Transforms from jet to robot and back!


"Only by studying the past can we win the present."

Would rather read about jet fighters than be one...fascinated by the science of aerial warfare. Can, within the limits of his design, duplicate the flying motion of anything he sees...maybe the most skilled flyer of all Transformers. Flies at Mach 2.6, range 1400 miles. Carries laser guided missiles, uses nega-gun that crumbles objects by breaking molecular bonds. Prone to mid-air stalls. With fellow Aerialbots forms "Superion".

  • Strength: 4
  • Intelligence: 10
  • Speed: 9
  • Endurance: 4
  • Rank: 7
  • Courage: 7
  • Firepower: 8
  • Skill: 10
Transformers Tech Specs

Skydive was modelled after a grey F-16 fighter jet, but other than that looked exactly like all the other smaller Aerialbots. For the longest time he and Air Raid were the only jets I recognized, so they were the only ones I'd play with. Fighting the bad guys with an American fighter jet is so much more satisfying than doing it with a passenger or cargo plane.

when you're drinking icy mountain dew
in a pale moon's light
and white clouds of mushrooms
are lighting up the night
you might start to see your place
in a different kind of way
you may see your face
and not know what to say

what can i say?

but the sun is in the sky
so that night is not today
and since you don't want to cry
then life must be okay
but the more time seems to fly
it seems to me that when you come to be
born and possessed of a critical eye
that the more you see

the more you see you die

so who's to blame
for a change of perspective
who's right to say
that's not being objective
what's there to stop you
from being dead until you die
who's going to rescue
you from someone else's lie

when you're dancing with the devil
under the full moon's light
even when you're rebel,
considering the night,
taking stock pays double
and you say, forget it, team break the huddle
look at it seems all life is a struggle
and asking questions is asking for trouble

and we could recycle used condoms to help stop pollute
and we could save the world by drinking fermented fruit
and we could still fire you a twenty one gun shot salute
and we could tell stories about moral absolutes
but even if we save our souls then our lives be moot
in the end we're still skydiving without parachutes

when fast approaching ground is filling up your eyes
take the time to feel the breeze numb you screaming by
let it deafen your ears with the roaring of the sky
because falling means flying means admitting you'll die
means admitting that you're not dead yet
means that money's just numbers
means it's your life's in debt
so fill your eyes with wonders
don't worry about bad credit
and when your stomach writhes in hunger
another cigarette will help forget it
three months after winter's end will come another summer

My jeans smell of skydive.  I can't quite define the smell - mud and sweat cleaned by rushing air, clothing worn many times over because more important things get in the way.  Aviation fuel and weather-bleached boards.  Dog.

It's the smell of laughter and cider and showing off, hugs and the grin of someone balancing a tightwire of nervous excitement.  Worried newcomers caught off guard by our jargon and battered equipment.  Inconvenience.

I think of wide, slightly faded blue skies cooling into huddled evenings perched outside the clubhouse with laughter and cider, chilly mornings with the mist across the dropzone broken only by the dark shapes of the trees.  Aviation fuel always present.  Mud, mist, sun and sky, fried egg and cider and unwashed jumpsuits. 

I love this place.

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