Chapter 4410

In the enclosed fitness equipment room, the strong man was sweating like rain. The plank posture made sweat beads as big as beans fall directly from his forehead to the ground, and roll into the floor cracks.

The congested muscles were completely swollen, and even the blood vessels were clearly visible. As soon as the timer rang, the man almost fell to the ground immediately. He turned over, panting heavily. He picked up the towel hanging around his neck and wiped the sweat on his face, but the sweat still seeped into his eyes.

He rubbed his eyes a bit irritably, but the more he rubbed, the more painful it was. He had to stand up shakily and go to the bathroom to wash his face. He tried several times, but couldn't open the faucet; his arms were shaking too hard. He had to stretch his head over and use his cheeks to lift the faucet switch.

When washing his face, he could only lean over to rinse it, and then rub it on the towel. He returned to the training area again, first took the timer, and it took some effort when twisting it. After finally adjusting it and setting the posture, his arm slipped, and with a "bang," he lay on the ground.

"Damn it!" He cursed angrily, used his last bit of strength to turn over, and looked at the ceiling while panting.

The retraining process was too unsmooth. Hal tried hard to lift his eyelids. He didn't know why, but in just these few months, his physical fitness had actually dropped to such a point, and his balance was even more of a mess. The most outrageous thing was that he was dizzy and wanted to vomit on the "mayonnaise machine"—this was the nickname for the training machine that would spin wildly three hundred and sixty degrees after sitting on it.

God, he was a fighter pilot! On the surface, the intensity of any training machine couldn't compare to flying in the sky; if he couldn't handle this, how could he pass the assessment?!

Hal lay on the floor and began to think about why all this was. He admitted that for the past few months, he had been exhausted and hadn't maintained training, so the decline in physical fitness was normal.

However, he didn't drink alcohol, didn't take drugs, didn't even smoke, didn't stay up late, didn't overeat, and had no bad habits. His figure was kept as good as when he was in service; how could it drop so much?

What was even more outrageous was that his flight talent, which he was quite proud of, that is, sense of direction and balance, was not as good as when he first joined the service. This made him have a feeling of panic: could it be that he was really old?

For a pilot, his age wasn't actually old, but should be called the prime of life. Although pilots had to be very young when selected, that was only because the training and cultivation cycle was long, not because middle school students could fly flowers directly. Like Hal's age, it was the period when physical fitness, reaction ability, and experience were most balanced.

What made Hal feel even more worried was that every time he came into contact with training related to flying, including acceleration training and simulated flying, it always made him think of the moment the plane crashed.

After a crash accident, pilots would have psychological shadows, and there were many pilots who successfully saved the plane, but didn't engage in this industry afterward. That would be a shadow for a lifetime.

But Hal never thought he would be like this. In fact, during the most depressed and decadent period after he was fired, he didn't have stress disorder because of these things. He thought he wouldn't feel fear because of these things.

Besides the crash moment, Hal's mind often appeared a fragment, which was the time he died in the hands of Steppenwolf.

He knew he died then, not unconscious, just that Victor resurrected him with the power of the Mother Box. When the crash and death fragments appeared repeatedly, sometimes they would overlap, making Hal unable to help but think: if the plane crashed then, would he also welcome death as he did then?

Perhaps it was these distracting thoughts that affected his state. After another hard day of training without any results, Hal returned to his apartment. He bought a bottle of whiskey for the first time, put some ice cubes in the cup, but only drank a few sips, and was a bit unable to hold his liquor, falling beside the sofa.

Afterward, Carol called, telling him that it was difficult to return to the position of test pilot. Hal didn't say much either. Thinking of his recent state, he had to contact Schiller.

Looking at the application form placed on the desktop, Schiller looked up at Hal. Hal sighed lightly and said: "I think I can't do it. Perhaps I shouldn't be obsessed with the work of a test pilot."

"Why do you say that?" Schiller asked.

"Retraining is very unsmooth," Hal said, "I feel that my potential has been squeezed dry, but the data is not satisfactory. I seem to have lost my flight talent. Perhaps this is God's punishment for me."

"This doesn't sound like something you would say."

"What am I like in your eyes?"

"I've watched all the previous battle recordings," Schiller said, "You have a very strong willpower, fighting to the death, never giving up. I thought you wouldn't give up easily."

Hal put his elbows on the table, wiped his face hard, and said: "Willpower is not prejudice and stubbornness. On the contrary, it is a kind of self-control that can recognize oneself in time and stop when it's enough. Resuming flying in my state will only create more disasters."

"So you decided to give up?"

