Clash At Firebird

Clash at Firebird

A short story by 

Khaya Maseko

Things were going down at Isilo that night. It was day one of the annual FightCon  and beyond that, 3 other eSports events in the same venue. And Isilo was no small venue. Two company helicopters flew above, with 4D searchlights that looked into the past and future of the place they surveyed. Lighting the way for all visitors.  Isilo started at Pandora Street and ended somewhere near S Da S-econdary. But the 4D camera showed that Isilo would eventually stretch its tentacles to cover Caneside as well.

Phoenix, Thekwini, was truly a firebird. It had risen from the ashes of crime, poverty and low quality of life, to the thing it was the day our Seer came to play. iSilo Gaming was flaunting its feathers that night. It blazed a shining light lit by the flames of modern technology. That night was the night to tease and please all Azanians with the latest technological developments to come out of the region. Even though this was all about FightCon, Known 1 still wanted to see the other eSports on display. He knew that Impi studios had just released a new nerve-link open-world Role Playing Game. The game was a re-enactment of the Battle of Amanzimtoti. The player played a Zulu warrior who started off as a disciple of any class one could think of. Bone Divination? You’ve got it. Weather Mage? Sure. He was interested in finding a class that suited his personality. He was a Seer, so maybe playing a Water Diviner who eventually levelled up to a Weather Mage might suit him. Or a Shaman who commands the Hyenas of the Southern Cape. That would rock. ‘Pack Leader of the Laughing Horde’. He could envision it already. But the teaser trailers had only given away 3 classes out of the full 18. Another attraction tonight besides FightCon was the finals for the Mashu Cosplay. The Isilo event feature for this Cosplay event was a Live Action Roleplaying Game that each cosplayer would (have to) enter into. Apparently dressing like your favourite character wasn’t enough to please the Azanian judges. You had to become your Costume and fight your way to the crown.

He was ready to walk in. Looking ahead and thinking wasn’t gonna win him the Clash pre-release.

He retightened the Velcro strips on his coat to fight the creeping cold. It crept, like a serpent, and he felt a writhing chill on his navel. He patted his stomach a couple of times and walked on ahead. Known 1 had about 6.46 hours here before he had to meet up with the rest of the gang and he’d spend them wisely. He brushed his left shoulder with his right hand, checked his laces as he walked up to the ticket booth. He looked up from inspecting his feet. An android was working the booth today. She worked here every Tuesday and Wednesday. More and more of these androids were popping up in Azania. He could see the Western Cape Robotics logo on her chest. Behind it lay her power unit. An artistic design modelled after the human heart. Apparently, the hearts of these androids were a static electricity generator. The scientist behind this innovation said that he had fallen in love with the imbalance of the heart and felt that an imbalance of charges as a power generator made poetic and scientific sense. The secrets of the friction technology that powered this beautiful clerk were to die for, and many had. The stories and legends of people attempting to break in to WCR were enough to ensure that the secret stayed where it belonged. In the hearts of the Nama Sages.

“Hi there 7dine, I have a pre-purchased ticket.”

There was no window between he and her. Just a chest high wall behind which lay the underused cash register. Barely anyone used Shumi, but it was the legal tender of Azania, for those who still clung to the old ways of commerce. 7dine took the ticket which he offered with both hands. It was the size of a playing card. She read it out loud as her eyes scanned the relevant ticket confirmation data encoded within the card. As an android, she didn’t need to use the ticket scanner sheathed on her hip.

“Mr Known 1. F744 Shezi Road. FightCon Entrant 121. You are approved to enter. You have a great one, yeah? And good luck.”

Her voice was an androgynous synthesis of a 12 year old boy and a 40 year old woman. It didn’t sound like two voices. It felt like two. Lest he hold up the growing queue, he thanked her, accepted his ticket with both hands and walked on. She looked at him a bit longer as he walked away, her neck craning to the left and looking to the right with her eyes. He continued on, 1 step at a time, staring up at the FightCon logo which was all 50 meters high before him. To his left there was an uShaka the 23rd  statue, ‘lifesize.’ uShaka the 23rd was the star of KaijuCom’s latest fighting game, Clash. The game’s designers had reverse-engineered King Shaka’s genes from his many relatives. It had taken 23 generations of reading through DNA images to finally assemble an authentic version of the Zulu Short-Spear fighting style. Originally known as Umkhonto. KaijuCom had done the same for Bruce Lee, Chow Yun Fat and other notable fighters of the designer’s desire. The Bruce Lee DNA regression had only taken 6 generations of genetic material before they reassembled Jeet Kun Do for their game. Known 1 had always preferred playing Wesley Snipes, who was, in his opinion, one of the most fun martial artists to watch in action. The uShaka the 23rd statue moved its head as  Known 1 walked past it. It smiled and raised its spear to the sky.

