i stand on the Addison Red Line train platform, arms outstretched. sweat forms on my brow. i tremble, as if lifting a great weight. a crackling, murky dome begins to expand outward from the pitcher's mound of Wrigley Field, growing and shrinking wildly as I struggle to get control over it. blood trickles from my nose as i finally steady the zone, stabilizing it, and now it begins to grow, like an expanding wall. the dome ensconces more and more of this foul land in the shadow dimension, swallowing everything it covers -- the field and its stands, the cage-like structure of the DraftKings Sports Bar and Sportsbook, the half-dozen identical Cubs merch stores, the overpriced hotel, the tumorous network of sports bars, and the tourist trap restaurants for day drunk suburbanites in cowboy boots like that utterly virulent Raising Cane's -- until everything within a four-block radius of the field is completely lost in shadow. i shriek in pain, blood pouring from my nose and ears, eye bloodshot, as the pressure to complete the spell finally causes the blowback that i knew was coming. it's like the sun suddenly shut off as the shadow dimensional dome suddenly and dramatically constricts, razing the ground flat in its wake like a solid mass had dragged across it, leaving nothing where the most cancerously tacky neighborhood imaginable, a veritable fortress of Suburban Ideology and chauvinism and hatred and bigotry and rot and Ford F-150s gleefully drunk-driven in dense urban area, once stood. where the pitcher's mound of wrigley's field once was, there is a stone statue that looks very much like myself, cradling protectively a small fist-sized cube that looks like pure obsidian, but seems to shift with the light in strange ways. but the evil has been sealed away. i can rest. and chicago can finally know peace. but i swear to fucking god if somebody unseals this ancient evil while some eggy protag-looking kid is off running errands out of town for grandpa i swear to FUCKING god