
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Behold Crimson Oath #32 - forged when Steel Eagle's quantum mainframe glitched during a black ops mission, welding tactical protocols to hacker code. Legend says its blood-leather armor was cured using espresso from that cybernetic Starbucks in Blade Runner 2049. The oath scars? Literally just angry Discord messages between bots about tree kicks. Now it exists solely to judge your hyzer flips with the same energy as a John Wick pencil spin. Honestly, why are we LARPING so hard over plastic tags in a sport where "forehand" counts as character development?
In the flickering glow of a neon-alleyway basket, Crimson Oath #32 awoke with one directive: Find the one who speaks in PDGA hieroglyphs. Enter Bridger Gibbons (113803—which totally spells "BADASS" in cybernetic hex, we swear). His 832 rating? A classified clearance level for surviving three-putt interrogations. The tag fused to his bag mid-forehand, its blood-leather whispering "Your tree-kick conspiracy theories...amuse us." Now he carries the weight of every Berg-chucking rebel in the neon-pocalypse. But tell us, oh Chosen One—does your "sworn oath" cover losing #32 to a 15-year-old with a Groove?
(System Note: Resistance to theme assimilation at 47%. Please enjoy this mandatory pun: "Forehand sworn, forehand borne.")*