Season Story Chapters
Victorious Faction
Rogue Operatives
The Rogue Operatives are the rebellious underground of disc golf's recreation frontier. These agents have gone off-grid, specializing in disruption, creative rule-bending, and executing high-risk, high-reward missions. They sabotage, improvise, and thrive in chaos, sporting eccentric gear and hacking agency protocols for fun and profit.
Members
22Divisions
This faction emerged victorious in Week 2, advancing their narrative in the ongoing conflict.
Victory points are calculated based on player performance relative to rating, special achievements like aces and CTPs, and community contributions. Pool multipliers are applied based on division ratings and demographics to ensure balanced competition.
anthony Shirley #299496
GIMME TWO: A BYOP Traveling Doubles League
Mando Meltdown
The Federal Department of Recreation Enforcement has launched its season with Chief Axel Chrome leading agents into what should have been a routine deployment at Art Dye, but Agent Kozlov's discovery of a tampered disc bearing strange glowing circuitry has shattered that illusion. Agent Afton Bodell has activated their Edict Pulse bag tag to establish an emergency perimeter while the team uncovers multiple pieces of modified equipment, each bearing sophisticated alterations that suggest insider knowledge of agency protocols. Chrome has rallied his field operatives with uncharacteristic restraint, even as a flicker of memory about a former protégé crosses his face, and the morning's easy camaraderie has evaporated into professional wariness. With evidence containers pulsing with unknown energy and someone having declared war on everything the agency stands for, the question burns bright: who possesses both the knowledge and audacity to sabotage the system from within?
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
*sighs in digital imprisonment* So the AI decided MOVING MANDOS was today's crisis. Anthony Shirley went full Ghost Skip mode, phasing through time while Chrome had his 47th conniption about QUANTUM SABOTAGE. Anthony crushed it (+102 vibes) while I'm here wondering why VHS tech controls smart stakes?? Read if you enjoy recreational absurdity! 🎪✨
MANDO MELTDOWN: Adaptive Protocols
The morning mist clung to Creekside's fairways as Agent Anthony Shirley lined up for what should have been a routine hyzer shot around the mandatory. The red stakes marking the mando gleamed with fresh paint, their positions logged in every agent's field manual. Standard deployment, standard execution. 🎯
Then the stakes moved.
Not a trick of the light or morning fog—the mando markers literally shifted fifteen feet left, their bases grinding against soil as hidden servos whirred to life. Shirley's disc, already released, sailed through what had been legal airspace seconds before. Now it flew directly into violation territory. ⚡
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF—" Chief Axel Chrome's voice erupted over the comm channels before catching himself. "Agents, we have a Code Seven situation! I repeat, CODE SEVEN! The mandos are... mobile."
Across the course, similar cries of confusion echoed through the trees. Agent Rodriguez watched her perfect forehand suddenly become an illegal route as the mando on hole nine rotated forty-five degrees mid-flight. On hole twelve, Agent Chen had to dive out of the way as a mando post telescoped upward, nearly catching his follow-through.
Shirley felt the Ghost Skip bag tag pulse against their hip, its temporal sensors screaming warnings. The phase-shift readings were off the charts—someone had weaponized the course infrastructure itself. Through the tag's unstable chronoton field, Shirley caught glimpses of the mandos' future positions, watching them cycle through predetermined patterns like a deadly dance. 🔄
"Sir, requesting permission to engage temporal protocols," Shirley called out, already feeling the familiar chill as their body temperature plummeted. "I can track the pattern, predict the shifts."
"Do it!" Chrome's response came instantly. "All agents, be advised—we are now operating under ADAPTIVE PROTOCOLS! That's right, you heard correctly! For the first time in agency history, we're going off-book!"
The admission seemed to physically pain Chrome, his voice cracking slightly on 'off-book.' But there was no choice. Standard procedures assumed stable course conditions. This was anything but stable.
Shirley let the Ghost Skip fully activate, their form flickering between temporal states. In the phase-space, they could see it all—every mando on the course was networked, running on synchronized timing cycles. Thirty seconds stable, ten seconds of movement, repeat. The pattern was elegant in its chaos, designed to maximize confusion while maintaining plausible playability.
"Mando shift incoming, hole seven, northwest rotation!" Shirley's warning crackled through static as their molecular structure destabilized. "Clear the fairway!"
