anticipated it so well?"
Barry somewhat understood. People in these shelters are not there because they chose to be, but because they met with accidents, had their insurance claims denied, went bankrupt, ended up on the street, got addicted to drugs, and then were brought into the shelter.
And because Central City's urban management regulations are exceptionally stringent, not to mention the homeless, not even trash is allowed on the streets. So for these people to reintegrate into society, they must have a stable place to live. But with their history, it's obviously impossible for them to rent a place, so they can only rely on others to lend them shelter, but the rules for that are very strict—even among immediate family, it's hard to find someone willing to take them in, lest everyone ends up evicted. Thus, these people have absolutely no way to return to society.
Even though the Central City government built a shelter to house them, it's no different from animals being caged. Even animals don't suffer from drug addiction. Their lives are already over, with the remaining days merely spent enduring.
Thinking about this, Barry himself felt a profound despair. He couldn't imagine how painful it would be if he ended up in such a situation. He also understood why those people's eyes seemed that way—many of them were in their twenties or thirties, about his age, but their lives were already over.
Originally, Barry felt proud that Central City was so well-managed, without any homeless, but now it seemed like a harsh elimination system. From birth, everyone has to live perfectly; even the slightest mistake could land them here, with no chance of return.
Those who became homeless in Los Angeles are also tragic, but because the management there isn't as strict, there are some loopholes they can exploit, like secretly sheltering people in their basements or swapping houses with friends and relatives. If one's survival skills are strong enough, they might even live in abandoned buildings.
But in Central City, that's completely impossible. The city's management personnel almost patrol around the clock. For tourists, this is great—the city is exceptionally clean and beautiful, and many say it doesn't even feel like an American city. But for those who suddenly find themselves homeless due to an accident, it's a fatal strike with no room for struggle.
The nurse seemed to notice what Barry was thinking. When they reached the entrance of Vickwood District, he said to Barry, "City councilors change on average four times a year here because it's the safest city in America with the lowest crime rate. Everyone in office can claim they led the safest city in the country, which is a great addition to their resume. And precisely for this reason, these people will never have a chance to return to society. The councilors won't let these blemishes tarnish their crowns. If you don't want to end up like this, be very careful."
After the nurse left, Barry squatted in place and held his head, feeling a splitting headache. He rubbed his face repeatedly, trying to wake himself up but couldn't suppress the anger rising in his chest.
The human race shouldn't live like this. As he recalled the numb expressions he saw through the observation window, Barry clenched his fists tightly.
But suddenly, he seemed to remember something. In an instant, a flash of blue lightning appeared and disappeared, and Barry was once again in Lois's room.
Looking at Lois, who was lying in bed drinking yogurt, Barry made an apologetic gesture and then took his computer and left.
"Sorry, I'll return it later!"
Barry, holding the computer, sped all the way to the center of Metropolis. The Capitol Building was still there, and the councilors hadn't left yet. Workers were already working overtime to install heating, and delivery vehicles surrounded the area. Clearly, they were ready to spend the winter here.
When Barry rushed in, the entire council hall was as warm as spring. The cold wind outside couldn't penetrate, so when Barry stopped in the center of the rotunda, he felt the part of him that had frozen into ice begin to melt, turning into tears.
He opened the computer interface and pulled up the images he had seen before. The first one was the one he couldn't bear to look at: a three-year-old child whose ear had frozen off.
It was no exaggeration; the ear froze and then fell off. Because it was so cold, the wound didn't even bleed. The child's mother was there thanking God, saying the ear was already severely rotten, and detaching it this way wouldn't cause much pain.
Barry just stood there foolishly, staring at the picture, unable to say a word or move, just frozen in place.
But his appearance obviously attracted a lot of attention, as the councilors were arguing again over audit votes, gathering around the rotunda. And at this moment, with a stranger suddenly appearing in the center of the hall, he was, of course, noticed.
The councilor standing at the center speaking turned back to look at Barry, feeling somewhat perplexed. He hadn't seen anyone walk in. He turned back to say to Barry, "Who are you? How did you get in?"
