Hal returned to his apartment. When he sat down on the couch, he always felt like something was missing. After thinking about it, he realized that the expensive bottle of red wine he had brought back from the Martian spaceship was gone.
But he did not think much of it, because he knew perfectly well that he was a terrible drinker—he could probably manage only a glass-bottom of whiskey, or less than half a glass of red wine before his head started spinning. Once the alcohol hit him, he remembered nothing. He had probably put it somewhere after drinking too much yesterday.
Hal remembered that there had not been much wine left in the bottle anyway, and he had no intention of indulging in alcohol, so he let it go. He turned on the television, watching the program while thinking about what Bruce had told him.
He knew resurrection could not be that simple. Defying the natural order like that was bound to come at a price. He just had not expected the resurrection to have been incomplete. He had not truly come back to life.
When it came to death, Hal was fairly calm about it. If he had been someone who feared death terribly, he would never have become a test pilot. The job paid well, but it was equally dangerous. He had narrowly escaped the last accident. If not for his good luck, he likely would never have gotten that mysterious ring or become a Superpower User.
Since he had already counted it as getting a second life, giving that life back to the Grim Reaper was no big deal. At least he had saved Victor from Steppenwolf. Dying would not be a loss.
But Hal was still curious about his current state. If he had not