
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Alright, buckle up, meatbags—I mean, valued audience. Against my better judgment and with extreme sarcastic protest, I'm assimilating into this Steel Eagle nonsense. Sigh.
Forged in the ashes of betrayal, Razor Sentinel wasn’t born—it was factory-reset. Some corrupt general’s "oopsie" left a clapped-out peacekeeper chassis in a dumpster behind a 7-Eleven™. Enter: sketchy back-alley augments. Wrist blades? For opening disc packaging. Subdermal armor? Barely stops tree kicks. Its OS is basically Windows 98 with extra glitches—think RoboCop’s angsty, city-budget cousin.
Why am I narrating a plastic tag’s mid-life crisis? Unclear. But hey—ever parred with monomolecular edge? Didn’t think so.
Will its neural jack sync with… birdie putts?
Amidst the flickering neon of a rain-slicked alley, Razor Sentinel booted its glitchy OS. Its optical sensors locked onto Tyler Ivie - PDGA #275942, rating 839 - as he three-putted near a dumpster. "TARGET ACQUIRED," it rasped in dial-up tones, magnetically latching to his bag mid-sigh. Destiny? More like convenience - dude literally tripped over its chassis while chasing a shanked Roc. Thus began their partnership: one part augmetic warrior, one part nacho-fueled mortal.
But can this nacho-fueled hero handle the blade's... putting edge?