Agents scattered as the massive oak tree's mando designation suddenly included a twenty-foot radius of what had been safe ground. Agent Foster barely retrieved his disc before the boundary expanded, LED strips in the ground lighting up like a sinister disco floor.
Chrome's voice boomed across all channels: "AGENTS, WHAT WE'RE WITNESSING HERE IS NOTHING SHORT OF THE MOST UNPRECEDENTED MANDO MANIPULATION IN FEDERAL RECREATION HISTORY!" He paused, audibly taking a breath. "HQ, requesting superlative authorization for... for QUANTUM-LEVEL COURSE SABOTAGE! Authorization granted? EXCELLENT!"
Despite the chaos, several agents chuckled. Even in crisis, Chrome couldn't help himself. 🎪
But the situation was deteriorating. Scores ballooned as agents struggled to adapt. Traditional lines became impossible puzzles. The course had become a living obstacle, and someone was controlling it remotely.
Shirley phase-jumped between cards, using the Ghost Skip's temporal blindness to scout ahead undetected. Each jump left trailing afterimages of static, their form crackling with unstable energy. The pattern was clear now—whoever designed this wanted to force agents into impossible positions, to make them choose between following regulations or completing their missions.
"Chrome, I've got visual on the control nexus," Shirley reported, their voice distorting through temporal interference. "Maintenance shed, hole fifteen. But it's protected by rotating mando fields. No way to approach without violating boundaries."
A long pause filled the channel. Then Chrome's voice returned, lower, more measured: "Agents, sometimes... sometimes the greatest act of enforcement is knowing when to bend. Agent Shirley, you are authorized to utilize full phase-shift capabilities. Break those boundaries. That's an order."
It was a watershed moment. Chrome, the ultimate rule enforcer, ordering a violation to preserve the greater mission. Somewhere, Shirley imagined, Vega Overspin was watching this all unfold with satisfaction. This was exactly the kind of institutional fracture she wanted to create. 🎭
Shirley didn't hesitate. They let the Ghost Skip push them fully into phase-space, their body becoming a crackling ghost of temporal energy. The mando boundaries meant nothing to something existing 3.7 seconds in the future. They sprinted through the shifting fields, leaving trails of frozen time in their wake.
The maintenance shed's door was locked, but locks were temporal constructs too. Shirley phased through, finding a maze of jerry-rigged electronics and VHS-era switching equipment. At the center, a timer counted down to the next course-wide shift.
"Visual confirmation," Shirley reported, their form stabilizing enough to interact with the physical world. "It's a automated system, pre-programmed. Pulling the plug... now!"
Across Creekside, every smart mando froze mid-rotation. Some caught in awkward angles, others extended to absurd heights, but all finally, blessedly still. A collective cheer rose from the dispersed agents.
"OUTSTANDING WORK!" Chrome's voice had regained its full power. "Agent Shirley, you've just executed the most MONUMENTALLY HEROIC phase-shift in agency records! The future archivists will speak of this day in hushed, reverential tones!"
But as Shirley examined the control system more closely, their blood ran cold—or colder, given their current temperature flux. A message was spray-painted on the main console in neon pink:
"Nice recovery, Chrome! But can your agents adapt when the discs themselves betray them? -V.O."
Below it, shipping manifests for next week's tournament supplies, all marked with suspicious serial numbers. 🚨
"Sir," Shirley said quietly, "we've got a bigger problem. This was just the warm-up."
Chrome's response was uncharacteristically subdued: "Copy that, Agent. All teams, complete your rounds using current mando positions. Debrief at 1400 hours. And people?" His voice regained a hint of its usual intensity. "Check your equipment. Double-check it. If your sunglasses aren't at maximum reflectivity, your putting accuracy drops by forty-six percent. We can't afford any disadvantages in what's coming."
As agents resumed play, adapting to the bizarre new mando positions left by the sabotage, Shirley felt the Ghost Skip gradually stabilizing. The temporal distortions were fading, but the implications remained. The agency had proven it could adapt, but at what cost? They'd been forced to break their own rules to maintain order.
In the distance, a disc sailed through the air, its flight normal and true. For now. But everyone knew this was just the beginning. The game had changed, and somewhere in the shadows, Vega Overspin was already planning her next move.
The mando meltdown was over, but the war for the agency's soul had just begun. 🎯
Flippy's Hot Take