“iZulu elami,” it said plainly, in what KaijuCom claimed was iNkosi YamaZulu uShaka’s authentic voice.  “Uyalifuna na?”

Though he knew that this was but a well built facsimile, Known 1 did not deny him self an opportunity to commune with his ancestors.  He was partly Zulu after all. And that made him Zulu.

“Malisale kuwe, wena wamaZulu.”

He hurried his steps and looked for the check-in desk for Amandla.
Amandla was the first game he’d compete in that night. He could see the Clash technicians setting up in the small arena to his right. The Amandla arcade consoles were just left of the entrance. So swooned by all the games, he didn’t even notice that iSilo was getting Pub Doors installed. The entrance to FightCon had always been just an open gate with a green carpet. But how often are we bothered by the things we do not see?
The setup was traditional arcade style. Two joysticks facing only one big screen. The fighters would have to duel it out right next to each other. So old school. The arcade consoles had ports for USB 5.0, PSX and AFB(Azanian Fire Bus), just in case the fighters brought their own controllers. He meandered around with the wonder of a child at a carnival. A short, cute girl, her head scanning the floor for some thing walked past him dressed as Chun Li, and he knew exactly where she was going tonight. His meander not aimless, he finally found his seat. Nguni Runes spelled his name out in an opaque luminous pink font that could be seen by the blind. Every school in Azania taught Runic Zulu, and it was second nature to look at a sign and not even read it. The Runic Zulu alphabet carried so much meaning that one needn’t speak it to get the signs. His Runic Name was the sign for knowledge and the sign for non-duality joined by a curve.
The King of the Zulu had offered him the heavens, but he’d take a championship tonight, that’s all. He didn’t sit just yet. He swiped his ticket on the side of the screen and waited for confirmation. As he logged into his Isilo server profile, he  opened a side-window and checked out the roster. The whole of Mashu, Newlands, Mzinyathi and Phoenix was here. The entirety of it. The pre-constructed fighting style games were really growing in fame. Every gaming crew had entered at least two competitors and the members were there to support their champions.. The Phoenix Geeks had entered Reveal and ReaperofS0uls. Mzinyathi White had entered Ntonto and Helicopter The Revolving Blade. The Mashup Crew had entered only one competitor and he was that one. Known 1 played every fighting game and was exceedingly good at them. He also played Nerve Games. His relationship with his nervous system had allowed him to win imMortal Combat last year and the year before that.  It was a simple fighting concept game. Hand-to-hand combat, no weapons. Vale Tudo rules (if there ever was such an oxymoronic thing). The catch was that imMortal Combat was a nerve-game. Straight out of Impi Studios! Real pain, real sensations. Real ground pressure when you get knocked down by a some Coloured judoka who’s too darn good at this thing. As real as the technology could allow, at least. But there was nothing least about the technology of Isilo and Impi Studios. They both turned out the safest, most stimulating Gaming technology that the cosmos would allow. It seems the cosmos wanted us to link with technology after all. When plugged into the Impi nerve-gear, the only, only sign that you were in a virtual environment was a red dot that blinked and played dissonant musical notes every few hours. For a whole minute. Just to remind you that you are plugged into something.
Maybe he was so good at Nerve Games because he was so insular. So in  touch with his self that he could manipulate his root sensory network for all kinds of situations.  Sometimes, on his way up to pray for the Sun, he would meditate on his body as a tree. His nerves were the entwined and entwining roots. The conduits of sensation that humans drink like water. He had mastered skills of shutting down his neuro-receptors . So far, he had active control of everything that linked directly down to the 6th lumbar of his spine. Known 1had learned how to tune his nervous system like a stringed instrument. He could not only tolerate more pain, he could also prevent and block high amounts of it. In the ImCombat games, he played a Tank class fighter. His body armour was the heaviest. Yet his reflexes were the fastest ever recorded in Azanian professional Gaming history.  He was deadly fast and practised a hybrid of Judo, Sambo and Muay Thai that was dazzling to behold.

