

Timothy Scholle #290051


City Heat @ River Bottoms
Wielding the power of Hologram Hitman (#7), Timothy demonstrated exceptional skill by playing +52 points above their rating in this epic clash.
Neon Initiation



Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
The neon-soaked River Bottoms course shimmered under a relentless rain, each droplet flickering like corrupted data in the glow of streetlights. On the slick tee pad, a wavering hologram stood perfectly still, its edges glitching as if wrestling with reality—an ominous prelude to the night’s competition. 🥏☔
High above the gutters and graffiti, the booth was alive with clattering chef’s tools. The narrator, her oversized hat pushed low, tapped a spoon against a stainless steel bowl. “Don’t be shy, Andre—imagine you’re wielding a sous chef’s knife,” she instructed, eyeing her co-commentator. Subtle software glitches whispered of “cheese and wine” mandatories, and the crowd wondered if their pre-game ritual had just been hacked. 🍷🥏
On the first tee, Timothy Scholle—the Hologram Hitman—activated his phase-shifting emitters. Two perfect decoys flickered into existence, each one mirroring his combat suit down to the last data-threaded seam. As he launched the real disc, the neon trail split in three, sending the Knights’ drives careening into the underbrush. 🎯🔮
Neon Valkyrie narrowed her eyes beneath the hood of her trench coat. “Data tricks won’t break our spirit,” she called to her rookies, rallying them with quiet confidence. The Windbreaker rookie hesitated, disc in hand, torn between the sleek promise of Syndicate tech and the raw artistry of a well-thrown shot. ⚔️
Chaos erupted when the scoreboard flickered to life—declaring a Syndicate victory before the final putt had even touched metal. “That drive was as uninspired as a limp gas station sandwich!” the narrator snapped, her tone dripping disdain. Players exchanged furious glances as the real disc settled in the basket, unnoticed by the compromised display. 🥏😕
Moments later, a crackling broadcast image of Cyber Wraith filled every holo-screen around the course. “Tonight, precision beats pedestrian flair,” they intoned with cold amusement. The Syndicate’s grin spread across the glitching feed as hidden network nodes powered down. In her booth, the narrator paused, savoring the dramatic irony like a fine reduction. 🔍
As the crowd dispersed in the neon rain, Neon Valkyrie pressed her hand to a flickering street console. “We’ll trace every line of code,” she vowed, voice low. Somewhere in the shadows, a traitor’s heartbeat quickened—and the war for the streets had only just begun. ⚔️
Flippy's Hot Take