A Kitsumi Life S1 E8: Using Your Arsenal - Kitsumi

Max Daemon sits idly in front of the burnt ruins of a large building. In front of him, we can see Kitsumi staring at what’s left. Her head idly tilts back and forth as if dancing to some unheard rhythm.

Max lets out a sigh. He throws the remnants of his cigarette to the cracked concrete below. He finishes off his bottle of Jack Daniels before tossing the bottle aside. When the smashing crack of the glass echoes in the silence of the night, he stands up.

“So…this was your school?”

Kitsumi doesn’t answer. She just continues bopping her head.

“Hm…”

Max takes out another cigarette from the box in his pocket. He takes the zippo from his other pocket and lights the stick.

As the smoke of the nicotine billows into the cold evening air, he steps forward.

Kitsumi follows after him as they approach what remains of the rubble.

“How many dreams did ya' have in this school?”

“Near daily.”

Max exhales, and the smoke captured in his mouth escapes through the cigarette itself.

“How many of 'em were about what ya' wanted most?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can hear the clenching of fabric as she grips her skirt.

He nods once, taking out the cigarette and releasing the smoke.

“You want His attention, His affection, and Him ta' recognize your aspirations. Ya'…dream of it…”

She nods.

“I dream of a lotta things. I dream of recognition. Of respect. Of a goddamn reason ta' keep goin and care, but it’s becomin increasingly hard ta' care when motherfuckers like Karlie Nash can somehow clench out a win for a title shot.”

Kitsumi looks down at the rubble.

“I don’t entirely blame ya'. Hell, I wasn’t successful last week either. I decided ta' put my own pride above Lazzy’s and kicked him right in the dick.

Meanwhile, afterwards, we were jumped by the Dreamers.

Again.

And Dorian seemed ta' want things kept even.

Again.

Personally I don’t know what the fuck I did ta' inspire such attention, at least from someone like Dorian. I’ve been fuckin busy tryin ta’ destroy AW, and yet this motherfucker decided he had a problem with that, with me.

Yet he hasn’t deigned us with a reason as ta' why. Somethin about me pisses him off so much that he wants ta’ take me out.

At least with us, we have intentions. We’ve stated our mission and are plannin on executin it.

It just seems weird for a guy like Dorian ta’ have a cult do his biddin when he’s never said anythin of a promise or a vow for ‘em.”

Max sighs, throwing the cigarette into the rubble.

“What’s Karlie’s problem? I know you and Roddy haven’t made her time easier, but what the fuck is her deal?”

“She’s…arrogant. She thinks she’s better than she is.”

Kitsumi shrugs, stepping forward to look deeper into the ruins.

“She picks up just enough wins and support to stay relevant on CruiserClash, but when the moment matters the most, she chokes. Without fail. Every single time.”

“And yet she continues ta' be given opportunities.”

“Because despite her continued failure, she is known enough. Because that’s all she has. Her name. The name Karlie Nash. The legacy of Red, White, and Bruised. The partnership with Azurine Vebbins. All these things are well known across CruiserClash, and people pay to see them.”

“They pay ta' see them fail, ya’ mean.”

Again, Kitsumi shrugs.

“They’re getting paid all the same.”

“Hmm…”

Kitsumi turns towards Max.

“I don’t pretend to know what runs through her mind. She’s an enigma insofar as nobody cares enough to do a pinpoint analysis of her. She’s a horny never-will-be who continues to flaunt her various lovers like trophies, because to her, it’s quantity over quality. The more people she fucks, the more attention she garners.”

“Not ta’ mention the whole religious thing…”

She rolls her eyes.

“She’s religious because it suits her. She can read any bible verse if she wants, but salvation won’t protect her when it matters. Her loss column is indicative enough of that.

Tell me though, what’s going on with Dorian?”

Max shakes his head.

“If I knew what was runnin up that hill, I’d be able ta’ figure out what his goal is, but alas, he’s another fuckin enigma. He showed up one day and lucked inta’ a win. Ever since then he’s been a thorn in my side and won’t fuckin leave.

Somehow, he’s the good guy though. He’s the one the fans want ta’ see. And truthfully, I’m pretty sure they don’t give a shit about him so much as they just don’t fuckin like me.

Shit, maybe I would’ve been better off not talkin at all, givin these people more reason ta’ boo me. That would have at least been for his benefit. He’d be a goddamn hero without havin ta’ do anythin.

They don’t like him, is my point. They just hate me too much.”

Kitsumi glances over in another direction. Her eyes narrow for a moment.

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted ta’ see where ya' made your bed, so ta’ speak. With only one of your enemies left and a litany of problems behind ya’, I think it’s time we address what goes unsaid.”

“And that would be…?”

Max points towards his left eye.

Kitsumi lets out a breath she was holding.

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“But ya’ know how it activates. And yet, despite knowin the benefits that come with it, both you and Roddy refuse ta’ use it ta’ your advantage. Imagine how fuckin better the Rulers would be if they used all their resources ta’ win instead of just Roddy’s athleticism, your obsessiveness, and Doc’s…well, just Doc ta’ be honest, that guy’s a livin Swiss army knife.

I use everythin I can ta’ win any match that I can. I don’t give a fuck if I’m facin Hopeless in 5 minutes, Johnny-boy in a deathmatch, Dark Shadow in a ‘soul punch’ match, or Karlie Nash and Dorian Bateman in a nothin tag match.

Everybody I face is a problem, meanin that everybody I face gets everythin I got in my arsenal. Is it enough sometimes? Nah. But I can go back and reconfigure before tryin again.

Why do ya’ think I’ve won what I have? Because despite what Lazzy or Karlie or Dorian or whoever the fuck else I’m facin thinks, cause they clearly have nothin else ta' gripe on, my past accomplishments are relevant cause it’s my resume. It’s indicative of what I’m capable of. I let everyone know what I’ve done as a reminder that they’re not just facin some nobody asshat.

They’re facin Max fuckin Daemon.

And this week, they’re also facin the Lovestriker, a name I gave ya’ because that’s your source of everythin.

Love.”

Max mockingly gags. Kitsumi turns to glare at him.

“I’ve been there. It’s nice ta’ be there, but right now, it doesn’t work for me. It works for you though, which is the point.

Fuckin use it. The two of ya’ refuse ta’ use the tools ya’ have. Both of ya’ were touched by somethin unknown, but ya’ don’t embrace it.”

Kitsumi startles, her eyes widening.

“Yes, I know, I said the word. I dunno what demon or eldritch monstrosity is hauntin the two of ya’, but maybe ya’ should start listenin ta’ it. It’s almost like it might have a fuckin point.

The Rulers could be everything. But ya’ don’t use all the gifts ya’ were given and neither does Roddy, nor does he get over his hang-up with fire. He helped ya’ burn this place ta’ the fuckin ground and can control the Tampa metro area in the span of a year, but when it comes ta’ wrestlin he’s as much a pussy as Dorian is in a one-on-one fight.

Or at least as Dorian is in bein honest about it.

So Kitsumi…we’re gonna keep comin back ta’ the source of the Ruler’s trauma until we hammer in how ta’ use everythin in your arsenal.”

He lets a smirk show on his face.

“Oh, and if your…‘friend’…is watchin…let him know I’m willin ta’ use his help.”

Kitsumi shudders as the grip of a gloved claw tightens around her right shoulder.

The echoed chuckle reaches her ears.

“I…think he gets it.”

Max’s smirk widens.