Oh, but Amandla used old school controls. Your hands were your weapon here. No direct nerve linkages allowed. He thought he spotted the edge of a Playstation 2 controller under the table behind him but who would use such an antique in Phoenix? Also, which fool would use such a priceless Japanese jewel at a tournament? Even though he wasn’t 100% sure about the controller, just the thought of the Japs made him a little sad. They once ruled the world of technology. But when Azania forcibly repatriated her gold and diamonds, few countries survived the redistribution of wealth. Azania could once more build countless processors and spacefaring paraphernalia. The diamonds weren’t for wearing on the neck. They were for rebuilding civilization on the Mother Continent. The twisted, yet simple complexity of Azanian commerce had to be lived to be believed. European pundits could not fathom how a region could change so utterly in the space of a decade. For how many would believe the Rwandans to be Geomancers? Who would have believed the Nama to have been expert Roboticists? Their knowledge was ancient, yet even through the years of colonialism, they had not given away one secret. Under the Kalahari, the golems of the Nama had been waiting to rebuild Azania and send her to farthest reaches of the cosmos.
As Azania needn’t mine gold anymore, the Ndebele goldsmiths of the North had transformed an area once known as Sasolburg into a refinery town. There they processed the gold for the Azanian purposes. If there was any uniting visible theme in Azania, it was the blatant disrespect for legal tender. The Japanese had fallen because they did not understand that things need not be bought and sold to have value. They had lived so long in commerce that they had lost the humane aspects of power. That power is meant to elevate the species, not just elites. Azania took back its gold and there was horror after. Yet somewhere in Phoenix, Thekwini, there still lurked a Sony game controller.
Known 1 collected his straying thoughts and reached into his bag to find his fingerless gloves. He noticed then that someone had sat next to him.

“Hey man. You’re that contortionist, yeah?”

The man turns his head and looks at Known 1 with a smile.

“The one and the same. They call me Malak. You?” His accent has a touch of Tamil Indian, but he looks quite negroid.

“I’m called Known 1. From Mashu side. Man, did you map the fighting style your self or did you get some -one?”

“You mean you’ve seen me? Bra, I’ve only played like 20 ranked games this annum. ”

Malak adjusts his joystick controller firmer onto the plinth and starts configuring his buttons while he talks, his eyes focussed on the screen before him.

“Aw hell naw, man! I didn’t get no one. I did every thing my self. All I needed was 4 cameras and the Amandla client to upload my frame-data, move-list and captured images. Ta-da! It only took 2 weeks. It’s pretty cool, ya? Building your own fighting system with a minimum and maximum limit on frames used. Remember when there was no frame limit, laanie? People were uploading 1 frame punches and claiming they style balanced. Please, man! But a frame limit makes it real art, ey?”

“Yeah man, I hear you,” Known 1 replies
“I use Muay Thai and Sambo Mainly, with a bit of Judo, so I needed a friend on the other end to help me capture the large number of moves in my list. We can only upload 600 frames in total, so I spread out my data on my move set. Slowest move I’ve got is a 20 frame throw. I had to toss a punching bag like 50 times before we got all the angles we needed for the character. I’ve got a 8 frame foot jab, too, so I stayed within the maximum and minimum  frame limit. Goddamnit, I wasn’t expecting to be fighting a contortionist on round 1, though. Gee El H Ef, Malak.”

“Gee El H Ef to you, Known 1. You configured?”

“Hell yeah. Wasn’t just running my mouth, man. Ready.”


A large crowd had begun to gather around the Amandla consoles as most competitors were ready to begin. Thekwini was such a stark opposite to its old self, the thing they called Durban. It was almost hard to remember the days of rife gangsterism and taxi violence. The days of poverty, alchoholism and the punitive, vampiric arm of Democracy. Oh but they were there. And the lights of Phoenix’s Gaming emporium did not blind the eye of history. History remembered the mire that gave birth to this present greatness. This greatness would carry 2 boys who met in an arcade to the furthest reaches of their inner cosmos. There was a journey already being travelled the moment they exchanged salutations. There was a journey already being travelled the moment they exchanged salutations. Boys, girls and peoples of indefinite gender were mumbling and pointing at things on the console screens.


