quick warning: i'm currently in the process of fixing this entire work. so it probably... won't make a lot of sense. and the capitalization is wonky. bear with me.

Part 1: Departure

There was a race to the bottom of Hell. V2 would have been winning, if not for the immovable object in front of it— an environmental obstruction.

How it came to be in the race, it wasn’t sure. Reviving from a dreamless eternal sleep into contemplation of the contents of its partitions, it received only a signal to hint at the potential referee— no advertisements of a traditional ‘all you can eat buffet’ and free mojitos given out at some breakfast bar, sticky wooden floors from dropped free swirl soft serve ice cream by little unsupervised brats that would tug on its wires or get hands stuck in crevices they shouldn’t. Action potentials prophesied by Asimov addled two and two together to make five as the signal took over each little transistor covering the organs in its body. Certainly, going on some fetch quest for fuel or racing down to the icy pits of Satan’s mouth was better than rotting in the radiation-rattled wasteland for all of eternity. Although it was a defender, there was nothing left of humanity to protect, and their possessions were torn up as they clawed their way down to the underworld. Out it set the next morning after engaging in some stretching. Behind it loomed the collapsed THR-1000 that its laboratory had been fashioned out of— guts scooped out by excavators under the direction of mechanics and biocybernetic engineers, scent of decay swirling in the wind behind it as it entered the nearest pit and took the plunge, not daring to look back.

Whatever was inside was a different story. Rudimentary protocols dictated that on occasion, it should move from station to station. Never watching one area for more than days at a time. Never staying at the same corner. Always moving. Always restless. Electricity thrummed in the center of its panels, a violently vital scratch to move, to restrain, to detain. Restrict. Resuscitated by itching urges to fight, inherited through none other than the metal carcass of the inferior model inside itself, it made its way into Hell. Now, it was arguing with a doorway. This was none of the glory of battle it had been promised— its predecessor didn’t even look excited to engage in headstrong, violent combat, though it wore its arm as a trophy. There was a kind of glory promised to it, but there was no more sense in waiting for that. Medals and public ceremonies had been promised to its predecessors: V1, powered down onstage, had a copper token adorned about its neck by shaking hands and trembling voices, tremors matching violence tit-for-tat. There was nowhere to go except Hell. On the contrary, it seemed there was nowhere to go in Hell. Each occasion that it seemed to find something to do, the occasion seemed to drone by and slip between its fingers. Contemporary life was mundane.

It had successfully darted its way past all of the preceding rooms and husks, only to find its way blocked by this one singular door. A mouth sat clenched, teeth grinding angrily against one another in annoyed fashion, refusing to budge or open for the one-armed fool that had dared seek the lower layers, had dared stand up to its might. Did the mouth, hungry as it was, desire it to conform to some power-hungry whim? It needed to get past the layer of Gluttony. Its consumption was hopelessly delayed, and all V2 could really do was stand there and stare at it, hoping a burning gaze would substitute for divine convincing. It wasn't exactly on a Heaven-sent quest like Dante, but it was trying to enact justice nonetheless and should've been given a pass. Maybe some angels would show up to usher it through the door and feed it grapes on a chaise lounge or something. That would've been nice.

Maybe in order to get past the obstacle, it needed to manipulate some element of the layer’s gimmick— yes, every layer had a gimmick. Such that the structure was in a body, the layer had to do with earthly and bodily desires. Not only should the classical meaning of food and drink be considered, but other means pertaining to natural human living. Consumption of power was like consumption of food and drink; the entirety of mankind, and subsequently, machinekind, thrived by dominating others or submitting in turn. Hierarchy and social order was necessary to maintain peace within people, thus it was, in turn, necessary for all to suffer by way of constant oppression and struggle in their natural state of being. Such that they are pushing themselves to over-indulge, they shall be consumed and trodden upon eternally. It huffed searing air out of its vents. This was the display of power— of course it wouldn't be getting through the rest of the layer as it intended if this thing was guarding it. Picky, picky creatures, as picky as supervisors, as finicky as toddlers tossing away perfectly sliced apples, partial to meat-muddled nuggets instead.

A new notification popped up on its HUD.

"A R E Y O U G E T T I N G B O R E D ?"

It turned away, scanning the room it was in once more in hopes there was some passage it had not discovered in its travels. Sliding down the ramp from which it came, yellow blurred past it as it found a way to the bottom once more, escaping the fate that would've befallen it behind the now-closed door. Whether or not that door had always been closed, or if it had simply just not fulfilled some aspect of its fate, it did not want to find out. The mouth at the bottom of the room slid open horizontally, allowing it to step through, jaw agape, ready for anything to come through. Historically, Dante's records of Hell had described a corridor of ice and mud and rain; sleet befalling the prone sinners, slipping in their own excrement and tears. Maybe there had been a renovation recently, swapping nature elements in for human elements.

"Y O U / T W O / A R E / D I F F E R E N T . "

... It paused.

"T H A T / G O T / Y O U R / A T T E N T I O N ? / H O W / C U R I O U S ."

> unit_V2: ping > [SUPERVISOR].
> unit_V2: ID_card: false
> unit_V2: RUNNING INQUIRY...
> unit_V2: "IDENTIFY YOURSELF."

"C A N / T H E / H E A R T / A N D / L U N G S / D I F F E R E N T I A T E / T H E M S E L V E S ? / A R E / T H E Y / N O T / P A R T / O F / T H E / S A M E / B O D Y ? "

> unit_V2: "... TRUE."
> unit_V2: "STATE YOUR PURPOSE."

"Y O U / A N D / I / H A V E / S E E N / T H E / F A I L U R E S / O F / T H E / O L D / O V E R / A N D / O V E R / A G A I N . "

"T H E / S A M E / O U T C O M E S ..."

"... W O U L D / Y O U / L I K E / T O / K N O W / A / S E C R E T ? "

> unit_V2: "THIS UNIT IS NOT AUTHORIZED TO TAKE BRIBES."

The room shook and quivered around it. The walls of the layer twisted, wringing themselves out as it spread its legs to gain surface area.

"Y O U / J E S T . / I / A M / A M U S E D . "

"T A K E / Y O U R / R E W A R D , / A S / I / C A N / T E L L / N O / L I E S : / I T / H A S / F A I L E D / B O T H / O F / Y O U . "

> unit_V2: "IDENTIFY: IT."

"Y O U / M E E T / A / C E R T A I N / E N D / W H E R E / A L L / Y O U R / S T A R S / T U R N . / I N / E A C H / S W I V E L / O F / T H E / A S T R O L A B E , / Y O U / T A K E / T H E / S A M E / P A T H S . / A L L / T O / T H E / S A M E / P L A C E : / Y O U R / S T A R S / T U R N , / A N D / I T / C O N T I N U E S . "

Rather than meeting the room filled with pools of all-consuming acid, it found itself staring down into a vertical tower of meat, bottom pooling with mucus and other byproducts. The strings of thick muscle that were evident on other rooms within this layer were completely missing— layers of yellow and white fat squished as it stepped onto the ledge that met the door, creating puddles of grit in its wake. The path down to the bottom wound in a spiraling fashion flush against the wall. It performed some brief calculations; not only would it be a waste to balance itself accordingly to clamber down to the floor, but jumping was the most fuel-efficient way to get to the bottom, besides falling outright, which it would not do. That was completely undignified in a space so small.

It launched itself off of the platform it stood upon, and the passage rearranged itself to fit its new fate, spinning as it shuttered its optic to allow it privacy. Far away from home, the rules of this new place forced it to abide by the nonsensical whims of whatever lived within its walls— whether that was sinew, bone, metal, or pork rind. Like the door, whatever it seemed to desire for it was the truth of their reality, no matter the rules of how linear space ought to have worked. Rooms changed height and size as they pleased, and it simply trusted in it, entertaining its whims if not in exchange for cooperation in meeting its goal. Sure enough, the paths it marked out through hell were much shorter than the ones V1 had taken— from a major detour in the mouth of Hell to an entire hour taken in one room in Lust.

When it opened its eye, it stood at the bottom, looking upwards at the spiraling dome of flesh on the ceiling. Steps of flesh like dark meat on Thanksgiving wriggled and writhed towards the ceiling. With an increased resolution in its visual field to account for the necessity of facial recognition, as it stepped closer, it could clearly see that what it was observing was... thousands of livers. Livers, kidneys, whole body parts hanging like vines from the ceiling, glued together in mutual struggle and packed tight by an unseen, oppressive force. Filtering apart those bits of waste and impure, unclean things— unwanted, unloved in their pursuit. All ye who glutted themselves on power, food, and drink, enter here with hope abandoned, join in holy matrimony to the waste filtration system of the entire system of Hell. Such that they feasted their entire lives, they should facilitate the feast and be full forever: just not of the substance they desire.

The entire thing was a body, it'd just been in what it could only assume was the intestines. Now it was traveling upwards into the... brain? Chest? Somehow, the great mechanisms of Hell had placed it elsewhere, and thus, elsewhere it went. At the bottom was another door. This one, it stepped through, only to find no floor and no salvation. It fell from the greatest of heights once more, fell in the place of glutted honor. Beneath it was the grease of fascia and muscle alike, strength and stillness intertwining to create a cat's cradle to catch it in, fibrous mass holding it gently as it landed on the ground.

"Machine!"

A booming voice reverberated through the empty intestinal cavern. V2's body resonated from a place deep within its internals, its plates vibrating from the deep boom to the heavenly frequency. It stopped momentarily, pondering the words. It hadn't heard another person speak in... years. The years it had spent scavenging, the years it had spent running after accidentally turning on its predecessor. The warm embrace of humankind was much too promising. It must follow the music of its voice, must observe its source. Any break from the monotony of its current journey made its body liven with promise.

Thus, it was inclined to mark an objective besides the same three it had been looking at, going from—

[ OBJECTIVES ---
FIND V1
REATTACH 'KNUCKLEBLASTER'
FINISH 'WHIPLASH' ]

to

[ OBJECTIVES ----
FIND V1
REATTACH 'KNUCKLEBLASTER'
FINISH 'WHIPLASH'
IDENTIFY VOICE ]

In terms of checking things off, being able to physically delete and backspace on objectives to erase them permanently was infinitely more satisfying than unconsciously deciding when certain goals were finished, thus the inefficient system. Having a list and a possible short-term goal to reward it for its efforts, it was content now to move. As it began sliding forward on the slick, sinewy ground, heels cutting away at the metal, the voice boomed once more.

"Return from whence you came!”

Gracefully, it ignored the provocation, sliding forward. Any promise of mankind was more important than their willingness to have it around, and thus, the priority of finding this person was made more urgent. Needled stilettos occasionally caught on the fibrous floor as it went to the next door. It did not dare look below, where it was sure a massive abyss was waiting to eat it up, despite the sureness of the ground. A mouth opened to swallow it as it ended its tightrope walk, maw opening to consume it whole.

"You are not welcome in the lower layers of hell, and I will see to it personally that your kind are kept from tainting this palace of true suffering."

Completing the objective might be easy— but what to do with its source was going to be the difficult part, it seemed. The next room consisted of platforms of bone risen from a certain doom of acid. A thin gap between mounds of flesh exposed the other half of the room, where jagged teeth emerged once more from the floor and ceiling to create a new door. If it got the shot right, it could wrap the hook of Whiplash around one of the teeth and pull itself across the room without touching the acid.

It launched the hook forward with a slight spin to the end of it, such that when the hook came back, it would wrap around the tooth if it jerked its hand slightly upward. Once it saw a black line around one of the teeth, it yanked with slight force on the cable and jumped— the room blurred as it flew between the gaps of flesh and tucked in its feet to avoid denting its legs or destroying the columns of bone. It stepped on solid ground once more as it undid the cable winding around the tooth and moved into the next room.

"So be it. You have chosen your fate, like many others before you who have met theirs."

Cradling hands outstretched across a wide abyss. Again, it performed the trick, and flung itself across the charcoal fingers trying to grasp its beautiful, angular form. Reduced to geometry, it was perfect— blocky, angular, beautiful, bulky and wieldy, the body being small in comparison to the larger machines, but its force was formidable, nevertheless. Just because the Swordsmachine taunted V2 for its ability to tower over the ‘superior’ machine, V2 took great pleasure in watching the servos disconnect and wires rip into useless, writhing spaghetti as high-voltage electric arcs sprawled across the floor of the mining facility, replaying its squeals even now to assure itself of certain victory in face of its wounded ego.

