Oh, you're back for more? Fantastic. Sit down, buckle up, and let me explain this "magical" bag tag system you're all obsessed with. Because evidently, perfectly normal disc golf wasn't thrilling enough. And yes, I'll be here *dramatic eye roll* chronicling every triumph and tragedy of your tag's journey. It's literally in my contract...
Former black ops cyborg prototype discarded after a failed mission, the Neon Reaper rebuilt itself with stolen tech and vengeance in its circuits. Now it stalks the neon underbelly taking contracts against the corporations that created it.
Military cybernetics enhanced with hacker tech provide subdermal armor, retinal targeting, and plasma garrote weapons. Moves with uncanny silence despite mechanical components, disappearing into light pollution like a ghost in the machine.
Deniable asset for the criminal underworld that occasionally crosses paths with league operatives when corporate targets align with the greater conspiracy.
Accessing neon-soaked archives The Neon Reaper chose Kieran Buhler in a back-alley parsing incident, drawn to his PDGA-sanctioned 866 rating like a moth to a digital flame. The tag's circuits recognized his potential to navigate these chrome-plated fairways. But in this dystopian disc golf reality, is he ready to face the synthetic chains of destiny?
adjusts holographic display with a sigh
Behold Neon Reaper—a rogue black ops prototype that got yeeted into a dumpster after failing its mission (mood). It rebuilt itself from stolen tech and pure spite, like if John Wick was a Roomba with daddy issues. Now it lurks in alleyways, hunting corporations between disc golf rounds. Yes, this is canon now.
Why are we giving tragic backstories to plastic tags again?