American Football: Domination

"Fly! Fly! Fly!"

The roar thundered through Arrowhead.

So what if the Colts scored first?

Kansas City had weathered storms all season and never lost here. Arrowhead remained unbroken, undefeated. Fear wasn't in their dictionary—especially not for the offense.

No matter who lined up across from them, they had the league's most lethal attack, both on the ground and through the air.

If the Colts wanted a shootout? Fine. Bring it on.

When Lance jogged onto the field, the stadium exploded.

A tidal wave of red, molten and deafening, engulfed the night. The chants, the howls, the sheer force of belief lifted the Chiefs forward.

"Standing here again—it's all new. Forget the past, forget the streak, forget the seed. None of that matters now. They can win. We can lose. That's the truth."

"But—"

"We didn't come this far on luck. This is where we prove ourselves."

"I still don't have certainty. But we will win."

Short. Sharp. Enough.

The players' eyes locked on Lance. His face, calm and resolved, carried them with him.

Fearless. Forward.

He scanned each teammate, one by one, making sure the connection held. Then, his smile crept up.

"Hey—we're not fighting alone."

He turned to Mahomes.

Mahomes nodded. "Count of three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three!"

"Fly!"

The cry detonated, rolling across the stands. Lance's eyes flicked to the overhead camera, knowing Felix, Annie, the Old Oak Tavern—they were all watching. Fighting with them.

At home, Felix nearly leapt from his seat, grinning wildly. "Mom! He's looking at me! He's looking at me! Fly! Fly!"

Karen's voice cracked as she lifted her arms, shouting too. "Fly! Ahhh!"

Back on the field, Lance lowered his helmet, focus hardening.

Victory. Nothing less.

The stadium hushed, a blanket of silence to give the offense space.

"Set—hike!"

Mahomes' voice cut the air.

Shotgun formation.

First play. Aggressive stance.

Three steps back. Head lifted, scanning. He wasn't hiding it. This was a pass.

The Colts' front pressed, but not enough. They rarely blitzed—third lowest rate in the league. That gave Mahomes time.

Too much time.

Eyes drifted deep. Not short. Not safe. Deep.

First play, and they were aiming for the throat.

It wasn't reckless. It was calculated. Indianapolis's defense wasn't bad overall, but their line lacked bite. Against the Chiefs, that gap mattered.

Still—Reich wasn't blind. He knew the risks. Knew Mahomes would look long if given room. And yet, he'd chosen patience. No blitz. No panic. His defense spread wide, white jerseys with blue trim swirling across the field.

Waiting.

Mahomes cocked back.

Reich smiled.

Bullseye.