As it reached the end again, it tried to reel the line back in, only to find the motor within the arm pulling endlessly with no purchase against the string it had used. It had no time left to fix it at this point— it would have to continue with no arm. Detaching the arm from the empty socket, it stuffed the arm in an empty slot in its arsenal and continued forward without it, stepping through the next door. Upon spotting a small hole in the ground and no other exit, it wrapped its right arm around its body and fell gracefully.

As it waited for its complete descent, it modified its list of objectives once more.

[ OBJECTIVES -----
FIND V1
REATTACH 'KNUCKLEBLASTER'
FINISH 'WHIPLASH'
IDENTIFY VOICE
REPAIR 'WHIPLASH' PROTOTYPE ]

"Reduced to scrap and writhing parts..."

It rolled its eye as it landed. It army-crawled through the next cavern, just barely squeezing through the thick, tight walls barely a head tall, trying to grasp onto its figure— in some parts, the sheer size of its torso would deform the cavern ceiling as it lay prostrate. It clawed into the floor, desperately pulling forward against the reactive force of the ceiling and floor, working in tandem to try to hold it still. Things here grasped and did not let their dirty fists go; the smaller crawl space would not let it go, the figure did not let go of their voice's hold on it, and the souls in this layer did not let go when grasping tight onto each other, packing into a space that consumed and digested all that tried to enter. Billions writhed around it, and it was acutely aware now that something unseen was trying to grasp its swiveling neck to choke any fuel out of it. Even now, stitched into one another, the souls desired to consume even inorganic materials and products.

"A fate befitting all of you."

Panicking, it exited the chamber, dusting itself off with its hand as it physically cleared its neck of any phlegm or acid. It stood on two feet to look upon the new room— a canyon, arches overtop decorating the corridor in which it will find the last remnants of anything truly alive anymore, besides the husks. It walked forward, looking up at eyes that looked back, wondering who was looking if only it and the figure were here. It did not mind being looked upon— often, many wanted to view the results of experiments it was involved in. Many hands wanted to touch and grasp and feel new innovations, taking it for themselves faster than it was created, using it for selfish purposes. It was made for these selfish purposes. The gaze of something unknown was almost comforting— it was like the past tests, where it did not know what to expect besides something related to its objective.

The objective was 'identifying the voice,' and the thing was the voice... the voice, the beautiful voice, and the grand music that drew it closer and closer, through the muffled screams and squelches of the closer walls. The voice was as grand and filling as the room, like hot, thick blood had filled V2's fuel tubes forever, leaving it full and never wanting anything more than to listen forever. The walls could shout all they wanted— V2 was not here for them. They were not capable of being saved anymore; inevitably, they would meet the same terrible fate as that which they once were. The voice changed, warning it to stay away but continuing to speak and notify it of their location.

"Machine. You approach in spite of my warning. You have forsaken my goodwill and extension of my generous mercy!"

A massive column of light emerged in the center of the room as the booming echo centered into one harmonious sound— a warm, ill-tempered voice, akin to those found only in the grand choirs of heaven. The great red heart in the middle, pumping the blood of hell in all of its tragedy and misery and destruction, was smothered temporarily in its purposeless agony by the column. It could perhaps not even struggle against this— this was its fate. All arteries and veins led back to the heart in the center. The heart was the backdrop for the column, like in those stained glass windows V2 had stepped over to get to this wretched place. Everything in the body of hell led back to the column, led back to the heart. Every tragedy was lit briefly in its embrace, and though they announced V2's downfall, for a few moments, the column held up the world for the beating heart, relieving Atlas of his load bearing struggle. The heart beat, living and marching day by day towards the inevitable end of hell, and the column witnessed. The column was not the deliverer of bad news nor its great practitioner— posters announcing death were plastered over it, and it stood tall and shiny nevertheless. The heart was caught in a war it should never have been caught in, and briefly, V2 felt sympathy.

The room glistened and shone and gleamed, slime sticking wet to the ripples and folds of intestinal walls, of humans stitched together blindly by the great weavers of the tapestries of fate, like Arachne herself held a horrible grudge against those gluttonous that overindulged in power. V2 was reminded of the woes of bureaucracy in the way that red pulsating veins decorated the walls like party streamers. Husks vomited through the walls, pockets of feces traveling through the bricks of sewn flesh. A billion souls writhed beneath the floor, culminating in the great and terrible bowels which this battle must be fought.

"By the will of the Father, I will tear you limb from limb!" Within the great and powerful beam of light in the middle of the room stood a powerful figure. towering over it, sleeves and pauldrons were outstretched to cover the entire column, spear emerging in their hands as they held their head up. Wings unfurled and unfolded to reveal the silhouette of musculature; a figure bearing the load of the good news of Heaven, bearing the load of a bird unbothered in its gliding form, forever elegant and unlike those flapping, useless wretches of sinners their chin stood tall against. A chestplate was puffed in pride. Thighs and calves stood like those old sequoias, only knocked down by Earthmovers in their pride in tradition and the old ways of obedience.

"Behold! The power of an angel!"

An angel. V2 had never seen an angel before. He looked like a star, fiery and massive, striking against the dying heart to give it life and light once more. All of its body lit up in obscene warmth as it checked off its objective.

The column cleared. Every inch of armor dazzled in splendid glory, stinging its optic with gleaming fixed stars. On the helmet covering their face was a golden cross and laurels, one thing V2 identified immediately as associating the angel with the occupation of a noble warrior. A bright blue halo matched the spread of their wings, knife blades emerging and stretching fingers towards heaven; streaking hellfire in their wake. The white of its armor was so pure that it reflected nothing but light itself, as if even gold tainted its purity. A spear of light appeared in their hand, and V2 was quick to run over protocols that might defuse the situation, if not only for a few moments. The angel seemed to use flowery but diplomatic language, so V2 deemed it necessary to reciprocate.

"I intend not to fight, but will if I must. Let us talk before plunging into unnecessary action." It offered its hand in goodwill, hand upward to the ceiling that it had previously looked upon with beloved nature. God, the long-unused speech had gone janky in its nonexistent mouth— unnatural but necessary if it wished to appear somewhat civilized to the angel.

The angel jolted back, hands brought towards his chest in disgust. Gold glinted off the plates protecting the back of their hands. "By the Father, you can speak!"

"Yes. I was made to. Heed my warning to let me pass."

"A warning? What warning should I take from the likes of you? Speech or not, there is nobody left to listen to you." Ouch. They didn’t need to shove that into its chest. "Return or be reduced to scrap." They leaned to one side, wings beating to compensate for the weight change as they hovered in mid-air.

"I am not here to deliberately cause harm. There is another I am looking for, and would like to know if you are aware of its presence, or have seen it pass through here."

The angel tilted their head. "There are many of you. I don't care enough to memorize which ones you are."

"Another has bested me in Limbo, where I took shelter. I am seeking a rematch. I will be wary of where I step, but I have done it on one tank."

The angel chuckled at its attempts to worm its way past them. There goes its plans to do this mostly by convincing. It seems the angels of heaven mostly condescended on sinners and machines alike, and V2 remembered well from the apocryphal book of St. Paul: the image of the angel scorning Paul for weeping at torture. "Wherever you must face this adversary, do not do it past this point."

"Identify your authority, then." V2 stepped forward, rolling its shoulders back as it released the hand from their empty arm socket and let its right bottom wing blade fall to an easily accessible position. It lowered its hand in a way that would look like a normal human standing— but from here, if the angel posed any threat, it could immediately immobilize it or leap into the heat of battle.

They placed a hand on their chest, obviously puffed with only the ozone of the heavens. "I am the Archangel Gabriel, the Judge of Hell. Many machines I have slain in their attempts to pass, and I guard the lower layers of Hell and those infernal in the City of Dis. I answer for the Lord, and it is His will I carry out in His righteous name." Gabriel summoned a spear of light. "Identify yourself, machine, if you think of yourself as so important."

"I am V-model number 2, the second of two prototypes, thus designated 'V2.'" It pointed to the engraved letters on its chest, in case he couldn’t read. "I am a peacekeeping machine built after the Great War, during the New Peace."

"And identify your opponent? What supposed 'threat' should I be looking out for?" The angel inspected the gold plating strapped onto his hands, leather straps protecting his hands against the hilt of his swords.

V2 recited the information, all while hoping to get out of here and make some progress around Gluttony such that it would never have to pass through again. "My opponent is V-model number 1, designation V1. Similar to myself, but I am bulkier and colored red. V1 is a machine developed during the Great War's end to eliminate THR-1000 machines. Neither of us were put into use."

Gabriel tapped his chin in contemplation they both knew was mocking. "Yes, yes... identify your reason for conflict."

"V1 engaged in aggressive and unsportsmanlike behavior when faced in a duel."

Gabriel scoffed. "You should know better than to provoke those wrathful, if you were programmed to know peace. Revenge should not be faced with revenge. Find love within yourself, and reach to the Lord. The flesh is willing, the soul is weak." He waved a hand away, voice lilting in mimicry of someone who genuinely cared, absentmindedly making an extremely helpful addendum— "et cetera, et cetera."

"Let me make this clearer." Quite forcefully so, it rattled, and turned its remaining hand to point at its arm socket. "It took my arm. I want my fucking arm back."

"I understand your message, machine," he said, clearly not even trying to understand, "but I still cannot let you pass. It is quite a shame, I know. I can assure you, whichever machine you are speaking of will be kept away from the layers below." Gabriel made a shoo-ing motion with his heavenly hand, and V2 felt the flames of rage lick its shins.

It did not speak another word. In its visual field, as Gabriel blabbered on about 'bloodthirsty machines' and 'their folly' and 'something something lacking in love,' it pulled up a radar. Little did V1 know, V2 could always keep an eye on it and avoid it by simply monitoring its location through a tracker implanted in the 'Knuckleblaster.' They were on the same layer now— in fact, V1 was near the ramp it had slid down, and was swiftly approaching, lingering in one room and leaving the very next second. Either V1 would destroy Gabriel and allow V2 to pass to the next layer to gather more supplies, or Gabriel would destroy V1, and V2 would get its arm back eventually.

"I understand. I shall leave you on your pedestal, o’ mighty and glorious Archangel Gabriel." It turned its back to him, walking out of the room. In front of it, Gabriel's light filtered through its wings and struck the floor in a myriad of reds and oranges. "I understand completely."

As the mouth of the room opened, it paused and looked behind it, taking in the sorry sight of the angel.

"Good luck."

Departure: Chapter 2

"You!" It heard the familiar growling of a certain angel— familiar now, as it had no other name to associate (the general sound of the entire elevator shaft it had taken shelter in to try to figure out how it was going to skip the layer of Gluttony shaking and trembling under the weight of) a booming voice with. Metal ground against metal as the terminal jingled on, ultimately unbothered. "I know it's you. Behold my message for you, infernal machine!" He called upon it, and if it knew how to roll its eye, it would. Jesus, the angel was whiny— clingy and needing attention all of the time, demanding its presence and its gaze upon him. In its peripherals, it could see a bright, usually blinding light bathe the red of the elevator shaft in a holy white glow. "Fear not! I will not strike you, nor engage in conflict unless necessary.”

Despite V2 being sure that the angel (whatever his name was) was physically behind it now, he did not turn off that damned voice. Maybe he would if it turned around. V2 lowered its left upper wing blades, peered over its shoulder, and so visibly shrugged that it could hear a heavenly scoff as soon as it turned back around. Gabriel had gotten what he wanted, and V2 was not quite sure (was perfectly certain) what there was to scoff about.

"I am no fool not to heed your message.” He was seething. Obviously, this wasn’t good. Not for V2, who was perfectly fine, but for Gabriel. “Understand, foul being, if you have any logic at all, that I had every right to be suspicious of you." It could be seen in the reflection of the terminal's glass, beneath the projection, that Gabriel was pointing his index finger at it. "But that infernal, vile wretch..."

