A Kitsumi Life S1 E8: Using Your Arsenal - Roddy - FULL

Roddy Zalez stares out the window of Max’s home. The clouds and his Raybans block enough of the sun’s rays, but none if it ever blocks out the memories.





“Fire can BE so much. Can MEAN so much. It represents everything.”



He growls, turning away and ignoring the heat on his back, not dissimilar to—



Roddy tosses the newspaper through the open window. Chinami follows it as it falls into the flames.



A hand claps on his shoulder. Roddy turns and sees Doc, his compatriot and closest friend.

“What’s on your mind?”

“You know damn well what’s on my mind.”

Roddy shoulders the hand off. He makes his way towards the door, Doc hesitant but soon to follow.

The two make their way through the near-mansion sized facility, eventually reaching a basement. A firepit encased in class sits in the middle of an MMA and wrestling styled gym. Roddy eyes it with narrowed eyes hidden behind the sunglasses.

Max and Kitsumi stand next to the firepit, staring into the unlit area with similarly creased eyebrows.

“What the fuck is this?”

The Young Dynasty takes his Raybans off, putting them in his dress-shirt collar.

“A firepit.”

“No shit, genius. Why do you have a firepit in your gym?”

Max raises an eyebrow.

“Because I fuckin want ta’.”

Roddy growls once again, ignoring the concerned look on Doc’s face in favor of the neutral one on Kitsumi’s.

“Why are we here?”

Her eyes don’t leave the pit in favor of a concise sentence.

“You know why.”

“No.”

He goes to turn around when the lights in the room start to flicker.

“Trust me. I’d rather not have ta’ waste my time on whatever the fuck this is. I’d rather start dealin with Dorian, training ta’ actually beat him instead of losin…again. Somethin that isn’t gonna happen, because we’re gonna be here until we figure this shit out.”

“The fuck we are!”

Max rolls his eyes, ignoring the visible breath in front of him from the sudden cold.

“Yeah, cause ya' clearly have a fuckin choice in the matter.”

Roddy starts to walk towards the exit, but the sudden flash of the fire in his mind—







—stops him in his tracks.

He turns abruptly, approaching the firepit.

“Fine.”

Max finally lets his smirk show. He gets a remote out of his pocket, clicking it and allowing the glass encased firepit to light.

The fire roars—



Roddy tosses the newspaper through the open window. Chinami follows it as it falls into the flames.



—never losing control even as Roddy stares into the containment.

“Ya' did somethin that was too far for even you and now you’re afraid ta' ever reach that level again.”

“That isn’t it.”

“Oh?” Max raises an eyebrow at the blatant lie.

“Not…completely.”

“Ya' took over Tampa in mere months. Ya' won the Tag Titles in a pretty near record time. Ya' only lost ‘em cause Tort took ‘em from ya’. You’re one of the best athletes AW has ever seen with one of the highest paid contracts. And you’re tellin me ya' don’t have a limit? When you’re lookin at the one source of fear ya’ still have left?”

“No.”

Max lets out a quick, humorless, singular laugh.

“Take it from an expert, kid, don’t ever lie ta’ yourself.”

Roddy scowls, meeting Max’s eyes.

“Eyes on the ember.”

Roddy scoffs but complies.

“Dorian is an issue. His dreamers are becomin a problem. I recruited the three of ya’ cause ya’ all have similar visions of this company as I do. These visions all end in a fuckin grave, and quite frankly, I do not want ta’ have ta’ waste one of ‘em on any of ya’. So instead of trainin ta’ defeat an annoyance and wakin that motherfucker up from his dream, we’re gonna wait here and confront this shit.”

The lights flicker again at the ominous nature in the air.

“We can do this my way or Its way, and we both know we don’t want ta’ involve It if we can avoid it, hm?”

Roddy’s ignores the words, his eyes locked closely on the fire.



The explosion rocks the surrounding area. It was loud. Too loud. Louder than he anticipated. He looked away for a moment, cognizant of his distance but well aware of his actions.

He turns to look at the aftermath and gasps.

The flames are instant. The school’s windows are mostly blown to pieces and the fire is already spreading at an alarming rate equal to the aforementioned explosion.



Roddy shakes his head, ignoring the gloved clawed hand on his shoulder.



“The half breed thinks he can keep me at bay…” the haunting voice says.

The eerie chuckle fills the room.

“…but he doesn’t know fully what I’m capable of. And even now, he doubts your own capabilities.”

“No…”

“No…?”

The faces of Kitsumi, of Max, of Doc all fill the flame.

Distrust, doubt, despair.

Roddy lets out another growl.

“Yes.”

Roddy shakes his head, but his memories continue.



The flames roar throughout the entire building in record time. No corner is spared. Even from his safe distance, he can feel the aftermath of the heat hitting him.

Beside him, he remembers Doc letting out an audible sigh, taking just as much blame for their actions, but none of the fear.

None of the hurt.

None of the worry.

None of the anguish.



“You’re pathetic.”

“What?!”

“You’re pathetic,” It says again, more poignant, more direct. “Listen up, Rod____.”



A series of static fills his ears. He groans, even as his eyes refuse to leave that of the flame.

The edge of his vision darkens, a circle framing solely around the pyre.

“You are a gift to this world. You are a prodigy the likes of which nobody has ever seen or will ever see. You are a future monarch, and like all monarchs, you have a test to pass. And quite frankly, you are failing it.”

Roddy blinks, allowing the blue to cross his left eye.



“You have every gift needed. Every ability required. Every chance present. Yet you remain beholden to your past like a nostalgia-stricken man-child. It’s pathetic.”

