タカラトミー(TAKARA TOMY) ZOIDS Beast Rigger, Zoid Armor

From: タカラトミー(TAKARA TOMY)

Pete's Expert Summary

So, the Human has acquired a box of plastic bones from a brand called TAKARA TOMY. From my vantage point on the sofa, I observed the lengthy, frustrating ritual of assembly. It appears to be a mechanical creature, a "Zoid," whatever that is. Its primary feature, and the only one of remote interest to a feline of my stature, is that it requires a battery. This implies movement, a potential challenge to my dominion over the living room floor. However, its hard, angular construction suggests it will be deeply unsatisfying to bite, and its predictable, motorized path will likely prove to be a fleeting amusement. It is, in essence, a loud, clumsy art project that thinks it's prey, a spectacle that may be worth watching once before I dedicate myself to a more important sunbeam.

Key Features

  • (C) CAPCOM (C) TOMY/ZW Production Committee, TV Tokyo
  • Requires 1 AAA alkaline battery (sold separately). )

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The smell was the first warning. Not the familiar, comforting scent of cardboard, but something sharper beneath it—the sterile aroma of a distant factory, of molded plastic yet to gather the house's dust. The Human spent what felt like an entire nap cycle hunched over the low table, making tiny, frustrating clicking noises. I watched from the arm of the wingback chair, my tail giving a slow, judgmental sweep. A creature was taking shape under the lamplight, a gray, skeletal beast with none of the grace of a living thing. It was an affront to anatomy. When the Human produced the tiny metal morsel—a "AAA" battery, I've heard them call it—and fed it into the creature's belly, I knew the moment was near. A switch was flicked. There was a low whir, the sound of a trapped fly, and then... it moved. It lurched forward in a stiff, unnatural gait, its legs moving in perfect, soulless synchronicity. It was a mockery of a predator, a puppet pulled by invisible, electrical strings. It marched in a straight line toward the leg of the coffee table, oblivious. I descended from my perch, silent as a shadow on my velvet paws. This was not a hunt; it was an assessment. I let the plastic monstrosity complete its mindless journey and bump uselessly against the wood. As it began its turn, I moved with it, a gray tuxedoed wraith circling this clockwork imposter. It had no scent of fear, no flicker of life in its static, painted eyes. It simply whirred on. I drew back a single paw, claws sheathed, and delivered a perfectly calibrated, testing *bap* to its flank. The resulting *clack* was hollow, unsatisfying. The Zoid shuddered but continued its pre-programmed patrol, unheeding. It did not react. It did not flee. It did not fight back. It was nothing. A more profound emptiness than the red dot, which at least has the decency to be elusive. With a sigh that ruffled the fur on my chest, I turned my back on the pathetic automaton. It could have the floor. My throne in the sun was waiting, and unlike this plastic fool, it knew the value of silent, dignified warmth.