After Diana, Ron, and Schiller had all left, Bruce returned to the Batcave and pulled up someone's file on the computer. The face on the screen was exceptionally young, even much younger than Superman. The youth in the photo wore a smile at the corner of his lips and looked easy to get along with. The name field read, "Barry Allen."
The screens before him lit up one after another, showing the youth constantly moving through them. Bruce saw him sitting silently alone in the corner of a school classroom, holding a huge stack of specialized books; wandering between the shelves of a library, looking up for what he wanted; and being cornered in a hallway by strong members of a school team, only lowering his head and pursing his lips without saying a word.
Quiet and solitary—those were Bruce's first impressions of him. Clearly, Barry Allen was not the sort of person who was popular. He had no friends at all and was not favored by the opposite sex. Yet Bruce had also seen, several times, from the way he watched crowds that he longed for friendship and wanted intimate relationships like a family.
But he was destined to be lonely. His talent could not be displayed in the ordinary world. Only when he ran could he find even a trace of comfort. A genius like this should not be buried.
"I'm saying this one last fucking time! No matter what method you use, find a fucking way to get Capitol Hill back to the fucking District of Columbia immediately!!! We have the advantage right now, and the odds of reelection are very high. The election absolutely cannot be delayed!!!!"
Another roar came from the President's office. After pausing at the door, the Secretary of State still walked in,