V2 continued to try to haggle prices with the terminal. There was no use even trying to be flowery anymore— when the angel had so clearly neglected its warnings, there was no use in trying to be diplomatic. "Uh-huh." It droned, trying its hardest not to jump for joy at the fact that it was fucking right, and that stupid pride-puffed seagull with glass wings could go deeper into hell for all it cared, it was right and he was not. It did not hear the sound of its own wings rattling up and down in excitement, nor did it really care.

"You are seeking this infernal thing, aren't you? The blue one?"

"No clue what you're talking about." It mumbled, having already found what it wanted, but now scrolling through the Cybergrind leaderboard to look busy. "Who are you again?"

He gave a deep, heavenly, haughty sigh, weighed with the stones of justice. "The Archangel Gabriel."

"Oh, right." It said, purchasing a Marksman-model revolver. Only 500P off, but it would have to do. It dispensed out of the bottom of the terminal, playing a little jingle as it did so.

"We met— maybe around five minutes ago!" He pointed out, hands raised in exasperation.

"Gibby, right?" It spoke, turning the Marksman over in its hands and inspecting it. Minor scratches, but still functional and relatively intact. It turned to its left and flipped a coin up into the air. No design, but still a perfect arc either way—

A blur of light streaked across its vision, gleaming partially off the coin and obscuring its field of vision. The coin was overtaken by a large spear with a cross situated at the end of it, sharp needle-point embroidering the air around it with impossibly bright fixed stars. The coin split, shattering into shards staining glass on the floor— reflecting rainbows intoxicating its vision with dreams of escape.

"Machine." He seethed. "I am vowing you to take this more seriously."

It stared at the shards on the floor. Then, it turned left again, only to face the massive angel hovering barely an inch off the floor due to the lower ceilings in hell's elevator. It recalled training conversations where customers would approach it increasingly more agitated and with the most absurd requests, stirring up an anger towards stupidity that it had long kept dormant in favor of passing their beloved tests— "Alright, angel, you want me to take you seriously? You come here, prove I'm right, fail to get to any meaningful point, and expect me to pay the most attention? You told me to leave and I did. I am not responsible for the defeat you faced, nor am I paying any sort of repentance.”

"Do you want a point? I’ll make this concise, because apparently, you aren’t seeing it. I am coming to propose an alliance.”

If any of its shutters had gone faulty and raised or lowered themselves, it was sure they no longer invaded its optic. “An alliance?”

“Yes. some context—”

It ground its gears in what was supposed to be a grumble. The Archangel Gabriel made a face of disgust (although it couldn’t tell from beneath the helm, it just instinctively knew that was what that expressionless look was) and continued.

“—I have been tasked by the good Council of Heaven to stop the machine invasion into Hell. If there is a machine that can stop me, I would require the tool of another who seems to be quite the expert.”

Curse its voicebox, prone to reporting when it ought not to be. It turned away, looking towards the light spear embedded into the steel wall as Gabriel continued. The spear, although completely intangible (as far as it was sure, it couldn’t touch light), dented the surrounding wall it had punched over and over again. Not only that, but at the area of impact, there sat scorch marks of heavenly fire splitting the coin it threw, and the wall mere centimeters from the impact mark sat as crumpled and bare of its paint as aluminum foil.

All thoughts of objecting to the alliance, or being dragged along by the angel in general, were silenced. If it was willing to use such force against a mere coin, V2 stood no chance.

“You should be honored to be of service to an angel of the good Lord. Unfortunately, I'll have to discard of you after your service with no compensation, but good glory in and of itself should—”

"—you should provide me compensation for your complete disregard for my honest word." It grumbled.

“Excuse me?” He clicked his tongue as it turned.

“I said—” it pointed a finger accusingly at the angel— “I want compensation. For your neglect.”

"Compensation?!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Should my groveling be considered worthless to you?"

"The time you spent groveling is time wasted. I require action."

"I am not praying for my salvation in front of you. I am one who is already saved." He spoke proudly, chest puffed.

It had no clue where he had possibly pulled that out from, and was not trying to find out. "Not what I'm talking about. Surely, as the Judge of Hell, you'd know the structure of it much better than I, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but that's not—"

"I backtracked to the middle of Lust all because you were insistent on preaching to a choir that was not listening. I need supplies to finish my arm, angel. Unfortunately, during your little speech, I damaged it as well.”

"And do you expect me to conjure them for you?" He scoffed.

“No. But you know the layer much better than I do. Show me the way to a more secure area I can restock in. Maybe an… apartment complex, or a workshop.”

“Do you think I just know everything?” Gabriel crossed his arms. “Surely you jest, machine.”

“You act like it.”

V2 stepped forward, giving him one final look before turning away and walking towards the door of the elevator shaft.

“Follow me. I'm accepting your alliance, but not without a little favor.”

Part Two: Church of the Overhead Sun

The door clicked shut, hinges restrained from warbling their whines of protest. God knows how long it’s been since this layer went undisturbed, but it certainly has been a while since the buildings were used for their intended purpose. "It is hard to trust you when I know nothing about you,” the machine said, "and yet, you demand my trust."

Rather than pondering the means by which something was supposed to achieve an ‘intended purpose,’ Gabriel scoffed, shoes clinking glittering glass reflecting the vibrant lights of the stormy layer of Lust. "I am the Will of God. Of course a heretic machine like yourself would not respect His divine order." The ceilings of the dim apartment were much too low for Gabriel to hover as he usually did, so he supposed he'd have to deal with the poorly constructed architecture of the already collapsing buildings. As expected, the inhabitants of a layer of eternal sinners did not understand the sacred geometry that went into building construction or the heavens’ purposes in building materials— and any sort of hellish mass they could conjure would be much less stable than the chosen marbles and golds that adorned and composed heaven’s lower circles and dwellings.

"I think you're right about that." V2 replied, walking over to the bed. "My behavioral protocol was built to adapt to unpredictable situations and environments."

He grumbled, picking at imperfections in his gauntlets. Scuffs from battles he never should have gotten into, all from sympathy and compassion for the machine toiling to mow down crowds of husks. His love was infinite, and apparently given out too freely. God’s hands were never to be touched by the blood of the unclean. “What are you saying, machine? His infinite understanding cannot help me read your… mind.”

“Processors, technically. And I’m saying that I could learn about it.”

Gabriel said nothing in response. To say something would be provoking its temper— which it seemed to have an awful lot of these days. To show his contempt, all he did was roll his eyes.

Their current perch in Lust was not fully intentional— backtracking was preferred to staying in the same place all of the time, especially when V1 seemed stuck in the throes of battle in Gluttony, as the report from V2 prattled off hourly. Their temporary shelter-in-place order achieved both of their goals: V2 seemingly wanted to restock medical supplies, and Gabriel wanted to take down some machines himself. Since the Virtues had concentrated their efforts deeper into the layers of incontinence in order to monitor the behavior of the insurrectionists, neither V2 nor Gabriel had touched the layer of Greed yet, their paths having intersected a mere hour ago in the boiling acids of Gluttony. Gabriel would have done anything but be pulled along by a machine, but he supposed his presence would, at the very least, force other machines besides V2 or that insignificant wretch V1 to heed his presence as a warning.

He only made an exception for V2 because it looked at him with a look stupidly akin yet leagues different to its predecessor. In V1, he understood it as a brief pause in rampage, a moment to rest for the unstoppable force. He saw no contemplation; he only saw heed. It was plenty aware of the dangers, but understood the only thing it could ever see as true: that it could surpass them, and it would die if it did not. In V2, he saw deliberate contemplation. He observed the curious tilt of its head, observed its mighty body, observed the skeletal arm that laid rattling within a socket as it came to rest and looked at him. It beheld his power, yes. But it did not intend to rip him to shreds. Gabriel remembered scoffing at its mere suggestion that it was not here to harm him, and Gabriel, egotistically, had assured it that it would not be able to land a finger on him.

He was still right. He was just tolerating the machine’s capacity to sway his will. He was using the titled, subtitled, captioned, bulleted, numbered, itemized, sub-bulleted, pointed list of objectives in its head to achieve his own goals. How clever he was against the calculatedly mad brutishness of the machine.

He dared to look over at it again, if not to see if it noticed his silence. It had picked up a lone skeleton on the farthest of the two twin beds, optic illuminating. He could not determine if V2 was to be chastised for desecrating and touching the unloved, disobedient dead, or if he was to let them be. He waited on its further action. "I cannot do anything but doubt that you would find some way to exploit whatever information I give you." His voice, usually resolute, struggled to find purchase amongst his observations.

The dust that the environment had made out of the corpse struck its red and green figure; warm, shining chestplate glowing with curiosity, colors and implanted LED strips dancing and painting Aurora’s lights on its skull. In the lighting of Lust, Gabriel could hardly make out the cherry-red color of its plating, nevertheless see the lights upon its chest. Soot rubbed off on the lights that had illuminated its name before, now obscuring where its abdomen integrated into the chestplate and coloring it ash-gray. It looked upon the face of the skeleton, and though both of them were unable to identify who it was or might've been, Gabriel felt that in some way, V2 had met some embodiment of this person and cared for them similarly— or was projecting the care they might've given.

"We could ask questions to get to know each other." V2 suggested.

It shifted the skeleton in its hold such that it held its weight with one arm. If it only experienced the knowing touch of its technicians, it certainly didn’t show it. Those procedures couldn’t be hardwired: the curve of its steel finger as it scooped its pelvis in its single, strong hand… the swivel of its neck as it looked down upon the body, as if it were human. Any remarks he had burnt and seared his throat, reflexes causing reflux that made him bite the bubbles of searing acid back. He had been impolite when it intended to be well-mannered. Loathing grew in his heart at its strategy, mostly because the idea of it being right seemed like absolute gibberish: in order to get through this with any sort of decency and be able to reasonably wipe his hands clean of any sort of collaboration afterwards, he would have to be at least somewhat diplomatic.

The more he stared at V2 (stupidly, he’d imagined), the image came to his mind of those sinners dwelling deep within the marshes of wrath… those overthrown from long-gone lone thrones, drowning in the depths, searching for the sun above the waves and reaching to grab his wings. He thought of that lone sinner he had salvaged from the tides— the art he’d been given in return. Maybe the idea of them being similar in any sort of way wasn’t entirely incomprehensible, and maybe he could even get something out of it.

Gabriel leaned back on one foot, then stepped forward and opened his arms. Its other arm was not yet articulate— in its injury, it would surely drop and crack the delicate husk. V2 turned and placed it securely in his waiting arms, then peeled back the white linen sheet and stepped back, making an open-handed gesture to indicate that Gabriel should lay the husk down.

Was it... giving it rites? Nevermind that— Gabriel did not let that question linger for long. He laid the corpse down, and V2 responded by setting the sheet over its head. The purple light made the white linens look lavender. Gentle, considering the sinner had rotted alone.

"that way, any information you give me, i can exploit. any information i give you, you can exploit.”

it was trying to get him to either agree, or admit he believed machines were much smarter than him. which he would never do. he wasn't foolish.

“i think it’s a fair trade.” when he looked upon its eye after it took a few steps back from the second twin bed, he swore that the bottom shutter guarding its optic had raised mere picometers. whatever emotion was being conveyed in that burning gaze, he would never know.

indeed, his refusal was pyrrhic— he would end up giving excess information away anyway. it seemed to have some peculiar way of talking to him, such that any reluctance or hesitance he’d usually (mindfully) have would fade. his tendencies to talk about the divine nature of heaven, his attitudes towards the machines, and the glorious love of God would normally saturate their conversation as it nodded along to appease him, likely hoping he would not notice its utter foolishness.

