Pete's Expert Summary
My human seems to have acquired another box of what they call "cooperative storytelling." From my vantage point on the heated blanket, I can see this particular distraction is from Thames & Kosmos, a purveyor of these complex human pastimes that involve much frowning and pointing at cardboard. The theme is "Monochrome, Inc.," a name I find rather fetching, given my own impeccably tailored gray and white coat. It appears to be a game of intrigue and secrets, where the bipedal players must explore, combine items, and unravel a plot. While I appreciate the intellectual stimulation of a good mystery, this entire endeavor seems devoid of anything tangible to chase, bat, or shred. It promises a "PC adventure game" experience, which I know involves staring at a glowing rectangle—a formidable competitor for attention, but at least that one provides a warm surface for napping. Ultimately, this is a box of organized paper designed to keep my staff occupied for hours, a high-risk proposition for my dinner schedule.
Key Features
- Discover the story! This thrilling adventure is set in the headquarters of monochrome, Inc., a biotech company with nasty secrets.
- Once you and your teammates get inside, you have to figure out what to do: explore places, combine items, find clues, and talk to people to grasp the plot and devise a plan.
- With each new action, the story unfolds, similar to a PC adventure game.
- Replayable: enough story content to play approximately three times with different stories each time.
- For 1 to 4 players, ages 16+; can be played over multiple sessions.
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The evening began with the familiar crinkle of shrink-wrap, a sound that promises so much but so often delivers so little. My human and their associates huddled around the low table, their heads bowed in concentration over the stark, black-and-white box. They spoke in low, serious tones, reading from a booklet and laying out cards. "We have to get inside the lab," one whispered. "Did anyone find the keycard?" asked another. It was all terribly dramatic for a pile of paper. Finding their murmuring to be a rather effective white noise machine, I settled into a loaf on a nearby cushion, the hum of their faux-conspiracy lulling me into a deep, velvety sleep. I awoke not to the scent of my living room, but to the sterile, ozonic tang of polished linoleum and antiseptic. My paws padded silently across a vast, white floor under the cold glare of fluorescent lights. My tuxedo fur felt unusually crisp, as if it were a real tuxedo. I was no longer Pete, napping enthusiast. I was Agent Pete, special operative, and my mission was clear: infiltrate Monochrome, Inc. and uncover their secrets. A locked door stood before me, its electronic panel blinking a taunting red. To my left, a half-eaten sandwich sat on a desk next to a scientist's discarded ID badge. This was a classic "combine items" scenario, a puzzle my slow-witted humans would debate for twenty minutes. I, however, am a creature of action and superior intellect. Ignoring the badge—a clumsy, obvious solution—I focused on the sandwich. A bit of ham was sticking out. Perfect. With a delicate flick of my paw, I nudged the sandwich off the desk, letting it fall directly onto the floor plate that controlled the door's emergency release. A subtle *click*, and the door slid open. Amateurs. I slipped through into a larger chamber, the heart of the conspiracy. And there, I saw it. The "nasty secret" of Monochrome, Inc. It was a vast, automated factory dedicated to producing laser pointers with faulty, intermittent beams. The sheer, calculated cruelty of it sent a shiver down my spine. A sudden thud jolted me awake. One of the humans had dropped a game token on the floor. I blinked, the sterile lab dissolving back into the warm lamplight of the living room. My human was saying, "I don't know, maybe we should try using the fire extinguisher on the keypad?" I let out a long, weary sigh. They were hopeless. I looked at the box, then back at my sleeping compatriots. The game was an amusing mental exercise, I suppose. A sort of training simulation. Clearly, it was worthy, if only to demonstrate how much better I would be at corporate espionage than the clumsy giants who feed me.