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Cliffjumper was a risk taker. It was right there in his name: One who jumps off cliffs. Look before you leap? Pfft. Leap before you look. Cause it really didn’t matter where you were going to land; once you were in the air, your fate was written. All your caution was just slag in the wind. He’d survive because he was small and tough and knew how to bounce, and who cared about the potential injuries. Ratchet was the best of the best. Worry was for fraidy-scraplets.
And if there were ‘Cons at the bottom of the jump, all the better. Like shooting mechano-fish in an oil barrel. Decepticons never expected Autobots to come swooping down from on top of them. Something about Autobots being mostly unable to fly. Pfft. As if. Find him a cliff, or a building or a canyon and Cliffjumper’d show them how to not-fly. Death From Above all the way.
Mirage wasn’t really a risk taker. It was right there in his name: The illusion that can never be caught. He didn’t earn that name by jumping off high precipices and landing on top of Decepticons. He was the type to carefully climb down a cliff, or better yet just snipe them from on top it. By the time they found his perch, he’d be somewhere else. That’s what he did. That’s who he was.
But it hadn’t always. And every once in a while, he and Cliffjumper would go out and remind themselves of just who he’d been before he couldn’t be caught.
End