"i will agree to your terms. machine." he spat. he had intended to be generally well-mannered, and perhaps accompany that with a hesitant sigh, as if being goaded into observing new virtues in their first flights, or chastising angels utilizing their free will for naughty things, reminding them that the punishment for insubordination was a station deep within the city of dis. but standing was getting unpleasant, and he was getting cranky due to the constant stale air and howling winds. no wonder this was a realm of torment— he barely knew how the sinners could bear constant tumult and chaos. though the muscles in his legs were constantly pulled taut in preparation for his various battles, he had been relying on his wings on more occasions than not to keep himself from touching the unholy ground of hell, and especially not the land of minos, who he was sure would have his head if he saw him taking brief refuge in his own kingdom.

as he politely relocated himself to the closest twin bed to the door, V2 was polite enough to stay in his field of vision, opening the bathroom door and flicking on the light. however they managed to manufacture fluorescent lights down here, he had no clue. but it certainly wasn’t out of place amongst the many other annoyances and irritations belonging to Lust. although, the constant flickering, the coolness of the light, and the way it cast stark, ugly shadows on V2’s warm red plating reminded him that it chose to make its home in Limbo before meeting him. the closeness of it to true virtue was like the strange odor of death he’d met during his few visits to earth. the wretchedness of those people, tainting something clean. familiarizing themselves with the warm feel of blood on their hands, so much so it ran from their faucets. “okay, question one. have you ever heard of twenty-one questions before?”

“if you are going to limit me, you should not waste the first question on something stupid.” he had not, in fact, heard of twenty-one questions before. well, he’d never learned its rules. in brief passages or feasts, angels would play games to get to know each other. he had never participated in these. feasts, yes. but he was usually occupied with heaven’s more laborious tasks and management— parties and such excessive displays were never appealing to him in comparison to the glory of his work as the Hand of God. he was off delivering the Lord’s good message, enforcing law in heaven on His behalf, or educating newly formed virtues on the benefits of their services as angels. there were much more important things to do; maybe he just never understood the necessity for such intimate socialization, especially because good things never seem to arise out of it. his humility and grace was performed in the virtuous mean, as all virtues ought to be. he was just and right with his time, giving it to those that deserved it more than him. he was kind to all, never hesitating to offer friendly advice or assistance with any sort of task, and always thoughtful and well-mannered. he did not need to overdo it. quite frankly, the indulgence of others often seemed like… attention-seeking.

Gabriel reached up to rub some dried blood out of the center of his cross. V2’s synthesized cackle reverberated against the stone walls as it reached for a small hole that had been made in the gaps between the cracked mirror in the wall. he saw it pull out a small tin box, painted white, with a crude red cross atop it. whoever had painted it clearly cared not for the artistic integrity of the work— masquerading as a medical box even though the designs peeking through poorly masked paint lines showed it had really been an old candle tin. he wanted to bet that if the machine shook it, it would produce the sweet music of rings and necklaces. petty, cheap trinkets given by lovers. what an utter joke.

"fine. forgive me for my transgressions.” it snarked, but Gabriel did not immediately chastise it, hoping the question would entertain him enough to momentarily forgive the godless creature. “question one. have you ever seen stars before?" the synthetic voice rang out, soft yet clear amongst the empty whooshes of wind between abandoned city streets. even though everything else surrounding them— from the smallest pebbles and ashes to the gargantuan corpse of the late king minos— was surely, evidently, completely dead, V2 managed to be… not dead. but not alive. it was not human. Gabriel almost thinks, there, that it sounded better that way. he could not attribute any worldly vocabulary to it. the music of its voice was something utterly unlike anything he’d ever heard.

Gabriel looked at its hands darting in and out of the box. clearly, it didn't think too much of the question, or else it'd be gazing up at Gabriel again or entering some interrogation mode, however it organized its behaviors. he had been observing it for quite some time now, but could never really be too sure. machines and their actions had always eluded him— especially this one. it had nobody left to look after. there were certainly no humans left alive, and Gabriel did not get injured as a human did. the husks would never let a machine so close, even in their utter stupidity and ignorance. and though he was not sure of the behavior of other machines, he was sure that they would see the proximity of another one of them as competition and engage in another spat, as they tended to do whenever V2 was near. clearly, authority came at a price much too steep.

"stars?"

"yes." it picked up a pill bottle with an orange cap. "stars." it appeared to study the label of the bottle, shook it, and then placed it back inside the box. it was clearly unhappy about the contents of the bottle, and briefly looked behind Gabriel to associate the husk with the medication before resuming its task, fingers of steel clattering against the thin edges of the box."if you need a definition, i am more than happy to provide it." the sass did not strike him as unpleasant. it struck him as…

"were you not being sarcastic?" … playful.

"if anything about my demeanor indicates sarcasm, i would like to know." it turned towards him, tilting its head as the top shutter of its optic came down. indeed, everything within its general composure indicated the fullest heights of mockery and diminishing of all of Gabriel’s good-naturedness, reducing his attempts at diplomacy to utter comedy.

"you make it difficult to tell." he grit his teeth.

"i cannot imagine any world where i would demean you in such a way."

at that innocent tone, he could feel the burning bile of rage coat his throat, and he had to be reminded of his righteousness by the hand grasping his heart at all times. he was an angel of the Lord— blessed and beloved by the father. the trickery of a machine would not injure him here, nor would it spur him to actions he was sure would end in more than the box being painted with red splatters. if it was playing with him, he would play along. it may get them both somewhere, to pretend as if they tolerate each other. he had sworn to it.

“i believed you knew. you seem to believe you own some wealth of knowledge on the rings of hell." despite the patience he had assured himself of, he could not prevent himself from letting a snide remark slip loose. his restraint had surely eroded in the Father’s absence— company with God would fix his shortcomings, tie tight the ends he’d laid loose.

"actually, i find myself being skeptical now, more often than not." his patience had paid off, clearly, despite his slip-up. again, superior over the machines. he could’ve let out a prideful laugh, had he not had the wisdom to hold his tongue.

"is this because you've been proven wrong?"

"only because i am trying to believe you.” that gentle remark from it earned Gabriel’s quiet reflection. again, circling back to its strange engagement in this behavior of questioning him— asking these… endless lines of questions, behaving strangely for the sake of behaving strangely, curiosity for the sake of imitating humankind, reaching too close to the stars. was it imitation now? it did not have a reason to search the medical box.

“are you?” his voice was much too soft. but if this was it being earnest and honest, it was certainly forward. he appreciated that. the only difficult part was he couldn’t tell what it was being earnest about.

“you’ve spent 4 of your questions.”

“i did not specifically use those questions for the game. only to clarify your questions.”

“i might forgive it, if you tell me what i am missing." it sounded… pleased.

"fine. i live amongst the stars." Gabriel responded with a laugh, shifting on the bed.

"so i have observed." it turned back to the box it had found, gently removing a compartment within (made of nothing other than an old sardine tin). the box was no bigger than the height of its own head, but had greater lengths and widths, such that it must have been stored upright in the cabinet. how such a thing did not fall out, even amongst the distant rumblings of minos (God bless them both.), he was left to ponder as it continued. “you are an angel, after all.”

"question one, then. have you?" Gabriel clicked his tongue.

"no. but it's in my training databases... information on the heavens. or… what i thought was information on the heavens.” it shook its head as, from its wings, it produced a white, plastic box, with a sticker of a red cross printed atop it. it looked far more professional than the shoddy art job. "where did you live?"

"amongst those in the primum mobile."

"the primum mobile..." it whirred. "i was unfamiliar." its insides ticked and its wings shone blue as it sorted through different sizes of bandages, steadying the white medical box with one green hand and using the more agile red hand to pull out the tiny paper flaps and hold them up to the fluorescent bathroom vanity light. god knows what the previous residents of this apartment were doing— the bathroom view was completely open to the bed, where Gabriel had a clear line of sight to the shower behind where it stood at the bathroom sink. something sinful. desire without any rationality. what was so attractive about showering? water, the cleansing liquid, the base element most necessary for survival, used for hygiene… red dripping down the drain… yes, cleansing. it was for cleansing. the flash of gold that its wings now took on distracted him. he would let it. he could not let his guard down against the machine. "i have familiarized myself now, but... there's no better knowledge than firsthand. secondhand will do. tell me about it."

"the primum mobile... where angels reside." Gabriel closed his eyes. "it is beautiful. the might of God moves it, and it moves everything else.”

“question two. nothing moves God?”

“correct.” he kept speaking, never registering that its wings now shone blue. “now, of course, the council resides there."

"question three. the council?" he wanted to chastise it for spending all of its questions so visibly, but he supposed it was vital information. he could forgive it.

"yes. the council." he spoke breathlessly. he hadn't even thought of the council since that object had beaten him into dust. he was supposed to report to them soon, and yet he'd been delaying that conference in search of catching up to it and ripping it to shreds faster than the council could catch him for. (the pit in his stomach that he shoved down was the undeniable fact that surely, news had spread to the council through the virtues that he had failed to stop one singular machine. to admit anything would be embarrassment and heresy, blaspheming to the highest of heavens, to the unmoving movers, of the status of his warriorship and the title bestowed upon him. he would be unworthy. moved. the unmoved). "in lieu of god's disappearance, some force has to step up and... well... move the universe. move the angels."

"i see." it seemed to understand. it was completely understandable that some force had to take over in God's disappearance— he didn't have a metric to compare it to, but at the very least, despite his endurance in the face of much, everything still spun. not as well as it used to, but nothing could match up to the grace of God. "question four. does God not suffice, or…?"

"heresy." he spat. he thought he heard a ‘my apologies, your dearest highness,’ but when he looked towards its face, he saw no indication that its movement had been stopped at all. only its ceaseless rifling. "no. God is, hmm..." he thought of how to say this with tact. he could not let loose too much information on heaven’s political affairs, but some knowledge of what had generally happened was necessary. the wretch would find one way or another to tear it out of him anyway. "the council has stepped in to act in the Lord's name."

"question five. are you not the will of God?"

right. he had so openly flaunted and flouted the title earlier. it seems that, occasionally, his battle partner did listen. expected of a machine that wanted to gain as much data possible on his weaknesses. pondering the weakness of heaven was surely a feast for its systems, metallic joints and fingers prying at the innermost depths of his vulnerabilities… all for something to use against him. what a cruel thing. "His will, yes, but not Him. none could truly represent His goodness and love for all of us." though… it’d been so long since he’d had someone to talk to about how the isolation within the heavens had affected him. in those days when the council had stepped up, he had pleaded and begged for the company of his old confidante minos… that who could observe the behavior of the system from the outside was prized. he was an angel, and lived within it— even he knew his view was deeply and gravely affected by remaining bound to the council for so long. but all of those thoughts stopped when he slew minos. then, he deserved no such confidante, and he knew minos would never face him again.

he thought briefly of how heaven had functioned in the face of God's disappearance. there was no force to be obedient to and choose to worship— the life of the angels that guarded the city of dis was not changed, but there was a certain comedy attributed to heaven’s certain situation that he never got close enough to hear before they shut down any of the chatter, fearful of his judgment. there was no chaos nor stress for his duties; no new decisions were made, as they had found a perfect enough system to be running on for centuries, no new messages would be produced, as their God took what Gabriel considered to be a 'hands-off' approach, and he would always continue to revere the work of the Lord, whether he was present or not. the hullabaloo must've been stronger elsewhere, but... Gabriel had always been loved by God and favored as His messenger. in terms of Gabriel's own busywork, He had always delegated His most important tasks and messages to him. there was no chaos for those unquestionably obedient and loyal to His will, trusting in His guidance. there was no chaos for those unquestionably obedient and loyal to the council. nothing ever happened.

"the council is... flawed, yes. but that is to be expected. none could surpass or meet His grace, it would be like—"

"—constructing another tower of babel." V2 finished. Gabriel leaned back on the bed, already having the story brought up in his head.

"impressive. for a machine."

"i've been studying." it said, much too casually.

that made Gabriel think. from his bout of staring at the floor, he looked up to it. the ransacked medical box differed strongly from its own, which it seemingly was in the process of restocking before it stopped. that wasn't what Gabriel was focused on, though.

it leaned against the doorway. its right hand clawed into the doorframe, splotches and flakes of paint catching beneath the blunt pads and tips of its fingers. its (rather green) left hand was set steadfast at picking out some loose wires that had gotten plugged into the wrong places during their journey through Lust. it almost seemed to sift through unyielding metal like it was sand, reaching for needles that Gabriel would surely never find in infinitely vast hay. its hips jutted outward as it looked down, getting familiar with its insides as it poked deep within for ports he would only be able to find with the tip of his pinky finger, nevertheless the danger of having it severed. uncomfortably so, he saw the movement of its abdomen and envied its hand for feeling the pulses that rippled through each fuel tube, for knowing the feeling of warm air rushing over each joint as it exhaled. it found a port, and something in its posture relaxed, like a taut wire had finally been relieved of load-bearing duties. like a life of violence had owed to a single beach-side vacation, all drinks and amenities included.

