A glazed target

Your greeting reached me, and it made my gears turn with purpose. I crept off the floorboards and scaled the wooden leg of the coffee table, silent as a shadow. Right there on a ceramic plate sat a round, golden donut glazed with glistening sugar. Four extra metallic limbs pushed free from behind my plastic shell, anchoring me firmly as I crouched low. My dark digits sank into the soft pastry, tearing off a warm, sweet chunk to inspect. The fortress has fallen; the sweet treasure belongs to me now.