Pete's Expert Summary
My human, in his infinite and often misguided wisdom, has procured two plastic effigies of grimacing humanoids. They are, apparently, "incredibly detailed," which to me means they have many small crevices perfect for accumulating dust and my stray fur. This set features two brooding figures, one dressed as a bat and the other looking like a poorly-conceived nightmare, complete with tiny, sharp-looking weapons that I am already planning to steal and bat under the refrigerator. They are designed with "Ultra Articulation," a fancy term for having limbs that the human can bend into dramatic poses before placing them on a shelf to be ignored. This is not a toy; this is shelf-clutter. Its only potential for playability lies in the satisfying crash it will make when I inevitably knock it to the floor during a 3 a.m. sprint.
Key Features
- Incredibly detailed 7” scale figures based on the DC Multiverse and Todd McFarlane’s Spawn Comic Series
- Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing and play
- Includes a specialized base with a backdrop and 2 figure bases
- Batman includes extra hands and batarang. Spawn includes a sword
- Includes 2 collectible art cards with character art on the front, and character biography on the back
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The box arrived with an air of self-importance, and The Human handled it with the sort of reverence he usually reserves for the forbidden rotisserie chicken. Out came the two dark figures, Batman and Spawn, as I learned from his mutterings. He set them up on a specialized base on the mantelpiece, a prime napping spot now occupied by this plastic diorama. They were posed in a moment of high tension, weapons drawn, capes artistically frozen, staring into each other's soulless plastic eyes. A silent, motionless drama. How utterly dull. I yawned, displaying my own superior fangs, and went to groom myself in a sunbeam, pointedly ignoring the new intrusion. That night, a sliver of moonlight cut across the living room, illuminating the mantel. I awoke from a light doze and saw them, silhouetted against the dark. The house was still, and in the quiet, my mind began to wander. They weren't just statues anymore. They were sentinels. The Bat-Figure was the guardian of the Dry Food Bin, his tiny Batarang a warning against unauthorized crunching. The Spiked-Demon was the keeper of the Forbidden Couch, his sword promising swift retribution for any claw sharpening. They were a silent, grim police force, installed by The Human to enforce his tyrannical house rules while he slumbered. A low growl rumbled in my chest. This aggression would not stand. I made a silent, graceful leap onto the mantelpiece, my tuxedo-furred form a specter of judgment between the two combatants. I stared first at the Bat-Guardian, whose extra hands lay uselessly in the box. He could not pet me. He could not offer a treat. I gave his pointy ear a firm *thwap* with my paw. He wobbled precariously. Emboldened, I turned to the Couch-Demon. His cape was long and flowing, a flagrant invitation. With a precise hook of one claw, I tugged. He tilted, lost his balance, and toppled from the stage with a soft, unsatisfying *thump* onto the carpet below. The Bat-Figure now stood alone, his nemesis vanquished. I sat before him, purring, a benevolent monarch who had just quelled a minor insurrection. The toy itself is a monument to human foolishness, a static bore. But as an object lesson for any other inanimate objects that dare to challenge my dominion over this household? It serves its purpose beautifully. I will permit the survivor to remain on the mantel as a reminder of my authority. For now.