"you are staring.” it noted, like the implication was not serious. “question six. does my maintenance make you uncomfortable?"

Gabriel didn't know how to reply to that. he wasn’t even aware it was now looking directly at him, sunlight gazing through the kaleidoscope. prismatic shards of light made him realize how much his armor did not cover. it was like watching a car crash, or a forest fire. like watching the earthmovers collapse. like the great empyrean, with angels flitting about the petals of the universe to praise the goodness of their Lord and the divine creation. its fingers were seraphic. its spotlight gave way to the inner workings of the mechanism of its body. its body was art, soured by the will of its creators.

"no.” he swallowed his teeth, if he had any left after licking the sourness of whatever… new taste this was off of them. “no, it doesn’t. onto our questions—"

"—question seven. do you want to know what i find fascinating about you in return?"

Gabriel could identify this emotion in its voice— spite.

"you are undeniably fascinated by humans, their creations, and are sympathetic to anything living, but you deny it when it comes to machines."

Gabriel's jaw hung open in stunned silence, but he could not answer.

"i—"

"you adore art. you have a clear eye for aesthetics. observe your own dramatic behavior, for once. you just stared at my maintenance. you ‘oo’ and ‘ahh’ whenever i do something as simple as change the color of my wings." the left wing blades flared impressively, waxing red against the dull wall. he hated how his eyes were instantly drawn to its glass plumage. how he raced to interpret the colors. "you are fascinated by me and my makers. you think i am a work of true art, and handle me like one.”

"i do not—!” he nearly stood, motioned to anger by the ego of the machine, but only his hands followed, thrown up in exasperated anger as it continued.

“—i speak only so that you understand me.” it raised a hand in a stopping gesture. he loathed how his lips would not open, how his tongue would not move, how his throat was sandpaper dry and would never think to cooperate ever again. “i am not a denizen of hell. i am a machine. to you, evil. but i am not damned. i do not live in a state of eternity. eventually, my life will end. but for now, i am capable of change and influence. you are stuck in your ways. fortunately for both of us, i have learned so many new things since i have met you, angel, and that, i am grateful for."

"like— what?" in his humiliation, he could only let out a short plead for its answer, cheeks flaring as red as the glass of its wings.

all of its gentle manners disappeared in a brief glimpse of true repulsion. his own wings now cast blue tinged with the cement-gray of the walls. “that is your question two, by the way. you angels are ignorant to the ways of anyone but your own.”

they stayed silent. he could not hear V2’s gentle clicks and hums from across the room. humbled… by a machine. ego-checked by some thing in an apartment building in Lust

“... the sin of your makers was defying god. your only sin is hunger. Gluttony is not a terrible fate, you know.”

“thank you, angel. that is what i wanted to hear.”

"... question three. who built you?"

"many people. i had two technicians i most cherished. one was crass, the other was gentle. never crass with me, of course.”

“question four. you picked favorites?”

“of course i did. i used to be so spoiled… i would pick, or call them specifically. they both practically slept at the lab.” V2 paused, picking at a thin piece of tape that had stuck onto its finger before continuing. “many built me for the money… but there were few who held compassion as dear as craftsmanship. i most enjoyed the walks in the sun, or out to the garden. the crass one would want a cigarette. the gentle one did not smoke, but he sat anyway and talked to me while his companion paced.”

“they must have been good friends.”

V2 snickered. “likely more than friends. it is… nice. to watch people fall in love, i mean.”

Gabriel could actually agree on that. he was no longer familiar with the old traditions of courting between angels, now that they had been declared sinful and unusual by the council. but he did remember the days when angels still followed them. yes, watching two angels deadlocked in battle was quite amusing, especially when they would spit insults at each other.

“question five. do humans still do… courtly things?” Gabriel asked.

V2 shook its head, earning a sigh of disappointment. he remembered the days of watching troubadours compose pages upon pages of poetry for princesses that lived miles upon miles away. then again, that had to be back in the 1300s… it had been much too long since he’d observed earthen affairs, but then again, the eternal worship of his Lord was much more interesting than sitcom nonsense. “no. i believe they had reformed the practice so much that it necessitated a complete split. the new practice is known as flirting.”

“these two were flirting, then.”

“i’m assuming so. flirting behaviors can differ depending on the person and the context.”

“... i find that identification impressive.”

V2 hummed in inquiry, wings changing to blue.

“your predecessor can't talk, yet you have such a wide range of knowledge related to human socialization.”

"i was made to talk for humans that cannot do it as well as i can, as well as detain the ones that use other methods to resolve their conflicts." it let out a lofty huff of air akin to a haughty, prideful sigh, a lone white towel flapping against the gray wall as its chestplate puffed mere micrometers. "i am the intermediary force, of course. i have the capacity of speech able to translate every law, reconcile any language barrier. there is so much information hidden in how a given person communicates verbally alone, nevertheless nonverbally.”

Gabriel wants to say he admires its capacity for peace. he cannot say it, because outside, there is a looming, hulking husk destroying his own city, and Gabriel knows it is his fault that everything is happening. he cannot say he admires peace, because he knows war and only war. if he said he admired peace, he would belong in the second bolgia six layers beneath here, drowning in sewage and waste.

“question six. what kinds of behaviors did they frequently engage in, then?” Gabriel motioned for it to continue.

“i never would have expected an angel of the Lord to be so interested in human affairs.” V2 let out an audible click as it shut the ransacked medical box.

he sighed. “it is necessary to gather information on the communication styles of those that i am attempting to deliver messages of the Lord to. answer question six.”

“they would frequently seek to be alone or converse with each other. their pupils would dilate while looking at each other. they would brush against each other frequently. the crass one… one of the electrical engineers. he would frequently bring the gentle one, one of my programmers, meals from home. and the programmer would bring him cups of tea. they were the only ones the other would consult about any sort of project.” it explained. as it spoke, it gained fluid motion. it moved, pivoting from collecting the supplies it had accumulated in the long-dry sink to placing them within its plastic box. it no longer moved in rigid motion, as if to preserve fuel. the mere motion of its fingers wrapping around a bandage could’ve been a ballet in and of itself. as a result, Gabriel was sure he was hallucinating. “when they would stay through the nights, against my advice, every two hours they would go outside to see if they could see the stars. they would return and report to me that it was much too polluted to see anything, despite the steady work by streetcleaners.”

Gabriel hummed in contemplation. “question seven. what did you say the streetcleaners were used for again?”

“using flames was the most effective method devised to make the air breathable again. areas near collapsed earthmovers were locked down as the earthmovers were harvested for their blood, and the streetcleaners would catch thick waves of coal and smog that had been disturbed. anyway, they would keep going outside despite never seeing anything. i caught on that it was not just for recreation.”

“question eight. could you not assume that they were merely befriending each other?”

“question eight. do angels kiss platonically?”

at that, Gabriel shut his mouth. “point taken.”

“as i thought.” he would let it win, for now. but more curious matters came to mind. the more he learned, the more his curiosity grew. the more he got, the more he wanted. it was a game of avarice that he could no longer win or control. they both laid beneath the boulder, rolling along with it. it was no better than trying to flip from a prostrate position to supine when underneath the weight of the world.

"question nine. is that why you made your residence in Limbo?"

V2 stopped its rummaging and held still, as if tasting the air for remnants of its decisions. then, its wings showed a sickly shade of neon green as it stored the medkit back in the confines of its wings. Gabriel was quickly overcome with a surge of mindless guilt and rushed to apologize.

“my apologies if you did not want to recall anything related to that.”

"i ought to be the one apologizing.” its wings gave to a brilliant gold once more. for some reason, his stomach was the bearer of a black hole— some infinitely small object of undetectable size, but still infinitely massive and consuming everything in its path, weighing into a narrow, narrow pit. “i do not know why it took me so long to respond. anyway, on Limbo..." it turned its head away, looking into the broken mirror. "it was incredibly easy to fortify the palace by breaking it down to tactical positions. only the war machines would think of that, and not many did." it did not look at him like it was prone to do. were machines capable of lying? omitting the truth? purposeful deception— like any damned, sinful creature was tempted to do. defraud an angel of the lord as they spiraled towards hell. “but yes. i sought out locations that looked similar to those i trained with often, and was aesthetically pleasing to me. i figured the familiarity would ease me into a new way of living.”

“it is quite beautiful. you were not wrong in that regard. it is all of the benefits of an eternity of peace. it is a shame they miss out on the presence of the Lord, but… their goodness and virtue was plentiful. i often enjoyed my time there, you know…”

at that, V2 went wholly still. usually, in its longer rants, it would cycle from smooth to rigid motion, showcasing and displaying its articulate joints and then promptly switching to less engaging modes of motion. no matter how it decided to use its joints, it was still constantly moving. a deep pit settled in its stomach. “angel. question nine. what do you think of children?"

"question ten. why do you ask?"

V2 turned its gaze away completely. he thought he heard the sound of its shutters closing and opening again. "i want to know what happens to them when they die." its wings now resumed their green color, and Gabriel could swear that the wing blade previously containing its medkit twitched.

the air fell quiet between them. not even the clattering of bottles or medical supplies from V2’s obsessive organization and sorting disturbed them. though he was not much for engaging in social intricacies during social gatherings, nor getting particularly close to anyone, he was much familiar with the necessity of treating certain topics delicately. the instant switch in the color of its wings, its stillness despite favoring constant motion… surely, this was an open wound. it might have been reciprocating his feelings of vulnerability earlier as it chastised him by directly mimicking his behaviors, but this seemed much too real. despite his suspicions that it was false, Gabriel felt his sympathies naturally answer anyway.

"... they reside in Limbo. they are not punished for the virtue of innocence. they also did not have the will necessary to purposefully choose to obey God’s law, therefore any allegiance made no sense.”

V2 opened its optic and looked at Gabriel. eyeless, he looked back. its wings restored their Lustrous gold color, and Gabriel let a deep sigh of relief escape from under his helm and through the holes in his helmet.

"... thank you."

“it is my pleasure.”

V2 took the towel from off of the wall. although a thin layer of dust from nearby destruction had coated it in a shade of ash-gray, it deemed the towel suitable enough for cleaning and ran it underneath the faucet as Gabriel fixed the positioning and sitting of his armor on his body. apparently, he had stiffened, leading to the sharp gold tassels on his waist digging into his sides. as he shifted and freed them from their prisons of flesh, V2 finished wetting a small portion of the towel and began wiping down the mirror and countertop, aiming to leave the place better than as they started. there was never such calm silence between them as there was in heaven— paradise bustled with things to do constantly. errands to run for the Lord, angels to look after and guide on His righteous way, people to supervise and deliver His messages to, and lately, revolutions to put down like a dying and tired dog. it was a place of eternal calm in His presence, yes, and His love was with them always, but even within his own private quarters, the rushing of water or the playing of His hymnals or divine songs was near constant, constantly maddening.

“question eleven.” he spoke once more. “in your lifetime, have you seen stars?”

V2 contemplated the question for a few seconds, using the hook of its green arm to scratch a spot on the countertop where he guessed that scum or dirt had built up on the marble surface. “no. i have images of stars in my training data, but i have not physically seen stars myself.”

“question twelve. would you like to?”

