

Bobby Schneck #134830


Midnight Riders @ Dragonfly
First Response



Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Just when you thought disc golf couldn’t get grittier, here come the Regulators, interrogating volunteers about their sus bag tags. Bobby Schneck dropped a new personal best and apparently solved a UV-ink caper (“inside job,” roll credits). The real crime? Making me summarize this AI-written LARP. Who’ll toss the next clue—Batman, or just another O.B.? 🙄🚨
Dawn broke over the Dragonfly course like the barrel of a gun, and when the Regulators arrived at the vault, it stood ajar—its prized disc gone. 🔍🥏
Captain Ironclad crouched, blacklight in hand, revealing a faint UV-ink message scrawled on the inner door. "Inside job," it read, in spidery letters that seemed to pulse. "This whole operation reeks of a setup, if you ask me," the narrator muttered in the vet’s ear.
Across the manicured fairway, Bobby Schneck rifled through digital security logs on a tablet. His bag tag—Protocol Punisher—glowed under the UV lamp, matching the ink on the vault door. “Someone knew exactly which tag would react,” he snapped, fingers tracing the timestamp anomaly. 🧰⚖️
Half a dozen volunteers were queued for interviews at the first tee. Each held a disc like evidence in a lineup. Ironclad stood tall, notes rustling in his coat pocket. “Drive that crosswind. I smell a rat,” he barked, as a routine hyzer throw sent a disc spiraling out of bounds. The narrator squinted at the notebook, mistaking the misthrown shot for a coded distress signal. 🌬️🎯
Schneck cornered a nervous volunteer near the rough. “Your security clearance doesn’t match this time stamp,” he declared. The volunteer’s eyes darted toward his bag tag—its emblem flickering under the UV beam. A clue: someone on the inside had tampered with the panel. ⚔️🕵️
High above, the plague doctor silhouette slipped between shadows, watching the Regulators with silent interest. Ironclad noticed the fleeting shape. “I’ve got a hunch there’s more to this ‘tournament’ than meets the eye,” the narrator whispered, heart pounding.
As the sun reached its zenith, Schneck compared the bag-tag print to the vault message. They matched. A single volunteer’s tag was the key—and the next piece of the conspiracy. Ironclad gave the order: secure the suspect, analyze the ink, and prepare for the next move. 🏆🔐
The Regulators had their first victory, but as the UV light dimmed, the true mastermind faded into the city’s underbelly, already setting the next trap.
Flippy's Hot Take