The boy who wrung and bent his body in combat was a real challenge to Known 1’s stance-driven fighting style. Malak had so many high-low mix-ups and had really thought deeply on where to spend his safe frame moves. Blocking him was worse than attacking him. But attacking prompted him to trigger his tricky defensive stances. At one point, Known 1 had thrown  a solid knee and roundhouse shin kick combo. Malak had taken the knee to the chest, then he bent backward and double, using the impact from the blow he just took to get there faster. Malak then put his right arm between his legs, reached forward speedily and grabbed the leg that Known 1 was standing on as he threw the second kick of his combo. It was too late to jump. He was in mid kick and he was caught. Using the motion of standing upright, but still holding Known 1 by the ankle, Malak pulled up and Known 1 landed flat on his back. 40 counter-hit damage. Known 1 doesn’t like that. The right arm let go on impact and Malak went for a ground follow-up combo. Using the momentum of righting his body, he kicked his heel backwards heavily and flipped to land flat on his back on top of the quite damaged Known 1.
Mistake. The ground is Known 1’s territory. By showing off his Muay Thai for 2 rounds, Known 1 had been conditioning Malak to use his stand-up counter-moves, revealing his kit. Now, he wrapped both arms around the contortionist and rolled with him. Once, twice. That did about 5% damage but this position was a stance that Known 1 had put 5 moves into.  He would use three at that time.  He first lay on top of Malak and wrapped his leg around his knee, locking him. In a smoothly executed second move, he then grabbed his head and bashed it on the ground thrice. The first hit did 10 dmg, the second 12, the third hit 15. He finally grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him left. Malak landed safely on his arms, palms open. He noticed that their left legs were still locked together. He turned and twisted his knee joint at an angle no normal person would dare perform safely. His put his hands on his face and arched his back, pushed up from the ground and head-butted Known 1 in the chest. That gave him some room as Known 1 was forced to release the leg lock. Malak got up. But now was the time for Known 1 to win the next three rounds. And winning this match was the beginning.  Known 1 went into a crouched stance and ran straight for two steps. Ah, as expected, Malak had begun to set up a trap. He squatted and grabbed his ankles, in a stance Known 1 had seen but once before. It was a ranked match about one Moon ago against Reveal. He readjusted his approach and sidestepped to the right. As Malak rolled forward in a ball, his ankles still firmly gripped, he must’ve thought he had escaped. From his side-step, Known 1 then double-dashed forward and threw a slow and low kick. A kick that the contortionist couldn’t see as he completed his evasive trap roll, about to stand on his hands and kick back. But Known 1 had seen this, once, just once before, and the slow kick lands, taking one arm, then the other. Out of position and reeling, Malak is 7 frames under and Known 1’s kick is -4 for him on hit. That means that his next blow is coming out faster by 4 frames, and it’s more than enough time for him. It’s over with a sweeping shin kick that comes out so fast as he had buffered it in during his last move.

SCORE: Malak - 2, Known 1 - 1        

 It truly was a fight worthy of FightCon 2036. If Malak won the next match, he would take the Amandla title to Newlands East that year. Known 1 still had his Sambo and Judo mix-ups under his sleeve. He had played his cards close to his chest for 2 rounds and he’d lost them. He figured it was time to engineer a 2- 3 upset. He absolutely could not allow Malak to win another match!  Onlookers were quite divided as to who would come out on top that day.

Known 1 still had Clash and imMortal Combat to play that night. Losing Amandla would not be a good start for the man who wanted to be the game’s first 3 time champion. It was only just a game but Phoenix don’t play.

Isilo was the Phoenix, and Phoenix was the Fire.



CLASH AT FIREBIRD: Translations


“iZulu ngelami,” – Heaven is mine. 
“Uyalifuna na?” – Do you want it?
“Malisale kuwe, wena wamaZulu.” – Let it stay with you, you of the Heavens. 
Amandla – Power
iSilo – The Beast