Hal nodded and said: "Take this form back. Thank you for everything you've done for me. I've decided to find a short-term job to maintain my life first, and then think about what else I can do."

Schiller didn't say much, and took the form back. After returning to the apartment, Hal began to check what work he could do. In fact, his conditions met the astronaut standard, and with the help of superpowers, he definitely wouldn't cause any trouble. However, he was worried that he really had stress disorder, worried that continuing to work in this line might lead to mental problems. So he decided to find a job that had nothing to do with aerospace work, even if it was physical labor like washing dishes.

After searching, he really found one. The fast-food restaurant not far from this apartment was recruiting, and the main work was making food in the back kitchen. This work didn't sound difficult at all, but it was very tiring, especially the position near the deep fryer, which could dehydrate people in a day.

But Hal wasn't afraid of this. Green Lantern energy fried fries sounded very good, fast and not hot, maybe the taste would be even better. Thinking this way, he went directly to the fast-food restaurant.

This was a twenty-four-hour fast-food restaurant. Hearing that he came to apply, the boss also received him very enthusiastically and let him try the work. The work wasn't difficult at all, just a bit boring. But Hal wasn't picky, so he started doing it.

Not long after, he was studying how to fry fries, and Carol called again. She said: "There is a vacancy for an instructor at the Children's Aerospace Knowledge Popularization Base in Los Angeles. Do you want to go?"

"No, dear, I've already found a job. Next time you drive to my house, don't go straight, but turn left. Seeing that fast-food restaurant with a red sign, you must go in and order a portion of fries." Hal directly covered his palm with Green Lantern energy, reached into the deep fryer to fish out a fry, threw it into his mouth, chewed, and said, "The taste is great."

"Oh, my God, you went to a fast-food restaurant to fry fries?!" Carol's voice was a bit surprised, "Do you know how to use those machines?"

"Uh, actually not really, I used Green Lantern energy to fry them." Hal threw another fry into his mouth and said, "But it's much better than ordinary deep-frying methods. You have to come early, otherwise people will definitely flock to it and it will be overcrowded."

"Okay, Fry Hero. I'll go see you after I'm busy."

Hanging up the phone, Hal scratched his sideburns and called Bruce again, then said: "Can you give me a certificate for the Justice League Special Tax Group?"

"What do you want the certificate for? Do you also want to go check taxes?"

"No, I found a job in the back kitchen of a fast-food restaurant and am trying to fry the best fries in the world. But you also know about Carol's circle, which can film eight hundred episodes of 'Real Housewives of Los Angeles' in a day. She needs a boyfriend with a decent job."

"Okay, I'll let Barry send the certificate to you. However, are you really not considering it anymore?"

"Thank you all for believing in me so much, but my state is indeed not very good. Perhaps after recovering for a period of time, I will try again, but not recently."

Hanging up the phone, Hal began to study the fry machine again. A blue light flashed, and Barry appeared in the back kitchen of the fast-food restaurant.

"Oh, God, why is it so fragrant?!" Barry sniffed and said, "What did you use to fry the fries?!"

Hal stretched out a hand covered with Green Lantern energy and shook it, and threw a fry to Barry by the way. Barry thought it would be very hot, but it was actually okay. He threw it into his mouth and chewed, nodded and said: "Delicious, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and not so greasy. Perfect fries."

Then he took out the certificate from his arms. Hal waved his hand and said: "Send it directly to Carol Ferris..."

"I'm not a courier. You have to give me an accurate address at least, so I can send it."

Hal took out his phone while holding the basket of fried fries and sent the accurate address to Barry. Just as Barry was about to leave, Hal called him. He directly picked up a fast-food tray from the side, piled a mountain of fries, and handed it to Barry.

Thus, Barry appeared in front of Carol with a mountain of fries. Carol turned around and was startled, and only breathed a sigh of relief when she found there was a human head behind the mountain of fries. She said: "I thought I was hallucinating. Why are you here?"

"Hal asked me to send it to you." Barry put down the mountain of fries.

Carol covered her forehead helplessly and said: "When will he ever grow up?"

But saying was saying, she still picked up a fry and took a bite, then nodded and said: "Five-star praise, is that okay?"

"No," Barry took out the certificate and said, "He asked me to give you this."

Carol took the certificate and took a look, her eyes widened slightly. She looked at Barry, and Barry nodded and said: "This is indeed a tax department certified by the federal government, and the authority is even greater than ordinary tax law enforcement officers. So far, it has never failed, and the cumulative tax amount recovered might have exceeded a hundred billion."

Carol took a light breath. She looked at the certificate; the ink of the color photo on it hadn't dried yet, obviously just made.