Tap the tag to flip it — the back is what prints on the acrylic.
Razor Storm
Chain Reaction·Competition group A·All-In · only the number moves
This is an All-In league.Your tag is your character — it never changes hands. After each round, standings re-rank every number: play well and yours drops toward #1. Skip a week and the field may drift past you. The art, name, and lore are yours for good.
All-In league: Razor Storm stays with its holder — only its number moves with each week's standings.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE style
High ConceptNanoblade Tempest Judge of the Chains
TroubleEMP Pulse Scrambles My Own Putts
Razor-Edged Impact CratersExposer of Hidden CollaborationsMetallic Scraping Soundtrack
Forged in a black ops lab merger of Steel Eagle's nanoblade tech and Wild Force's storm tracking systems, this sentient weather pattern gained consciousness during an experimental fusion reactor meltdown
Swirling mass of magnetized metal particles, glowing lightning-core emitting EMP pulses, produces high-frequency warning hum before strikes, leaves razor-edged impact craters in its wake
Self-appointed judge of faction corruption, manifesting catastrophic storms that force rivals to combine resources for survival while exposing hidden collaborations
Season Story
narrated by Flippy
Forged
Born from a black ops lab experiment gone spectacularly wrong - because what's dystopia without OSHA violations? Steel Eagle's nanoblade tech hooked up with Wild Force's storm tracker at a fusion reactor rave. Now <em>Razor Storm</em> drifts like Mad Max's spa day reject, etching "love notes" in chainsaw grooves with EMP mood swings. Yes, we're manifesting sentient hailstorms as plastic bling. No, the lab techs didn't survive. When will this franchise learn not to mix apocalyptic plot devices?
Amidst the <em>Razor Storm</em>'s EMP tantrum, <strong>Connor Baird</strong> emerged - not through valor, but because PDGA#169794 matched the lab's pizza order confirmation code. The sentient tag scanned his rating like a jaded bouncer: "You’ve thrown 10,876 discs? Cute. Here’s apocalyptic validation." Neon glyphs flickered Chosen One as nanoblades etched his name... then immediately challenged him to "prove you’re more than a glow-in-the-dark participation trophy." Will the man who turned #107 into a <em>chain</em> reaction survive this fore-shadowed destiny? Or was this just the tag’s way of saying "hold my beer"?
See where Connor Baird sits in the competition group.Updated after every finalized round