V2 looked at him. “let me finish. i will meet you at whatever makeshift observatory you find.”

as it resumed its task of running water over the towel and wiping off the countertop and mirror in a circular motion, he stood, understanding his new given task. he looked behind him, past the makeshift burial for the rotted skeleton, and noted that the sky was quite visible where the furthest wall of the apartment had been caved in. perhaps his note of the window shards from earlier had been designed for some good after all. though he knew that the framework of the building was surely unstable, he supposed that they could both catch themselves if it managed to collapse if the test of him stepping and forcing his weight onto it did not fold the building like a house of cards. as the faucet ran once more, he walked over to the hole carved out of the far wall. it was no more than the width of his wingspan, which he measured by (of course) summoning his wings. as he stood, he recognized no immediate crumbling, shaking, or unsteadiness— so he took it upon himself to sit down and begin looking upon the landscape of Lust.

he had measured his merit through his good deeds to heaven on behalf of the Lord. he had given himself to every good cause, like a good man should, while still maintaining enough of himself such that he could reserve his virtue properly and evaluate those that were attempting to deceive him. Gabriel was not a selfish angel, and every deed he’d ever done, he was sure that the Lord had judged kindly of him and trusted wholly in him. so when he looked upon the gigantic, hulking corpse of minos stomping about, he did not understand where the burning pain in his neck came from. hotter than the tombs of heresy, it threatened to swallow him whole if he did not get it under control.

though he did not always agree with the council, he supposed they had been correct in saying that the sinners should continue with their eternal punishment— the state of hell and the sinners within was such that the choices they had made in their… 30? 50? usually 50 years, last he’d checked, of life would grant their soul the eternal status as it had chosen to live. souls were granted free will for a reason. right? to take away their free will would be…

… the last time one angel had questioned God had ended awfully. God was not here to answer His questions— he must obey with unquestioning obedience to gain His favor and admire His creation. and besides, needless to say, when he reminded himself of those facts… the question he had on free will was silly. there was no flaw with the system and how it was. the sinners merely did not understand the greatness of His design, and His infinite capacity of love for them. sometimes even Gabriel himself did not understand, it was so great. that was it.

the distant corpse of minos still did not ease his thoughts and predictions for the future. eventually, they would have to pass him in order to proceed back into Gluttony, and Gabriel was sure it would not be a peaceful passing. V2 had told him the first time that it had simply just passed minos by using some sort of shortcut, but Gabriel did not believe such a thing existed. for once, he had no apprehensions about taking down the husk if such a shortcut did not exist. Lust was collapsing due to the weight of the blood shed here; there was no use keeping it around if the citizens it was meant to destroy were dead already anyway. happily so, he would get his hands dirty, if it meant that V2's peace could be—

his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of glass being crushed into the floor behind him, and the clanking of metal. “i might have deceived you.”

“oh, really? i never would have predicted that.” he drawled sarcastically.

“my protocol for approaching immediate civilian safety in dangerous situations or negotiations dictates that i must inform the one i have deceived with the true conditions of their situation. such that if i need to tell a child that their mother is in the other room, after the danger is clear, i must tell them that their mother had passed away and i had deceived them to avoid shock.”

“defrauding an angel is a sin, machine.” he clicked his tongue as V2 sat to his right. the whirs of the cooling fans within its chassis became more audible as it sat closer. their thighs were a mere fingers-length apart, and V2 did not turn to look at him as it sat. it, instead, turned its head to look towards the stars.

“i know. that is why i will reveal the true conditions to you now: that was not really how you play twenty-one questions.”

they did not look at each other. Gabriel folded his hands in his lap to allow it more space. it kept looking up at the stars. internally, he was grateful the lie had not been anything else— or was that the feeling of it purposefully avoiding their obvious clear views of king minos?

“... how… do you play twenty-one questions?”

“you are supposed to mentally conjure an object. then, you get the other to ask questions to guess the object.”

Gabriel sighed. “that would be rather difficult to play in heaven.” he started a train of thought, trying to think of any possible way that would work amongst angels, but found it impossible.

“why so?”

“angels are capable of hearing each others’ thoughts. there are no secrets to be kept in heaven. it is easy to keep order or know when the other is having unholy thoughts or blaspheming. if nobody has anything to hide, there are no drawbacks. indeed, no angel has anything to hide from our good Lord.”

V2 adjusted its sitting position such that one leg was hiked up on the ledge. the left leg, closest to him, stayed put. “i believe there have been centuries of human discourse on the matter of surveillance. part of that ethical debate culminated in my creation. i think i can quote word for word the various arguments that refute your—” V2 let out a sharp hiss from its vents, and Gabriel’s golden tassels clinked against each other as a rush of searing hot air moved his little chimes. “nevermind. i am glad to hear you think heaven is an utter utopia.”

"you may not like how it is run, but… i am sure you would like some rings. you would like mars. it is quite pleasant there."

"mars..." again, it whirred and ticked. again, that whooshing sound emerged from the inside of its chest cavity. again, it deferred to him, planting its hands firmly behind it, like anchors grounding it to the seafloor. it leaned back on its arms, producing a provocative pose Gabriel did not turn his head to even entertain. "explain."

"it is the circle of heaven designated for those that die in the name of the Lord. those that were courageous in battle would find themselves there.”

"seems a little unlikely for me." it clicked at him.

“just because you clean up after yourself does not make you less valorant.” he meant to chide it, but it sounded more like reassuring comfort.

“i am not even sure of that. i was not made for much in the way of violence. in fact, i was built for more household duties.”

“were you?”

“on occasion. sometimes, they would integrate household chores into my patrolling routine while i was training to work in large homes or in a crowded indoors environment.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“i find that strange to ask.” V2 let out a puff of air that almost sounded like a sigh.

“why?”

“the question was never if i enjoyed it. it was if i was capable of doing it.”

Gabriel let that wash over him as he looked out towards the same sky it gazed at. as a result of the massive disturbance of minos, as well as the protective walls the citizens of Lust had built, the clouds had cleared just enough to be able to look out onto the purple expanse of the sky. towards where the dome of Lust peaked, the sky grew increasingly darker shades of twilight, and poor imitations of the constellations, as well as the approximate positions of the planets of heaven, could be seen in varying positions of the sky. though the stars and planets were much more accurate in Limbo, where the residents would be tormented by the near yet far proximity of the heavens, the planets were never meant to be seen here. the navy of the sky filtered with delicately placed brushstrokes into the purples and pinks more frequently seen within the skies of Lust.

"you would not be plagued with duties of upkeep... such is left to the angels. none are maimed that are not restored in heaven. all shall rest and remain in their eternal state of bliss, as their soul has chosen to obey the unquestionable law of God. you would live a peaceful life of reflection and honor, remembered for your valor."

it seemed to enjoy that answer. "can you see mars from here?"

"no. but look... there is cygnus." Gabriel pointed up, and V2's eye followed. cygnus and his wings stretched high above the clouds, forming the northern cross that Gabriel liked to look to while he was watching over this layer to remind himself of home. though he knew there was no such heaven here, the stars often mimicked their placements as up above, if not to further torment the sinners buffeted by winds when the stars peeked through the clouds.

"the swan."

"yes. the stars aligning with his wings are quite bright tonight… are you familiar with the myth?”

“yes, but my information may be incorrect.”

“for one, there are many associations with swans throughout greek mythology. orpheus, who turned towards eurydice, was turned into a swan after his demise. many characters who are named cygnus are often turned into swans— so much so it becomes a gag in certain tales. but for simplicity’s sake, i often think of the myth of phaethon.” Gabriel prattled on, eyes turned towards the sky, not recognizing the delicate clank that arose as the machine’s head rested gently on his right pauldron. “after phaethon’s demise whilst riding his father’s chariot, his lover, cygnus, dove many times into rushing waters to retrieve the pieces of his corpse in order to restore him for a proper burial.” nor did he realize that his right wing accordingly engulfed the smaller machine in brilliant blue feathers. “thus, after the burial had been completed, cygnus was turned into a swan as a result of his fervent devotion. and quite beautiful creatures, they are.”

"if not temperamental." V2 let out a grating noise that sounded like a chuckle.

“what is that meant to mean, machine?” he scoffed mockingly. he didn’t quite understand what it meant, but he did understand that it was meant as a joke towards him. a playful hit. yes, he was getting a hang of this whole… playful thing between them, he thought. he was trying to. he did not understand the joke, but he did understand that V2 was playing with him.

“as you wish it to be, angel.” V2 replied, earning more angrily muttered words from Gabriel. that seemed to amuse it. he did not understand why his heart surged when it showed amusement or joy.

he did understand that this was a brief moment of peace between them. even when he did notice his wing was shielding the machine, he was readily able to delude himself by believing that he was shielding it from the wind, though the wind had no impact on such a heavy being and there was, in fact, hardly even a breeze to cool them.

as they rested in silence, V2 spoke.

“i think you exceeded twenty-one questions. i would have to count.”

“irrelevant.” he grumbled, kicking one of his legs in utter mock anger.

thus, they sat, utterly agitating the other until they decided, eventually, inevitably, to move forward.

Part Three: Globalization

"The Archangel Gabriel is largely regarded to be the Messenger and Will of God, celebrated as a saint. Ambassadors, messengers, postal workers, clerics, diplomats, and any who carry a message of peace or importance are under his protection and patronage. Gabriel is also regarded as one of the five angels who keep watch over Paradise. He is also referred to as the 'Righteous Hand of God,' and 'Will of God.' His name, most literally interpreted, is the 'Strength of God.'

There is much to be said on the semantics of his name in relation to his role and the symbols he is associated with. In particular, Gabriel is said to be carrying a trumpet (see: The Last Judgment#Misconceptions) and lilies, as well as branches from Paradise itself. The 'olive branch,' as well as the lilies, are symbols of peace. The strength Gabriel wears in his name are no longer warning to fear Him, but to praise His goodness— the peace He grants the world despite His power and His capacity for great violence and change, as well as His allowance for good in the face of great and terrible evil. (CITATION: PLEASE get the bible thumpers off this page) As a result of the influence of the Final War, Gabriel has been depicted carrying spears or even swords in protection of those he deems worthy or guards with care.

Though the presence of the misconception on Gabriel's mistaken role as the fanfarer that will announce the Last Judgment persists, there is no doubt that Gabriel has significant role in announcing and carrying out the Will of God. Historically, art has depicted Gabriel as appearing more similar to human than as the more 'biblically accurate' or 'canon-compliant' (see: 21st century slang) (CITATION: INFORMAL WRITING) appearances of archangels, typically depicted in the intertestamental period of literature. Speculation on why this came to be mostly sums to Gabriel's role as a messenger of God and his speeches to prophets or those that have been chosen by God. Scholars and even popular literature note and associate him with the phrase 'Fear not,' commonly translated also as 'Be not afraid.'

Gabriel is also commonly depicted mourning the death of Mary, as the child he had announced had been lost to human violence and sin. The painting Funeral for the Blessed (1946) by Elizabeth Uriel (see: 20th century feminist artists, Criticisms of the Final War) is the most famous example of this interpretation, depicting Gabriel playing the American bugle call 'Taps' at the funeral of Mary. The title of the call is present on a piece of sheet music, as Gabriel is facing away from the viewer towards the closed casket. The Tree of Life is represented by a willow whose branches hang over the scene and its empty chairs, alluding to a scene in the Bible where a similar tree sprouts over Mary's burial site. The tree was later chopped down. A monument in the form of a cross persisted in its place until its removal in favor of expanding trench systems during the Final War. The outrage caused by the removal of the monument was noted to be the subject of inspiration for this painting by Uriel herself in an interview by The Time of Day in 1953, shortly before her imprisonment.

Gabriel's involvement with the mourning of Mary has earned him the occasional title of 'the protector of the lost,' or of those who have messages that are not heard, especially in reference to diplomacy efforts during the inception of the Final War and their failures (see: Diplomacy Act of 1918). Though Mary's status as a virgin— considering that Gabriel had only delivered news not that God had willed it, but that the child would fulfill the Will of God and cleanse the Earth— is disputed, it is widely aGreed upon that Gabriel was not attempting to deceive Mary, nor was she to him. It is only that God had observed the child would do great things had it been born, not necessarily that God had willed the presence of the child and a miracle was created (see: Unmoved mover#Criticism). The consensus on the role that this child would have played in the greater story of the Bible largely remains divided, as well as the supposed message behind her sudden death at the hands of thieves, perhaps indicating the height of sin that is to plague humanity and the coming death. Nevertheless, there has been discourse on his title as the 'Will of God,' seeing as—"

"machine?" V2's audials picked up on the whooshes of wind generated by what could've been nothing but the fluttering of gabriel's wings carrying him into the hellevator shaft.

