[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/49HBDaq.png[/img][/center]
[center][b][color=green]GREEN LANTERN[/color] in: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMDrTMnm1IE]DON’T LET ME BE MISUNDERSTOOD III[/url][/b][/center]
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Hal hadn’t prepared for a fight, his one trick was [i]The Highball[/i] -- and that couldn’t [i]quite[/i] shoot out Superman’s heat vision yet -- but, as he saw the mass and numbers of the enemy force descending on them through the firework cover, he was damn glad that Kilowog had.

Only a handful of the green creatures had broken from formation to attack Hal and the refugees, the rest buzzed like a cloud of hornets, whirling around a green point of light that popped and exploded from the heart of their formation; Kilowog had decided to put on his own fireworks show.

But that meant it was on Hal to help [i]these[/i] yahoos against The Wicked Witch’s flying green monkeys. The girl threw herself headlong into the action, jumping straight off the building and swinging her cuffs around like a cudgel. [i]Flying[/i] straight off the building, Hal corrected himself. Was flying just a part of the basic space alien suite? The girl managed on her own, but the others were using jetpacks soldered into the winged framework of their armor, and the blue guy’s armor produced propulsion as quick as the surface of its arm rolled over itself to form into a shield. Hal was the only one left on the roof, slack jawed as the aliens traded blows.

It was finally coming true. Everything the old Flash Gordon serials from Hal’s childhood had promised the arrival of aliens would be, but now in technicolor, and happening [i]awful[/i] close to him. For a moment he had the instinct to run, a quick seize across his muscles and the memory of lightning splitting the sky. Kilowog and the others could mop it up, give him more time to figure out [i]something[/i] with the ring to protect himself.

[i]Protection[/i], that was a new thought, it almost earned a laugh. Before the ring that was his last concern. Screw the FAA guidelines, forget takeoff procedure, and always push the screaming engine a lot damn harder than the techs tell you to, just to prove that you can; just to get your butt into that sheepskin seat cover and [i]fly[/i] a little while. Growing up they told him Martini Jordan had his first combat flight in a stolen cessna, with no guns and tissue-paper armor, even without any kind of safety net, he still gave those Kraut sons-of-bitches the what for... Oh, what the hell.

Hal’s feet took him off the structure and his ring brought him into the air, forming the electric lime field around him and slinging him past the bolts of alien energy that rocked through the sea spray. He knew his sheathe wouldn’t stand up to that kind of punishment, the projectiles were as big around as baseballs and hummed like a Coast City powerplant, fancy flying would be the only way out of this mess.

Hal threw a barrel roll, jerking his muscles in accordance with the movement to dodge another bolt by a hair. It still didn’t feel like he could [i]quite[/i] move right inside of it, the flight construct sat on him like a lead suit, restricting his motion and keeping his body in flight position. He may as well have been jammed in a cockpit.

Then, [i]The Highball[/i] sharpened on the edge of his vision, forcing something to his attention. It was one of the aliens, diving under and back up into the fray, bringing its weapon up for a blaster shot on the blue guy’s exposed side.

[color=green]“Hey!”[/color] Hal was on the alien, cutting over his path and slamming the bugger down. His flight construct buckled and went turgid on contact, shimmering energy pulsed and ballooned as it tried to correct itself from the impact, setting Hal’s teeth to rattle in his skull.

He and the alien tumbled through the sky, Hal’s arms locked firmly around its waist. The creature squawked at him in a language the ring refused to translate, swinging an arm that had to be the size of Hal’s whole torso to swat the human off. Hal squirmed and shifted, forcing his weight up until he could wrap his legs around the monster’s waist and get his arms over its neck. Hal [i]squeezed[/i].

It was like trying to choke a redwood tree. Its skin was like a toad’s, bumped and warted and [i]slimy[/i], Hal could tell even through the layers of his construct, protecting corded muscle as strong as steel beneath. 

[color=green]“Who the hell let you uglies in through the blockade?”[/color] Hal shouted, trying to kick at the monster’s stomach only to be met by a plate of gristle, [color=green]“we’re not having an intergalactic kegger down here!”[/color]

Hal’s flight construct was normalizing, returning to hold its shape around its master, but the alien wasn’t having it. Its brawn shifted and it [i]torqued[/i] him. Hal’s sides screamed while the alien twisted him, begging him to release his hold or at [i]least[/i] the construct squeezing in on him. 

What would Kilowog do? Certainly not let go. What would [i]Martini[/i] do? No weapons, no armor, no nothing, just his way to fly… His way to fly.

Hal screamed and closed his eyes, keeping his legs locked tight around the alien’s trunk and willing his construct to flow over the creature, no longer keeping him airborne but keeping the thing locked into a new emerald cage.

Wind and spray whipped Hal’s hair and clothes and stung his eyes as he opened them, now wrestling with the sealed pocket around the alien, thrashing and vocalizing as the construct kept it locked within. It was like fighting a sleeping bag. Its jetpack was failing, whining, uselessly pouring plasma and fire into growing bubbles on the construct’s back as the green energy wibbled, barely keeping them in the air.

They were losing altitude, streaking towards the surface of the bay, at least, but at this height it’d feel like kissing concrete, but it was all he could do to even force his structure to keep its coherence, and hang onto the creature for dear life., digging his fingers into little wells in the construct.

[color=green]“Hey! A little help!?”[/color] He screamed at the figures above.