Pete's Expert Summary
So, the human has acquired another plastic man-doll. This one, a "Cyclops," is apparently a "collectible," which is human-speak for "expensive dust-magnet." It's a paltry six inches tall, made of hard plastic that would be unsatisfying to bite, and comes with a collection of tiny, losable bits—hands and a head—that will inevitably find their way under the couch, leading to a loud session with the vacuum monster. I suppose its bendy limbs offer some potential for being posed in a precarious, easy-to-topple position on the bookshelf. The most interesting feature is a translucent red doodad meant to look like an energy beam, which might, if the sun hits it just right, create a fleetingly interesting dot on the wall. Otherwise, it’s a waste of shelf space that could be used for, say, me.
Key Features
- MARVEL STUDIOS’ X-MEN ‘97: This collectible Marvel figure is inspired by Cyclops’ appearance in Marvel Studios’ X-Men ‘97 animated series -- a great gift for collectors and fans ages 4 and up
- ANIMATED LIKENESS: Marvel fans and collectors can display this 6 inch action figure (15 cm) -- featuring premium animation-accurate deco and design, and over 20 points of articulation -- in their collections
- OPTIC BLAST POWERS: This officially licensed Cyclops figure comes with an alternate head, optic blast FX, and 3 alternate hands for dynamic poseability
- RETRO-STYLE BLISTER CARD: Display this Marvel Legends X-Men figure on your shelf with collectible packaging featuring series character art
- ONE OF THE FIRST MUTANT HEROES: The consistent and determined leader of the X-Men, Cyclops has the mutant ability to emit powerful red beams of energy from his eyes
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The human brought the new operative in under the cover of a cardboard-and-plastic transport cell. I watched from my observation post on the back of the sofa as they carefully extracted him. Code name: Cyclops. He was small, rigid, and smelled faintly of a factory in a land I don't care about. The human spent an absurd amount of time bending his limbs, a process they called "posing." I saw it for what it was: the transmission of initial orders. I waited until the house fell into its nightly silence. I leaped onto the bookshelf, my paws making no sound on the polished wood. The operative stood motionless, staring into the middle distance, his ridiculous yellow harness a beacon of poor taste. I began my reconnaissance, circling him, sniffing for tells. No scent of fear. He was a professional. I extended a single claw and gently tapped his head. He didn't flinch. A tough nut to crack. My human had left his supplemental gear nearby. An alternate head with a grimace—clearly for intimidation. A set of open hands, for signaling. And the primary threat: a piece of jagged, red plastic. His "optic blast." I recognized it immediately as a weapon, a silent, ineffective laser designed to project authority. It was pathetic, but the intent was clear. This operative was here to establish a new order in my domain. An operative is only as good as his equipment. With a delicate flick of my paw, I sent one of the tiny, alternate hands skittering off the shelf and into the dark abyss below. A moment later, the "optic blast" followed. Disarmed. I gave the figure one last, contemptuous look. Let him stand there, handless and powerless. He could lead nothing now. My territory was secure. I hopped down, leaving him to his silent, lonely vigil, and went to find a sunbeam. The mission was a success. He was not worthy of my notice.