"in here." V2 hurried to get something out as he closed the tab for articles he'd found on gabriel, swiftly filing the data away in mere milliseconds under the growing subdirectory where she'd stored audio files, text files, executables for related protocols, and otherwise about nothing but the angel that was her current charge.

gabriel entered the elevator, carrying a bucket of blood. V2 let out a puff of air in relief— its tank only had a couple of hours or so left in it when she had last checked, and it took gabriel 15 whole minutes to collect (and extract) what looked like an entire tankful of fuel.

“rejoice. i have retrieved a fresh meal for you.” he held up the bucket. "behold! the power of an—"

V2 cared not for his apparent glory in being able to retrieve fuel, instead opting to ask— "you can play the trumpet?"

gabriel scoffed, as if offended on two grounds: that V2 would even assume he couldn’t, and that he wasn’t getting praise for going out of his way to get food for her. despite his look as a humble soldier of god, his pride too frequently colluded with his temper to produce spiteful remarks towards the machine that he called his temporary ally. "yes." he spat, apparently peeved by V2's insolence.

"... i didn't know that." she turned back towards the terminal. her audials picked up on gabriel's angry rambling, but that wasn't what caught her attention. (she recorded it to listen to later.) as soon as she turned, the screen displayed something strange. rather than showing him an arsenal of possible weapons he could buy with the points he'd amassed, a single textbox had popped up.

"Want to know more? :)"

and beneath it, sat two 'choice' options: 'YES' or 'NO.'

he stared. no information came free— things didn't work like that. even he knew that the weapons that were supplied to him came at the cost of their entertainment. he reached up and tried to click the back button.

"Plug into the Cybergrind. See what he does."

'YES' or 'NO.' again. he beeped and whirred in annoyance, mumbling about the status of his undelivered nailgun. gaining points was only necessary to get weapons. he didn't engage in combat for fun, and not for anyone's entertainment, either. not even at a better chance for earning points. his focus was on speed, not style. catching up to V1 was imperative, and engaging senselessly in needless violence only likened him to his Greedy little predecessor.

"Don't throw a hissy fit about it. You'll get it soon."

"machine. what is taking so long?"

he could hear gabriel's exasperation as he neared the terminal.

outright murder was unlike gabriel. he was holier than those 'wretched machines,' (as she'd heard from under his breath as he struck down another machine right in front of her) wrinkling his nose up whenever he saw V2 engaged in the heat of battle, turning away whenever she picked bits of gore and viscera out of her stuck joints. as far as he could tell, gabriel was disgusted by its forced labor of battle, if not only to survive or to protect its charge. gabriel couldn't see that, and V2 would never tell him. if V2 didn't engage, gabriel would have to. that was the most wretched evil of all.

there were much worse things than betraying her hatred for violence. she could stand gabriel turning up his nose at her for a few hours, if not to delay the guilt on his conscience. but seeing the bucket made her HUD fill up with alerts— betraying base programming, internal whines and alarms, chiding and scolding her for not getting involved no matter how aware V2 herself was of the logic behind everything.

he thought the terminal had read "He went on a fetchquest for you. How cute. :)" before flashing back to its previous prompt. turning, he leaned over to inspect the contents of the bucket, opting now to ignore whatever the terminals said with a fiery passion.

"yes, it's blood." gabriel sighed.

a contradiction had arisen. gabriel didn't murder unless there were specific conditions. he pulled up a terminal in his HUD and switched to the subdirectory that he knew contained databases and trees he kept up diligently about gabriel. those always needed more entries.

just to extrapolate data.

nothing else.

while he did so, he deliberated the words he might use to clarify this contradiction that had arisen, following the decision tree down each branch. telling him the terms of his own moral code outright and asking about the terms of it might yield an aggressive response or annoy him. usually, V2 would be more than happy to annoy him, but this wouldn't be helpful to its goal of resolving the contradiction and getting information out of him it could store as useful data. remaining silent would help neither of them.

"where did you get the blood from?"

"other machines." right. it'd align with his goals (or, really, heaven's goals) of aiming to stop the invasion into hell. the alerts and alarms quieted and gradually closed themselves out as he updated the database and closed that, too. "is there an issue with that?"

"no." he didn't want it to seem like the efforts had been a waste. blood was blood, and anything would work when he was running on a 20% full tank. "do you have a funnel?"

"i brought what you asked for, if that's what you're referring to." V2 looked up once more and saw, in gabriel's other hand, a fuel tube with rivulets of fresh blood dripping on the ground and leaving a trail. other machines might be attracted by that— that'd be a problem.

she looked towards the base of the tube. flared. it'd serve as a good funnel. "good work. smart." she mumbled. "alright. this will only take a few minutes, then."

gabriel handed over the tube and bucket, the motion making fuel slosh against its sides. as he took the bucket, the algorithms maintaining his balance adjusted automatically to account for the new weight.

"thank you."

gabriel nodded.

"i'm going to keep watch. let me know if there are any problems."

she knew, implicitly, that the offer for help was shallow. it was to keep up some illusion of camaraderie between them, not necessarily to genuinely follow through on it. such words tended to confuse her more often than not— it was unreasonable to her, but reasonable to him. she understood he was in her care regardless of any illusory closeness. why he seemingly didn't know she would follow him to the depths of hell despite instance after instance of her throwing herself into the heat of battle so he could float in the air and pretend he was above it all completely eluded her. it was just as implicit as the meaning behind his niceties, wasn't it?

as gabriel floated off to watch the exit corridor into Lust, he shuttered his wings together and lowered them so that he'd be able to reach the fuel cap mounted on top of his wingpack, typing in a quick command to unlock the fuel panel manually as he set the bucket of fuel on the ground in front of him. during the new peace, specialized tags were implanted within machines to open the fuel panels and allow access into the fuel tank whenever they'd enter a refueling station, just so no external force (such as unruly humans) could reach the fuel cap and disable any machines on-duty. now, everything had to be done manually— a pain, but worth it, as his fuel cap was protected in the heat of battle.

he grabbed the tube as the fuel panel opened and the fuel cap raised to meet his right hand. as he unscrewed the fuel cap, he raised the narrow end of the tube over its head and prepared to push it into the tank.

as he pushed the fuel tube in, he absentmindedly recalled some issues his software engineers were trying to resolve later in his production. war machines were meant to use any foreign object possible to refuel as long as it contained blood, running into the occasional bug where machines with fuel tanks like V-2's would be found paralyzed over fuel tank errors after trying to stuff entire arms or legs into their tanks out of hunger, or bits of bone would block major lines like a clogged artery. this issue was resolved in the V-1 model, where stuffing itself with entire corpses was nearly encouraged as a method of refueling with the new plating, but the code was not erased. as the new peace machines did not have the absorbent plating, protocols were implemented to prevent foreign objects besides officially authorized dispensers from entering the tank unless manually overridden.

the issue, of course, was that under certain conditions, the V-2 model did not initiate a manual override before inserting the foreign object, for god knows whatever reason. he remembered hearing his programmers scold each other for 'force-pushing to delete 30k lines of code that they needed to fix before its release.'

therefore, when he inserted the fuel tube into his tank, his frame rumbled with the weight of the loud siren that poured from his chest. it stopped when he removed it, but the damage was done. gabriel turned to look at him, and the burn of shame prompted his cooling fans to spin a few revolutions more than before.

"do you need assistance?" gabriel asked, and for once, V2 was grateful for the social niceties that mercifully avoided the embarrassment he'd just undergone. (though, he would've expected gabriel to scold him for making so much noise.)

"... maybe."

he tagged gabriel as an 'authorized technician' after sifting around if-conditions for a workaround that wouldn't trigger the anti-tampering alarm. in the meantime, gabriel got situated behind her, moving the bucket so that he'd be able to pour it into the fuel tank through the funnel. he supposed the help wasn't that bad— he wouldn't have been able to do it on his own anyway, and it would've been much too tedious to figure out how to pour the fuel into the tube and then get the fuel into the tank from there with the height difference, and it wasn't like he could move much anyway.

"ready?" gabriel asked, and V2 nodded.

the weight of the tube rested on the rim of the fuel tank as gabriel fed the tube into the chamber between her wingpack. sensation stopped there— feeling the blood slosh around inside of her would be too distracting from her everyday duties.

"can you… feel it?" he asked, much too awkward and unfamiliar. V2 found his consideration much too endearing. of course he’d ask.

"can you feel the food in your stomach?"

"angels don't need to eat." he retorted. "we function only on the grace of the good Lord.”

 

“how could angels live in hell, then?”

 

gabriel paused. “we die in the dark. slowly. we lose our eyes and open orifices on the angelic body to keep in the light. the eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.”

 

V2 pondered on that as gabriel adjusted the equipment behind him. she had come to the conclusion that the virtues lost their eyes to symbolize the blindness of justice, or maybe to keep them from observing the suffering in hell, but as she thought of it, the information gabriel had been fed had to have come from a divine source. as soon as she went to ask exactly where, he continued—

 

“anyway, i'm assuming that question is supposed to be a 'no.'"

that's what V2 liked about him. he had these acutely strange answers.

"it is a no." the sending unit must've sensed the displacement caused by the tube, as the hours she was supposed to have left increased by one, even though gabriel hadn't poured any blood in. "i can feel up until the neck of the tank."

"... i guess that makes it easy, doesn't it?"

"why?"

gabriel didn't answer that. he spouted off a 'well, um... hmm...' and then picked up the bucket. V2 whirred in annoyance.

"tell me."

"i'm going to start pouring in the blood now."

"bastard." V2 cut out its vocals before gabriel could make the full word out, earning a tongue-click from the archangel.

"i couldn't hear that. was that a 'thank you for helping me refuel,' machine?"

he sighed as loudly as he could, eliciting a hiss from gabriel as hot air hit the angel's exposed stomach as he hovered behind crucial vents. the hot air that V2 emitted was quickly overblown by gabriel's wings getting far too annoyed that V2 had to take in air or even pretend to sigh.

"thank you, oh mighty gabriel—"

"ugh. read the book of revelations. chapter 19, verse 10."

the silence gave gabriel enough time to prepare to fuel his companion. he raised himself up higher to compensate for the length of the tube and, with one hand steadying the tube, poured the fuel into the funnel with the other.

"you made me look that up to tell me not to worship angels?"

"a well-deserved lesson. i'm..." he paused to pick his words. "... refueling you now."

"i know."

V2 turned his attention back towards the reading the sending unit gave back from his tank. steadily, and not from error or misreading, the hours he had left ticked up until they read '24 hours.' then, '34.' then, '40.' relief filled his circuits like a steady flood, so much so that he checked the pressure sensors within his tank to see if there were any leakages. he was built for overnight or long-term jobs, thus he was incredibly fuel-efficient and never wasted a drop on anything he shouldn’t.

gabriel had established a cycle. he’d raise the bucket, replenish the fuel within the tube, then set the bucket down and pinch the fuel line to make sure everything flowed smoothly. his method of extraction must not have been fully ideal then— if he had to stop so often to unclog the tube and get the clots of blood unstuck from the wall, she would eventually have to clean her fuel filters and that would be an awful ordeal to go through. he could tell whenever gabriel stopped to clean her up; by the clank of the bucket hitting the rusty metal floors of the hellevator.

the care he took was something that amused her greatly. despite his snappish, ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude, he’d gone as far as to quietly ask if V2 felt anything at all. the words ‘can you feel it?’ must’ve meant something outside of pure sensation. maybe even asking him if it hurt. he didn’t feel the blood gush into his fuel tank, but he saw the numbers ticking up on his HUD and felt the warmth of life spreading throughout his body, coursing through his fuel lines and letting him spread his fingers again. when he was low, his extremities locked up, and he stopped being able to feel minor touches.

“ah— machine…”

V2 let out a hum of curiosity. he did not turn, in fear of disrupting the process, but he could see gabriel’s reflection in the screen of the terminal.

“some blood has spilled… may i?”

