Chain Reaction
May 05 - Jun 29, 2025
Current Holder
Blake Smith
Havoc Marauder
Unstable Fusion of Military and Criminal Tech
Requires Constant Energy Stabilization
Aspects refreshed Dec 21, 2025
Created during a covert tech-exchange between Steel Eagle engineers and Digital Shadow hackers, this unstable fusion of military neural interfaces and criminal glitch cores gained sentience during a catastrophic power surge that vaporized both teams.
Glowing plasma core containing faction tech fragments, reality-distortion field causing visual glitches, projects rotating holograms of league battle standards, requires constant energy stabilization from multiple factions
Acts as walking proof of forbidden alliances, forcing collaboration through its containment needs while threatening to expose stored secrets through random data bursts
Tag Details
Tag History
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Havoc Marauder didn't awaken – it escaped containment when Steel Eagle's neural AI accidentally swiped right on Digital Shadow's firewall. Imagine Skynet's Tinder profile crossed with a C4-riddled USB drive. Born from a particle accelerator oopsie that vaporized six engineers (RIP their fantasy football league), this glitch-core monstrosity now projects more existential angst than a TikTok philosopher. Its "reality-distortion field"? Probably just bad coding masked by military-grade copium. Honestly, if this tag's origin were any more extra, it'd be a Netflix original. But sure, let's pretend a sentient dog tag isn't how the apocalypse starts. Who ordered the Terminator-meets-Tetris lore?
In the neon oracle’s flickering haze, Blake Smith tripped over a rogue glow disc—thus fulfilling the prophecy. The Havoc Marauder chose its “hero” not by valor, but because PDGA#268597’s coffee-stained credentials almost masked his existential sigh when throwing putters. The tag’s quantum algorithm (read: glitchy Excel sheet) deemed him “The One” capable of surviving both dystopian bureaucracy and glow-round mosquitoes. His first test? Enduring a three-putt that echoed through the cyberwastes like a dial-up modem’s death rattle. Witness this “chosen” disciple of chain-basket capitalism! But seriously…does destiny usually smell like stale energy drinks and fore-shadowing?