Pick ONE crew member for a permanent boost:
The Golfer is down. West Palm Beach takes a breath. But a transmission crackles from HQ — the Prime Artifact Ball was a signal beacon. Someone in the deep city has already responded. The Shadow Artifact stirs beneath the bay. The crew can stand down now… or follow the signal into darker waters.
On the last green of Palm Island the Prime Artifact Ball gutters out, and the Corrupted Retiree Golfer's cart rolls to a dead stop, steam hissing from its ruptured seams. Baron Castellane's empire of oil and fear was already rubble — this was the final ember. By dawn the dirigibles fly someone else's colors, the docks run honest, and somewhere a newsboy hollers a headline about a man in tinted goggles. Larry just calls it a Tuesday. Job's done, Sparkplug.