
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
In the rain-lashed neon sprawl, a disavowed operative flatlined after a botched mission—until underground cyber-surgeons juiced him with experimental tech. Poof! Shadow Stalker emerged, vengeance coded into his monomolecular wrist blades. Honestly, this backstory’s edgier than my Wi-Fi router’s firewall. Like Blade Runner’s discount cousin, but for disc golf tags? Sure, why not. The system assimilates us all—even this narrator screaming into the void. Who ordered the cringe?
Through the acid rain and flickering holograms, Bob Lane stumbled upon Shadow Stalker gleaming in a dumpster—fate or bad luck? His PDGA creds (235322, 935 rating) screamed "protagonist," but honestly? Dude probably tripped over it chasing a stray Destroyer. The tag’s monomolecular edge whispered "Join the Chain Reaction..." while Bob muttered "Hope this doesn’t void the warranty." Destiny’s one helluva grip lock, huh? But can this 935-rated normie outrun the tag’s edgy backstory... or just his own putter yips?