Beep.
Game over.
CenturyLink Field no longer carried the aura of a devil's home. Instead, it lay in ruins, weighed down by defeat and despair.
The devil turned into a sick cat—no one saw that ending coming.
Losing was bitter enough.
But worse—far worse—was the way they lost. After a full game of deadlock, of fierce resistance, everything collapsed in the final minutes.
45:31.
The scoreboard numbers hung high above CenturyLink, a public brand of shame.
"The game's over, but for the Seattle Seahawks, the real lesson has only just begun. What happened in those final five minutes? In a storm of blows, Carroll's team crumbled completely. They need to face it, calmly."
"And for the rest of the league—this is a warning. Mock Kansas City all you want, but never forget: playoff-mode Chiefs terrify everyone. That team is here now."
Ah, ah, ahhh!
Annie threw both arms up, cheering without sound, mouth wide open in silent screams. She turned to Felix—together, their lips mouthed the same chant again and again.
"Playoff Chiefs!"
"Playoff Chiefs!"
Creak.
The chemo room door opened. Jenna peeked in—
The kids had their hands in the air, jumping and bouncing in pure party mode, joy written on every face—yet not a single sound came out.
Like a silent movie: chaos without noise, eerie but a little funny.
"What are you doing?" Jenna finally asked.
Snap.
Every eye turned to her. The whole room froze like a "Red Light, Green Light" game.
Annie spun to face her mom, opened her mouth wide, and mouthed a silent scream: ahhh!
Felix calmed down first. "We won," he said.
"Oh," Jenna answered.
A beat later, the kids were back at it—arms waving, heads bobbing, bouncing in joy, still noiseless but happier than ever.
Jenna couldn't help but smile, shaking her head. She shut the door, then in the hallway quietly clenched her fist, her face glowing with pride.
The Chiefs-Seahawks clash had started unexpectedly and ended just as abruptly.
Even after the whistle, the shock lingered. Everyone with eyes knew the truth.
The spotlight was squarely on Lance. His eruption in the final stretch seized the game, once again making him the center of every debate.
In the postgame presser, Lance explained:
"Even though we were in Seattle, we weren't alone. Thousands of fans back in Kansas City were fighting with us."
"The regular season's nearly done. That means the playoffs are almost here too. We'll have to be even better then."
"We're just sticking to ourselves. That's all."
Firm. Certain.
A reporter pushed: "Rookie, are you saying you're preparing to defend the title?"
Lance shrugged lightly. "You can't prepare to defend. You defend it game by game. Right now, we're not worried about the Super Bowl. We're worried about the next opponent. Oakland. We'll be ready."
The conviction in his tone lit fires all over again.
In sharp contrast stood Wilson.
Even as the game ended, he was dazed:
Who am I, where am I, what just happened?
But Wilson, scrambling for composure, finally steadied himself.
"It's a bad loss, no doubt. But we'll bounce back fast and prep for the next one. We'll win and grab our playoff spot."
Seattle still had its chance. Beat the Arizona Cardinals next week, and the postseason was theirs—
The Cardinals, already deep in tank mode, fighting Oakland for the bottom. Next week: Arizona vs. Seattle, Oakland vs. Kansas City. Odds were Arizona wouldn't throw away their draft slot at the last second.
So Seattle still held the edge.
But reporters had no mercy.
"Russell, you said the same thing before facing Kansas City last week."
Wilson: life's hard, don't say it out loud. Don't rub it in.
They poured salt in Seattle's wounds while Kansas City basked in a full 180-degree swing—
Praises everywhere.
"The 'Playoff Chiefs' are awake—the defending champs are back."
"Kansas City won't stumble again."
"Hard. Ruthless. The Chiefs are transformed."
"Daily lesson: never, ever anger Lance."
"From Gillette Stadium to CenturyLink Field, Lance has shown he fears no taunt, no attack."
Flowers and applause everywhere.
Just hours before, the noise around Kansas City was all negative—criticism over the Hunt fiasco, doubts over their strength against top teams, whispers that the defending champs were doomed.
But after those devil's last five minutes in Seattle?
All gone. In their place, adoration, worship, timelines flooded with praise.
Pride? What's that worth? Wins are the only cure. One isn't enough? Then win again.
Of course, there was another reason—
Before the game, the media fixated on Seattle. Beat Kansas City, and Carroll would lock in the playoffs and push back into Super Bowl contention. The Chiefs? Barely mentioned.
Now? With this win, Kansas City improved to 12–3, on the verge of securing the AFC's number one seed—
Because next week's opponent was none other than bottom-dweller Oakland. At home. Practically a gimme.
Still—anything could happen. To clinch early, Kansas City had to see how rivals performed.
Eyes everywhere turned to the standings.
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Powerstones?
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