Chicago was burning, the bodies of both high rank and lowly mobsters littered the streets, families falling apart, and about half the Mafia world seemingly hell-bent on putting the other half in the ground... Pretty much business as usual, honestly.

Meanwhile, tucked away from all that noise, an old neon sign was flickering above a bowling alley while inside sat TheDude; just hanging out at the bar, nursing a White Russian and trying to process the whole thing. 
Then the news about Unicron hit.

"Ah, shit, man ... I just got him a new carpet too."

This one really stung, leaving a lot of good people just kind of floating around just wondering what the hell to do next. So TheDude finished his drink, wiped the white foam from his beard and walked behind the counter, pulling an old cardigan off the rack and holding it up, eyeing the frayed sleeves.

"Well, whaddya know. Didn't think I'd be throwing this back on."

He slid into it, adjusted the collar, and looked over toward the lanes.

"Look, man. I'm not gonna sit here and act like I can fix whatever crazy shit is going on out there. The city's completely gone off the deep end. But I figure somebody's gotta keep the lights on, you know?"

He flipped the switch, and the neon buzzed to life.

"And besides Unicron wouldn't want us just sitting around feeling miserable. We got games to roll, pins to fell and white russians to drink."

Outside while Chicago was still eating itself alive, inside the jukebox was humming and the drinks were cold, and for a minute, things felt a little less chaotic. TheDude raised his glass toward the ceiling as he kicked back in his chair and took a sip letting out a quiet laugh.

"Alright then, Guess we're doing this."

The cardigan's back and the lanes are open.

And The Dude abides...