Pete's Expert Summary
So, my human has acquired another plastic totem, this one a particularly spiky and morose-looking fellow named "Spawn." It's from a brand called McFarlane, which seems to specialize in creating things designed to gather dust on a high shelf, far from the reach of a discerning connoisseur's paw. For me, the appeal is not in its "Incredibly detailed 7” scale," but in its "Ultra Articulation." Twenty-two moving parts, you say? That translates to twenty-two potential points of catastrophic failure when it inevitably tumbles from its perch. The true treasures, however, are the "ectoplasm fires." These are small, eminently lose-able accessories that look perfect for batting under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house. The figure itself is a waste of my time, but its tiny, neon green baubles show promise.
Key Features
- Incredibly detailed 7” scale figure based off the Mortal Kombat Franchise
- Designed with Ultra Articulation with up to 22 moving parts for full range of posing
- Spawn is featured in his Melafik Skin as seen in Mortal Kombat 11 Kombat Pack DLC
- Includes two ectoplasm fires and a base
- Showcased in Mortal Kombat themed window box packaging
- Collect all additional McFarlane Toys Mortal Kombat 7" Action Figures and 12" Deluxe Figures
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The Great Upright brought the dark creature into my domain inside a clear prison. He freed it with a series of tears and pulls, placing it on the mantelpiece, a place usually reserved for framed pictures of himself not petting me. The creature was all sharp angles and grimacing visage, draped in a tattered red cloak that was, insultingly, plastic and entirely unsuitable for kneading. It stood there, silent and brooding, holding two little bits of what looked like solidified, glowing gunk. For days, it did not move. It was a statue of poor taste, and I, a cat of refined aesthetics, ignored it with the full force of my being, preferring instead the sun-warmed patch of hardwood by the window. Then, the unsettling changes began. One morning, the creature’s arm was raised, as if hailing a particularly slow-moving fly. The next day, it was crouched low, its plastic cape flared as if caught in a phantom wind. My human was obviously the culprit, a bored god rearranging his inert universe. But in the quiet hours of the night, when the house ticked and settled around me, another possibility took root in my clever mind. I would watch it from the comfort of the sofa, my gray-and-white form a perfect shadow in the gloom. I imagined it moved when no one was looking, a silent sentinel practicing its dark arts before freezing at the sound of my approaching purr. It was no longer just a bad sculpture; it was a mystery. The mystery demanded a direct investigation. One night, fueled by a dinner of salmon paté and a thirst for truth, I made the ascent. A leap to the armchair, a delicate hop to the bookshelf, and a final, precarious stretch to the mantel. I stood before the silent one, my nose twitching. It smelled of industry and my human’s fingerprints. I extended a single, perfect white paw and tapped its horned head. It wobbled, but did not yield. It was, as I suspected, just plastic. My cynicism returned, a familiar, comfortable cloak. But then my eyes caught the green things. The "ectoplasm." They weren't attached. They were resting loosely in its stiff hands. A slow blink was my only outward reaction, but inside, a plan bloomed in its full, chaotic glory. The creature wasn't the toy. The creature was the *pedestal*. With a carefully aimed swat, I sent one of the green gems skittering off the mantel. It hit the floor with a magnificent *clack-skitter-skitter* before vanishing under the television stand. A thrill shot through me. This was no simple ball or feather wand; this was a game of heist and intellect. The brooding figure could keep its perch and its secrets. I had discovered its true purpose: to guard the most wonderfully imperfect, hard-to-reach toys I had ever had the pleasure of conquering. It was, in its own way, a masterpiece.
