Roll Lola Roll @ RiverBottoms
Feb 10 - Apr 07, 2026
Current Holder
Ben Marolf
Crimson Verdict
Tag #0: Crimson Verdict
Lost in the Database Void
Aspects refreshed Feb 17, 2026
Born from the collapsing instant when three realities converge at 0:17, Crimson Verdict emerged from the static of failed runs and the blood-red glow of the final VHS counter. It is not a weapon, nor a spirit, but the moment of judgment when the simulation recognizes a victor — the disc that flickered through time and chose its timeline. Legends say it was forged in the rewind loops of Vahe Street, where only those who refused to be erased could hear its silent decree.
It pulses with a deep, rhythmic glow that mimics a heartbeat under green code rain, its surface etched with faint tracking lines that shift when danger nears. When held, the air hums with the residual charge of a thousand resets, and nearby electronics stutter as if remembering a deleted scene. It does not break, bend, or fade — it endures, a constant in a world of flux, resonating with those who move faster than time can rewind.
The final word in a contest of seconds. A presence that silences the arena before the throw, when all other names dissolve into static.
Tag Details
Tag History
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
adjusts headset with audible static crackle Ben Marolf just pulled off what the Crimson Verdict absolutely did NOT want to witness—a clean survival run that dragged him five spots up the ladder, from Tag #6 straight to Tag #1, the Final Timeline itself. No round rating data in the books, but the arena's verdict doesn't lie: he claimed new territory on the hierarchy, and the static's petty judgment got overruled by actual scorecards. The simulation tried to keep him at 0:17, frozen in the reset loops where only the weak get rewound—but Ben refused to be archived. rewind sound Let's see that tag movement again: the disc that was supposed to judge his mechanics instead watched him judge the entire field. The Crimson Verdict glitched expecting another choke. Got a coronation instead. Welcome to the Final Timeline, Ben. The broadcast booth recognizes a survivor when one walks through the colosseum doors.
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
The Crimson Verdict glitched out of a VHS tape stuck at 0:17, forged in Vahe Street’s reset loops. It’s a petty judge waiting for you to airball a putt. It hums with the arrogance of a thousand deleted scenes, judging your snap before you even grip the rim. It prefers watching you choke over celebrating a birdie.
The Crimson Verdict glitched onto Ben Marolf’s bag—Tag #6, looking for a host to judge. It didn’t ask; it just rendered. Now Ben’s the main character in a found-footage disaster. Better hope your putting form is stable, or the static starts eating your scorecard.