In the closed gym room, the strong man was sweating like rain. The plank position made the sweat beads fall directly from his forehead to the ground, then roll into the floor crevices.
The swollen muscles were fully inflated, and even the blood vessels were clearly visible. As soon as the timer rang, the man almost immediately collapsed to the ground. He turned over, panting heavily. He picked up the towel hanging around his neck, wiping the sweat off his face, but the sweat still seeped into his eyes.
Agitatedly, he rubbed his eyes, but the more he rubbed, the more it hurt. He had to sway as he stood up and went to the bathroom to wash his face. He tried several times but couldn't open the tap; his arm shook too much. He had to lean his head over and use his cheek to lift the tap switch.
When washing his face, he could only lean forward to rinse a bit, then rub it on the towel. He returned to the training area, picked up the timer, exerting effort to twist it. It was tough, setting it right and getting into position, his arm slipped, and with a "bang" he hit the ground.
"Damn it!" he cursed angrily, using his last strength to turn over, gasping and staring at the ceiling.
The retraining process was going badly. Hal struggled to lift his eyelids. He didn't know why, but in just a few months, his physical condition had declined to this degree, his balance was a complete mess. Most absurd was that on the "Mayonnaise Machine"—which pilots nicknamed the training machine that spins wildly 360 degrees—he got dizzy and felt like vomiting.
God, he was a fighter pilot! No ground-based training machine intensity compares to actual flight in the sky; if he couldn't handle this, how could he pass the assessment?!
Hal lay on the floor, starting to ponder why all this was happening. He admitted that these months had drained his energy, and not maintaining training made the decline in physical ability normal.
But he neither drank excessively nor used drugs, didn't even smoke, stayed up late, or indulge in gluttony, had no bad habits. His physique stayed as good as when he was active duty, so why had it declined so much?
Even more absurd was that his pride as a pilot—his sense of direction and balance—was not as good as when he first enlisted. This prompted a panic: could it be that he really was getting old?
For pilots, his age wasn't considered old; it should be called the prime of life. Though pilots are selected young, that's due to the long training and cultivation period, not that high school students can fly well immediately. Hal's age was the most balanced period for physical ability, reaction time, and experience.
What made Hal even more anxious was that every time he engaged in flight-related training including acceleration and simulated flights, he constantly thought of the moment the plane crashed.
After a crash incident, pilots often have psychological shadows, and many who successfully save a plane don't continue in the industry afterward. That forms a lifelong shadow.
But Hal never thought he would be like this. Actually, during his most depressed and down period after being dismissed, he didn't develop PTSD over it. He thought he wouldn't fear these things.
Besides the crash moment, Hal's mind often revisits another scene, where he died in the hands of Savage Wolf.
He knew he had died then, not merely fainted; Victor used the Mother Box's power to revive him. When crash and death scenes repeatedly appear, they sometimes overlap, making Hal ponder: if the plane had gone down, would he have met death like that then?
Perhaps these scattered thoughts influenced his state. After another day of hard training with no results, Hal returned to his apartment. Exceptionally, he bought a bottle of whiskey, put some ice in a glass, but after only a few sips, he succumbed to the alcohol and collapsed beside the sofa.
Later, Carol indeed called to tell him returning to the test pilot's role would be difficult. Hal didn't say much. Reflecting on his recent state, he had to contact Shiller.
Gazing at the application form on the desk, Shiller raised his eyes to look at Hal. Hal sighed lightly and said, "I think I can't do it. Maybe I shouldn't be fixated on test pilot work."
"Why say that?" Shiller asked.
"The retraining is going very badly," Hal said, "I feel my potential has been exhausted, but the data isn't great. I seem to have lost my pilot skills. Perhaps this is God's punishment for me."
"That doesn't sound like something you'd say."
"How do you see me?"
"I've watched the battle footage before," Shiller said, "You have strong willpower, fighting desperately, never giving up. I thought you wouldn't give up easily."
Hal propped his elbows on the table, vigorously wiping his face, then said, "Willpower isn't obsessiveness and stubbornness. On the contrary, it's a self-control to recognize oneself timely and stop suitably. My state, flying again, will only create more disasters."
"So you've decided to give up?"
Hal nodded and said, "Take this form back. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I decided to find some temporary work to sustain life, then consider what else I can do."
