Pete's Expert Summary
My human has brought home another box of what they call "entertainment." This one is apparently a "Warhammer 40,000 Space Marine Adventure." From my vantage point, it appears to be a collection of small, brightly-colored plastic morsels, perfectly sized for batting under the sofa. The humans call them "warriors" and "footsoldiers." I call them future casualties of my strategic paw. The cooperative nature of this "game" means the humans will be distracted, staring intently at the board instead of at me, which is an unforgivable offense. However, this focused inattention presents an opportunity. While they are busy "fulfilling mission objectives," I can conduct my own quality assurance tests on the aerodynamic properties of the alien Overlord piece. It may prove to be a worthy diversion, or it may simply be another colorful obstacle on my preferred napping surface—the dining room table.
Key Features
- Pit a squad of brave Space Marine warriors against the menace of the alien Overlord and his robotic footsoldiers.
- A fast-paced cooperative game for 1-4 players.
- There are three levels to complete, each offering a different challenge.
- In order to win a game you must successfully fulfill the mission objective for a level.
- Advance rules and challenge cards allow you to tailor the difficulty of each level, and all three levels can be combined into a single campaign - the true test of a Space Marine hero.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The smell of fresh plastic and cardboard preceded the box's arrival on the Big Flat Surface. My human, with an absurd level of enthusiasm, began unpacking. Out came little blue figures, stoic and proud, and then their adversaries, skeletal silver things. They were arranged on a glossy board depicting some sort of metallic tomb. I watched from the arm of the chair, my tail giving a slow, judgmental thump-thump-thump against the upholstery. It was, I concluded, a glorified playset of inferior prey. Static, silent, and utterly devoid of the frantic, feathery panic that makes a toy truly *live*. My human and their friend began their ritual, hunched over the board, muttering about "Necron Warriors" and "activation rolls." They moved the little blue pawns, then the silver ones. A pair of dice clattered across the table—a sound that sent a brief, pleasant shiver through my whiskers. They were so absorbed, so focused on their miniature war, that they failed to notice the true apex predator observing their theater. I stretched, my gray fur sleek under the lamp light, and executed a silent, fluid leap onto the table, my paws making no sound on the game board. I was a gray titan amidst their little battlefield. The humans froze. I ignored them, my gaze settling on the main silver figure—the "Overlord." He stood apart from his minions, staff in hand, radiating an aura of cheap, molded plastic arrogance. He thought this was his domain. A grave miscalculation. I lowered my head, my nose a hair's breadth from him. I could smell the faint scent of the factory in China where he was born. With a flick of my paw, a precise and dismissive motion I usually reserve for a dust bunny that has offended me, I sent the Overlord flying. He soared through the air in a graceful arc before clattering against the far wall. The humans sighed in unison. One of them, not my own, mumbled something about a "campaign reset." But I knew the truth. I had seen the challenge and met it. I had faced the alien menace and single-pawedly saved this sad little squad of blue men. Having asserted my dominance and completed the *true* mission objective, I curled up directly on the "Labyrinth of the Necrons," my soft tuxedo-fronted chest covering three rooms and a handful of lesser robotic soldiers. The game, I decided, had excellent playability, though its rules were clearly designed for simpler minds.