Barry's attire was completely out of place in the hall. The entire hall presented a deep brown color, both the walls and the ceiling were decorated in a neoclassical style, and all the councilors were dressed in suits, their hair meticulously groomed, wearing expensive watches, their hands so well-maintained that there were almost no wrinkles, and their luxury pens glistened with a rich luster. Cufflinks, tie clips, and brooches, the glow of gemstones intermingled, like an oil painting.
Yet Barry was wearing a hoodie, layered with a jacket, gray work pants covered in dust, his face youthful, even childlike, with eyes filled with uncertainty, resembling a monkey that had suddenly barged into a modern office building.
But he couldn't be bothered with all that right now. His mind was already overwhelmed by intense emotions, he shoved the person questioning him aside, knocking him to the ground.
After shoving the person, Barry himself was shocked. He had no idea where his strength came from, and he was usually someone who preferred not to resort to violence. He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately didn't help him up; instead, he walked to the podium.
He took out a computer cable, connected it to the podium's computer, lowered the microphone, and asked, "Have you seen this?"
The child's image quickly appeared on the large screen. But unexpectedly, there was no uproar, no discussion, as if everyone was accustomed to it, and everyone looked toward the exit.
Soon, heavily armed security burst in, brandishing batons, shouting at Barry, "This is the Capitol Building, protests are not allowed! Leave immediately, or we'll start shooting!"
"I'm not protesting," Barry said, "I just want to ask you, don't you know about this? Haven't you seen it?!"
But by this time, security personnel had already rushed in front of him. Of course, Barry wasn't going to surrender; he grabbed the computer and, in a blink, dodged away, without anyone seeing his movements clearly.
"Look at this, this child is only three years old, and his ears were frozen off, he's about to have his limbs amputated. Don't you know about this?!!"
"And this, this girl is only 16 years old, yet she's already homeless. She gave birth to a child and contracted a sexually transmitted disease; her skin is covered with sores, lying feverish on the street, she's about to die!"
"This person is already 60 years old, about the same age as you. He was once a wealthy man, but now, he is crawling on the street eating paint off the café's pillars, out of his mind. Can't you see?!!"
As Barry said these words, he constantly dodged the security personnel, continuously changing positions in the rotunda, holding the computer, facing the images outward, pointing at them, trying to make them see.
The result was merely someone shouting, "Take that damn computer away from him!"
"Why can't you see?! Aren't you governing this country? Hundreds of thousands are dying in this country, and you don't care??!!"
"You were chosen as the outstanding talents from each state because the people trust you. They let you be their representatives, you can decide the election's outcome. But why don't you care about those who are about to die?! They might have voted for you too!"
"All you need to do is pass laws, improve welfare, and restrain those big corporations; there wouldn't be so many people dying for no reason. Isn't that so?!"
By the end, Barry was already speaking with a sob in his voice. Because he truly couldn't comprehend why no one was willing to do something as simple as lifting a finger. Increasing the insurance payout rate by 1% could save tens of thousands of lives; why is it impossible?!
"Stop, you damn terrorist!" an old councilor shouted, "You know we can decide the election results, and still you cause trouble for us. We're about to decide this country's future!"
"Future?! What future?! Those people might freeze to death tonight!"
"Then why don't you go save them?" another person said, "You have superpowers, right? Then why don't you move those people to a warm place? What madness brings you here?"
"What's that organization that manages the superpower users called? A.R.G.U.S.! Get their head over here and take this madman away. If something goes wrong with the vote, it's all your security's fault!"
"That's right, I said there should be a recount. Now an outsider has come in, who knows if he used superpowers to alter the vote outcome. It must be reassessed! Otherwise, I won't recognize the election result!"
"That's right, recount, there has to be a recount!"
The noisy voices echoed in his ears, but Barry could no longer hear them. He only felt the world spinning, his vision began to blur, as if already entering another world. The exquisite and glossy floor beneath his feet began to darken, the vibrant frescoes overhead seeped with blood, the meticulously dressed gentlemen grew fangs, their eloquent speeches turned to sinister smiles, the ground cracked into widening fissures.
In the last second before Barry lost consciousness, he felt a gust of cold wind rush in from the door, faintly hearing a voice say, "Naog Sokhup, head of A.R.G.U.S. I apologize for the trouble this superpower user has caused you, I'll take him away right now."