Shiller didn't say much, he just took the form back. After Hal returned to the apartment, he started searching for jobs he could do. Actually, his qualifications meet the astronaut standards, and with the help of superpowers, there would definitely be no trouble. However, he worries that he might really have PTSD, worried that continuing in this field might lead to mental issues. So he decided to find a job that has nothing to do with aerospace, even if it's manual labor like washing dishes.
Looking around, he actually found one. Not far from his apartment, there's a fast-food restaurant hiring people, mainly to prepare food in the kitchen. This job sounds pretty good, but it's actually very tiring, especially the positions close to the fryer, which can dehydrate a person from the heat.
But Hal isn't afraid of this. Frying fries with Green lantern energy sounds pretty good, fast and not hot, maybe it tastes even better. Thinking like this, he went straight to the fast-food restaurant.
This is a 24-hour fast-food restaurant. Hearing he's here for the job, the boss warmly greeted him and let him try the work. The work isn't hard at all, just a bit boring. But Hal isn't picky and started working.
Soon after, while he was researching how to fry fries, Carol called again. She said: "There's an open position for an instructor at the children's astronaut knowledge base in Los Angeles, are you interested?"
"No, sweetheart, I've already found a job. Next time you drive to my place, don't go straight but turn left. When you see that red sign at the fast-food restaurant, make sure to come in and order some fries." Hal directly used Green lantern energy to cover his palm, dipped into the fryer to get a fry, tossed it into his mouth, chewed, then said, "It tastes amazing."
"Oh my God, you went to a fast-food restaurant to fry fries?!" Carol's voice sounded a bit shocked, "Do you know how to use those machines?"
"Uh, not really, I use Green lantern energy to fry them." Hal tossed another fry into his mouth, then said, "But it's way better than the normal frying method. You better come soon, otherwise people will flock here, it'll be crowded."
"Alright, Fry Knight. I'll come see you as soon as I finish my work."
After hanging up, Hal scratched his temple and then called Bruce, saying: "Can you get me an identification card for the Justice League special tax group?"
"What do you need the ID for? Are you planning to do tax inspections?"
"No, I found a job in the fast-food restaurant kitchen, trying to make the world's best fries. But you know Carol's circle, they shoot eight hundred episodes of 'Los Angeles Housewives' in a day. She needs a boyfriend with a respectable job."
"Alright, I'll have Barry deliver the ID to you. But, are you really not considering it anymore?"
"I really appreciate everyone believing in me, but I'm really not in a good state. Maybe after recovering for some time, I'll try again, but not for now."
After hanging up, Hal started studying the fry machine again. A flash of blue light, Barry appeared in the fast-food restaurant kitchen.
"Oh God, why does it smell so good?!" Barry sniffed and said, "What did you use to fry these fries?!"
Hal shook a hand covered with Green lantern energy, casually tossed Barry a fry. Barry thought it would be hot, but actually, it wasn't. He tossed it into his mouth, chewed, and nodded, saying: "Delicious, crispy outside, tender inside, not that greasy. Perfect fries."
Then he took out the ID from his pocket. Hal waved his hand, saying: "Just deliver it to Carol Ferris..."
"I'm not a courier. You have to at least give me an exact address so I can deliver it."
While holding a basket of fries, Hal took out his phone, sent the exact address to Barry. Just as Barry was about to leave, Hal called him back. He picked up a fast-food tray nearby, piled up a mountain of fries, handed it to Barry.
So Barry showed up in front of Carol with a mountain of fries. Carol turned around, got a big scare, only relaxed when she saw a person's head behind the fries mountain. She said: "I thought I was seeing an illusion. Why are you here?"
"Hal asked me to deliver this to you." Barry placed the fries mountain down.
Carol helplessly covered her forehead and said: "When will he ever grow up?"
But still, she picked up a fry, took a bite, then nodded and said: "Five-star review, is that good enough?"
"No," Barry took out the ID, saying, "He asked me to give this to you."
Carol took the ID, glanced at it, slightly widened her eyes. She looked at Barry, Barry nodded and said: "This is indeed a tax department certified by the Federal Government, with higher authority than ordinary tax law enforcement officers. So far, it's undefeated, and the total tax collected might already exceed hundreds of billions."
Carol gently took a deep breath. She looked at the ID, noting that the ink on the photo was still wet, clearly just made.