Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to believe my interests extend to humanoid plastic figures, a laughable assumption. This "Aerialbot Fireflight" is a cheap-looking automaton, a garish red-and-white thing meant for clumsy, sticky-fingered children. Its primary feature is its ability to contort itself from a bipedal form into some sort of flying machine in seventeen tedious steps—a process that will surely occupy my human for an infuriating amount of time. While its articulated limbs might allow for a satisfyingly dramatic fall from a great height, its true, and perhaps only, value lies in the two small "blaster" accessories. These are prime candidates for being batted under the heaviest piece of furniture, providing a worthy challenge for a slow Tuesday afternoon. The rest of it is just shelf-clutter waiting to happen.
Key Features
- AGE OF THE PRIMES AERIALBOT FIREFLIGHT: This Transformers Aerialbot Fireflight figure features deco and details inspired by the Transformers universe
- PART OF TRANSFORMERS AERIALBOT SUPERION: Aerialbot Fireflight action figure combines with other Aerialbot Transformers figures (each sold separately, subject to availability) to create the Aerialbot Superion figure
- 5.5-INCH DELUXE CLASS TRANSFORMERS FIGURE: In robot mode, the Transformers action figure is 5.5 inches (14 cm) tall
- CONVERT BETWEEN ROBOT AND JET MODE IN 17 STEPS: This Transformers toy figure converts between modes in 17 steps
- 2 ACCESSORIES ATTACH IN BOTH MODES: Figure comes with 2 blaster accessory pieces
- ARTICULATED FOR PLAY AND DISPLAY: Age of the Primes Transformers figures feature high articulation for display-worthy poses or action-packed play
- GIFT TRANSFORMERS COLLECTIBLES: Transformers action figures make a great gift for boys and girls 8 and up or anyone who collects Transformers toys
A Tale from Pete the Cat
It arrived in a vessel from the Outer World, a cardboard ark delivered by a herald in a rumbling chariot. My human, the Keeper of this Realm, performed the Unboxing Rite, and from the plastic shell emerged a new god for the Mantelpiece Pantheon. It stood five-and-a-half inches tall, a sentinel of crimson and white, its face a stoic, unblinking mask. The Keeper called it "Fireflight," a name that tasted of sky and fury. It was placed amongst the dusty photo frames and the porcelain bird, a silent, angular intruder upon the sacred high ground. I watched from the shadows of the armchair, my tail a slow metronome of suspicion. That evening, the Keeper approached the altar and began the Great Ritual. With reverent hands, she twisted and turned the idol. A series of seventeen sacred clicks echoed in the quiet room, a complex liturgical act of transformation. A leg became a wing. An arm folded into a fuselage. The warrior god I had observed all day vanished, replaced by a winged sky-chariot. The Keeper attached its two divine armaments—tiny blasters of immense potential—beneath its wings and left it poised for flight, an offering to the ceiling fan. I was not impressed by this parlor trick, but I was intrigued by the shifting of its form. Was its power inherent, or merely channeled by the giant primate? Under the pale glow of the streetlights, long after the Keeper had retired to her chambers, I made my pilgrimage. I leaped silently onto the mantelpiece, my paws making no sound on the wood. The jet-god was cold, inert plastic. There was no hum of cosmic energy, no thrum of an engine waiting to ignite. I sniffed its chassis. It smelled of the factory it was born in, not of the heavens it purported to command. I extended a single, soft, gray paw, my claws carefully retracted, and gave its wing a gentle pat. The idol tumbled from its perch without a fight. It clattered ignominiously onto the hearthstones below, a pathetic, hollow sound. Its two sacred blasters broke free, skittering across the floor like frightened insects. A false god, then. A powerless effigy. I leaped down, located one of the blasters with a hunter’s precision, and with a flick of my paw, sent the divine artifact spinning into the dark abyss beneath the sofa. The jet itself I ignored. It could lie there until the Keeper resurrected it. It was utterly unworthy of my attention, but its trinkets would make for a fine morning’s sport.
