Buddha's Hand

Citrus tart. Lemons. Oranges. Buddha's Hand. The fist of the skyscraper reached towards the cold sky of Heaven, stretching its unused muscles coating the ribs of its steel bones, reflecting the chill of the sky inwards. The sunset painted skinny slices of oranges on the ground, plaguing ivory-colored tile with sickly purplish fingers. V2 sifted through papers crumbling in its hand. Reports. Logs. Words. Words and words about things that didn't matter anymore: stock predictions about a war, investing in arms companies, marching dutifully onwards towards the release of death with sacks of cash in hand. The people who were responsible for the fiasco of the war didn't live here anymore. They didn't work here either (they wouldn't dare even imagine returning to this world). Here was a safe haven for those given the mercy of moral cleanliness; washing their hands clean of any responsibility. They simply ferried papers from desk to desk, not bothering to look at the papers under the buzzing fluorescent glow of their 8 foot skies, tiles stretching on and on and on as above and so below. Through the backlight of V2's head, it could just barely make out figures and numbers and charts. No matter how much information they were given, they failed to foresee even the most glaringly obvious conclusions: one, that they were going to die, two, that they were doing it to themselves, and three, that 80 hour workdays did not mean they were going to get a raise next quarter.

"Fiscal reports from 1958 indicate a loss for the company. Although their revenue grew, their cash expenditure increased during the second and third quarters due to added employment. Reports from 1959 indicate the same, except the expenditure grew as they kept taking on employees into salaried positions. Onwards, fiscal reports for most of the 60s indicate significant company growth." V2 droned as another report crumbled in its claw.

Gabriel sighed from behind it. "Are you attempting to teach me something about the economy? It is a product of human greed and brutality. Primal instinct is incompatible with virtuous selflessness."

"Well, we are certainly coming to the same conclusions here. Expenditure increased in the marketing and sales sector of the company in 1961, and it remained their largest sector until the fiscal reports stop in 1980." V2 sorted the papers in its hands, then neatly arranged and organized them back by year, feeding them back into the filing cabinet it had retrieved them from. "Do you want to guess why?"

"I didn't watch humanity during the war." Gabriel admitted, and V2 heard the clinks and clanks of his armor behind it, as if he was shifting to protect himself from his own testimony.

"But you are aware of simple human principles. You have certainly made that clear." It rifled through the stack of papers, pushing them down to create a solid marble block of financial reports and evidence liable to a Nuremberg trial. All of the data became assimilated into the block; melting and melding into one being, conforming to the confines of its container, like a liquid. Like something frozen in the past.

"And you have made it clear you are already aware of what happened to this company as well as many others. Your riddles are pedantic at worst and petty at best." By now, it had lived with him long enough to identify the symphony of metallic noises behind it as one thing: Gabriel crossing his arms.