Roddy ignores the strain in his left eye, even as he refuses to blink.

“You have a past, yes, just as everyone does, just as I do, but most people fight through it, they survive it. They do not linger. Was the explosion a mistake?”



The sirens in the distance wail faster than they assumed. He feels his phone vibrate, but knows it’s just her confirmation.

He hears a gasp.

He turns to his left and sees…Him.

The attention of her affection.

The desire of her heart.

Her…everything.

“Aisuru…” it was a mutter, barely audible.

The boy turns.

The two lock eyes, and Roddy doesn’t know what passes through them. He doesn’t know what feelings they share. He doesn’t know what is going through their heads.

No.



“I’m not one to say. But what is the mistake is allowing this simple, innocuous fear to restrain you. To hold you back.”

“Roddy.” The voice is muffled as if he’s chained underwater.

“The heat. The passion. The fight...that the flame holds.”

With a snap of the fingers and a chuckle of the lips, the flame forms in the offered hand.



“It’s…it’s…lifechanging.”

The flame falls from the hand, bypassing the glass and hitting the firepit.

The flames change into a bright blue, not dissimilar to his left eye which has now begun shedding tears openly.



Roddy gasps from the force of the memories.



The two lock eyes, and Roddy doesn’t didn’t know what passes through them. He doesn’t didn’t know what feelings they share. He doesn’t didn’t know what was going through their heads.

But now?

He knows very well.

It’s not fear.

Barely anguish.

Hardly horror.

It’s discovery.

Of who somebody is, whether himself in Roddy’s case or someone else, someone very important to them in Aisuru’s.

The two share their gaze for only a few moments. But those moments will never leave Roddy’s mind.

Because the discovery in the young boy’s eyes fades to fear.

And that young boy flees, followed soon after by his compatriot and closest friend, leaving Aisuru behind.



“As I said.”

The blue flame dissipates back into the oranges and yellows.

“Pathetic.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Roddy!” the voice is louder but still muffled.

“I’m The Young Dynasty. I’m Roddy Zalez. I’m going to rule the fucking world.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m The Young Dyn—”

“Who are you?”

“Roddy Za—”

“Who…are…you?”

“A revelation.”

Something hits.

Everyone in the room feels it even if they don’t know why or what.

All but one, whose eyes narrow in worry. Her hands start to clench at the sudden force of her reawakening.

“Roderic!”

The voice pierces his veil.

And suddenly, I am here.

Wait, where am I?

“Who’s there?”

The hand on his shoulder is now comforting.

“Roddy…”

Doc’s worry seizes him. He feels the wetness on his cheek, but knows the darkness is gone, knows the blue from his eye has vanished.

“I’m fine.”

“Are ya'?”

Max gets his zippo and a cigarette out of his pocket, quickly lighting both.

“Yeah.”

He’s curt.

Max smirks.

“I am.”

“Good.”

He closes the zippo lid with a snap.

“Now let’s talk about our dreams.”











“I’m tired.

And not the kinda tired that permeates as ya' fade ta’ sleep. That resides as ya’ rest your eyes.

Nah.

The kinda tired that just pisses ya’ off.

The kinda tired that sticks with ya’ like a fuckin leech.

Which is pretty consistent because that’s what ya’ are. Not that I’m any better. I kept pushin. I kept pokin. I kept proddin. And lo and behold, I get ya’ one more time.

But this isn’t a wake-up call for your dreamers. Murdo and Lionel can suck a dick and enjoy it for all I care. A Scottish fuck who fell ta’ your charms like a schoolgirl (no offense Kitsumi) (my name is—) and a Dutch douchefuck who doesn’t even deserve a description from ya' beyond bein from the Netherlands, which is where most of the Dutch come from ya’ fuckin idiot.

That's probably what pisses me off the most. That you’re smart enough ta’ latch onta’ desperate fucks like those two, but not anybody else in AW.

Cause ya’ can preach all ya fuckin want, but if ya’ think you’re gonna convince a “Hard Hitting” Texas proud barfighter like Doc, or the most athletic man in AW like Roddy, or the single minded pitbull mentality of Kitsumi ta’ join your ranks?

Ha!

Dream on.”



“Help me!”


YOU’VE ALREADY MADE YOUR CHOICE





“I worry about your mental state, ironically enough. Of all of you. Of the Dreamers who follow the shepherd and the leader who leads the cult like a pack dog. I’m worried about what will happen to you.

Not because I care.

But because what I will do to you all will ring a thousand bells throughout your realm.

You are a dreamweaver. You manipulate. You control.

But unlike the honesty that comes from Max when he does something similar, you hide behind your veneer, your veil to trick your men like a merciless marionette.

But the puppets lose their will when their string is cut.

And trust me, their string will not be the only thing that is ripped to pieces.

I’m partial to start with the face, but you’re the supposed leader here.

Let’s call it dreamer’s choice.

And if you truly think I don’t use my dreams to my advantage? You’re mistaken.

I dream my dreams to dream…but not for my pleasure or my scheming.

No.

As a prison.”






And then there’s only one.

“I’ve conquered my fears. I’ve embraced who I am. I’m different. Better. More focused.

This is a familiar feeling, but it’s been a while, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit rusty. But don’t worry, cause I’m not.

The three of you are new to this. I’ve been teaming for a while, especially with Kit and Doc and recently so with Max.

You’re rookies in this seven-man environment.

We’re veterans against the likes of you.

And I saw this all…once upon a dream.

It will end the same way.

Roddy on top. His followers at his feet in reverence.

All I need now is a crown.

Let’s dream of that next, hm?”

Riveting. Poignant.

“Now…who…are you?”

Please.

Call me Josh.