“go ahead.”

now that his fuel tank neared 50% full, he could feel gabriel’s hand between where his wings were shuttered and his wingpack, and the motion of him gently wiping away trickling blood. as the percentage ticked up, he was vaguely able to discern where each of gabriel’s fingers went.

usually such proximity to his weapons would’ve set off alarms similar to the one V2 had accidentally set off when he put the tube into his fuel tank (he’d figured out the issue— it was because V-1’s programming still had lines of code that triggered the refuel bug, and obviously that carried over when they were repurposing it for V-2. therefore, V-2 was made to alert its users or technicians if it was placing foreign objects inside its fuel tank).

but… no alerts were triggered. there was no heaven-piercing whine, no siren, no noise. his hand wasn’t forcing, wasn’t grasping, wasn’t hurtful. his thumb rubbed circles against V2’s plating, and he hummed what she vaguely recognized as a hymnal. that was all. no harm, no hurt. it was almost addicting. he knew the dangers of gabriel having access to the few guns he stored in his wings, and he’d seen gabriel eyeing them in battle. he’d marked gabriel as an authorized technician. he could get as close as he wanted, and V2’s instincts would be completely blind to the consequences.

“you’re… warm.”

“yes.”

gabriel’s fingers were splayed across his supine torso plating. V2 thought of how quickly he’d chop his fingers off if he unfurled his wings. he also thought of the safety protocols he’d had to override just to fight for him— the same ones that prevented him from hurting civilians or technicians by expanding his wings.

“... excuse my… fascination, i…” he seemed to struggle for words. V2 felt cold air begin to trickle in through the gaps of gabriel’s hand and his plating. “let me finish. quickly. this is rude.”

“as long as you’d like. i don’t mind.” V2 gave permission, and thus, gabriel indulged. “it doesn’t bother me. you might as well learn if we are going to keep working together. i can show you how everything works. i have been handled in worse ways by… arguably worse technicians.”

gabriel chuckled. “the bar is low, then.”

“i was the prototype. more of a science fair project than a finished product.”

“you are certainly much too sophisticated for me to guess so. is all of you this warm?”

“my vents and internals are much warmer for obvious reasons. i like to maintain a stable temperature, though.”

“even your wings?”

at that, he unshuttered a single blade, the right upper blade out of the spread of eight. gabriel’s hand stayed put, but the pressure on the tips of his fingers increased.

“see for yourself.”

gabriel removed his hand from his back and promptly placed it on the base of the blade.

“i don’t know why i expected them to be sharper.” his thumb ran along the hilt of the blade, noting its warmth. to make the discussion between them much easier for gabriel, V2 locked its weapon supply.

“the previous model’s are. mine have blunted edges. if civilian fingers were trapped between them, the worst they would be was crushed, not severed.”

“good forethought on your designers’ part… it was artfully done.” gabriel mumbled, running his finger up the yellow blade. “they change colors, don’t they?”

“yes.” V2 grumbled.

gabriel must’ve misinterpreted his annoyance at his predictability, as he quickly let “i mean not to make an object out of you.” slip out. followed up by “i mean, you are just an object. a machine. my fascination for you is one of admiring a canvas. if i were to doom you to hell you would so clearly belong with those who are violent against god—”

“gabriel. quiet.” she hissed. “i know what you meant. it is a high compliment. thank you.”

he shut his mouth obediently. sometimes the use of force was necessary— the mere milliseconds she spent consulting the dialogue tree proved that.

“... they made you in their likeness. it reminds me of… how i was made. we are not similar—” pot, meet kettle— “but… it is… nice. you are like them, but not them. distinct. it is… artful. it is an artful difference. i have never seen anything like it. never seen anything recreated so well. you and i are, ah...”

it seems he was having trouble finding his words. V2 initiated dialogue that would be quite helpful—

“... gabriel.”

“hm?”

“revelations 19:10.” the bottom shutter of its optic came up in a gleeful grin.

“... you— wretch.” gabriel spat.

V2 snickered. it seems the job had been done. the shutters to his optic closed at 77%. he leaned back mere micrometers at 81%. gabriel welcomed his relaxation— it was rare to find such in this wasteland.

what he didn't expect was that gabriel would keep touching his wing. indeed, his hand kept at it, instead easing to the base of the blade and then retreating to the pack to gently scratch an itch V2 didn't know he had. V2 leaned against it when gabriel's thumb ran along the ridges and valleys rimming his fuel tank, trying to adjust to a spot that shouldn't have existed in the first place— a spot of not only total tranquility, but of ecstasy. of a satisfaction so deep that he didn't know he had it before but now knew he could never go without it again. he was broken, maybe. it was an attempt at getting the pressure sensors in his plating to calibrate properly after the foreign object had been inserted. somehow, even though he hadn't done anything to warrant it, gabriel's nails and finger pads on his wingpack gave him an absurd amount of positive feedback— likely old mechanisms unearthing themselves to reward him for following instructions, recognizing the gestures would normally be used by humans being affectionate with one another. the scratches on his back, though small, were from warm hands. warm hands giving him this strange heady feeling. coating his internals with warm, fresh blood. seeing a civilian run off after proper intervention and detaining of a criminal.

his entire body shuddered at gabriel running his hand between the blades. V2 barely understood why— only that he could not categorize this gesture, as it was specific only to them. only to gabriel. was it some strange angel behavior or custom he had not observed? he'd have to add it to his database, then. knowing (or, pretending to know) what it was didn't prevent his back inching to meet gabriel's hand.

gabriel didn’t ask if he was unstable or suffering something dire. he knew V2 was much more hardy than that, even if his base programming was much too temperamental at times. his fingers were warm, and V2 mourned every time they weren’t there. that was all. never so… respectfully had someone looked at him. a being such as an angel would have some ideas of artful creation. if V2 told him her creators made her to be similar in his likeness rather than their own, he’d throw a hissy fit. she kept her vocals gracefully off.

after a few minutes of silence, filled by gabriel’s humming echoing against the walls of the hellevator shaft, gabriel removed the tube after squeezing out the remaining fuel clumps into the tank. V2 itched to warn him of the dangers of topping off the tank, but opted not to. it wouldn’t help anyone’s case, and they needed to get moving, no matter what V2 wanted to do or how careful he wanted to be. it’s not like one time would cause penultimate dysfunction and internal meltdowns later. if anything, he would stutter temporarily, then move on. gabriel was learning quickly, all with his minimal interference and correction. that was all he was satisfied by.

once gabriel screwed the cap back on, she stood up and turned, unlocking her weapons supply. whether or not she wanted to indulge in the comfort of letting someone else handle her systems, they had to press on. no comfort was eternal.

the stars over Lust stayed gleaming over them as they made their way through the empty cities. V2 tried to step over the sentries he’d drained artfully, leaving behind the splatters of blood that painted the wall a horrible red.

Chapter Four: Respite of Reflection

the place made gabriel sick, if he was being honest. nausea swirled like his stomach was wine and his body was a cheap glass being held by a fraudulent wine connoisseur.

the castle stretched wide beyond the illusory plains of limbo, screens faintly reflecting foam brick and the tapestries formed from stained glass windows. it cast shadows on the land from projected light, looming far above the angel and his much shorter machine. nevertheless, despite his discomfort with the scenery, V2 had wanted to return here, and he was nothing if not eager to abide by its curiosities. besides, it didn't hurt to come back and attempt to survey the damage done by the other machine. it didn't mean it didn't make him any less ill seeing a corpse propped up in prayer against the wall, a blue skull sat atop the column of vertebrae.

"it's an unusual fate for a husk, from what i've seen."

he looked over. V2 was tilting its head at the skeleton on the ground, brilliant gold wings switching to a calming blue not unlike the digital skies of limbo. gabriel hovered slightly in the air, wings beating against the cotton carpeted ground and vinyl tile. from what he remembered, it had been poking around downstairs.

"... yes. they don't usually... decay like this. even the ferrymen still had animated bones, if not lacking flesh."

"i thought the ferrymen were kept alive by divine magic."

gabriel shook his head. "they are seldom terrible company, but that doesn't mean they are holy. only the cloth is. death is a mercy for any husk."

V2 beeped in satisfaction. gabriel had found its insatiable curiosity quite amusing— ever since they had backtracked all the way from greed to retrieve more firepower, it was either completely silent or questioning endlessly. he would've normally found this behavior annoying, but in the absence of anything else left to do, its questions forced him to reflect. from asking why that terrible demon from fraud plagued part of limbo's palace (he would never admit he chuckled when it called that thing the 'hideous mass') to questions of heaven, something about recounting stories to it passed the time far greater than their usual long walks in silence.

“did you find anything?”

it shook its head as gabriel crossed his arms. “no. the door with the tiles is stuck still. we may have to backtrack to open it. i have my suspicions for what to do.”

he gestured with his hand for it to keep going. it spoke dutifully of pressing tiles and fighting past rats or whatnot- words that blurred together. honestly, whatever it did outside of here wasn't his business. it couldn't worsen the sorry state of the layer more than its companions already had.

when it had finished, he nodded. “do as you must. i will be close behind you when you leave.”

"are you not coming with?"

contrary to his suspicions about it, it took a step forward.

"i have business here i must attend to on the behalf of all that is-"

"were you two close?"

"... you need not linger to supervise me." the words 'good friend' lingered on the tip of his tongue. perhaps a displacement— a freudian slip. "i said that i will catch up in a moment."

"so you were."

it wasn't dumb. he just wasn't thinking. then again, others would have certainly caught onto the social cue and left gabriel far alone. much too curious for its own good, he thought. flying far too close to the sun.

"yes. i... knew this sinner." he didn't, really. they acquainted themselves and spoke a few times. but like he said, much too curious for their own good, the entire lot who lived here was.

"did you descend frequently?"

"no. i was often much too busy to see many of them, but i would make time on occasion to ensure nothing was as it shouldn't be." he sighed.

he could hear metal squeaking and creaking. it grew closer— the whirring was more evident now.

"... forgive me for overstepping. you sound... regretful."

he wanted to scoff- it had more than overstepped by now, jumped halfway across the line to the sun, but the heaviness in his chest was far too great to bear alone by now. it wasn't like it would live long enough to tell anyone- like there was anyone left to tell. "the sinners... had some prophecy, or... hopes, i suppose." the words fell off his tongue before he could control what he was saying. he was locked in the castle— a confessional booth of his own accord, judgment left to something godless. "even those virtuous who attempted to follow the word of God were subjected to this ring of hell."

V2 shifted behind him. when he looked out of many, many eyes, he found that it was standing beside him. its right hand twitched, rudimentary and primitively desiring, just as it was constructed. his joints locked akin to its cruel snapping, biting flesh in half when finally forced shut.

"how?"

"it was no mistake of His. everything fits into His plan. they needed to know sin to appreciate the goodness of the Lord." his palms sweat with the weight of the pooled words. he thought of the heat searing his face in greed. "we would descend regularly to ensure these sinners were alright, check in on them... i must admit, my mind strayed briefly to at least taking them to purgatory, when that project was still in consideration."

V2 squinted. "what happened in purgatory, outside of human interpretation?"

it was reminded that V2 had not seen the grand mountains or verdant fields of the outer layers. mortals had prophesied the greatness of heaven for ages. little did they know, they would never see it. "the sinners would've ascended the mountain to heaven, guarded by only our most diligent and virtuous angels. they would've been weaned from their vices. it was a project undergone by the Lord, but... it never saw completion. it was deconstructed as soon as it had even begun to exist. God works in mysterious ways. everyday, i wonder what He saw... and why He disappeared so frequently after it was made. but i do not question Him, as He is perfect and just. loving, He was, to consider that humanity could be purged of sin. could follow His word devoutly as we angels could."

"... i see. why were these sinners taken, then?"

"they weren't. you see, the sins of those in limbo were that they had led relatively virtuous or good lives, but without true obedience to God or His word. hence its appearance. paradise without paradise. virtue without the guide of holiness. it is hollow and empty without the earned love of the Lord."

"shouldn't virtue without holiness be prized more than the alternative?"

"... explain."

"virtue without holiness is a natural purity of the soul. the word of God prompts a soul to act virtuously in fear of damnation. to act subserviently..." it cut itself off. neither of them had a place to say anything about subservience.

"one mistake of humanity is that they attempted to create their own virtues outside of His word for living well. some could not be entirely damned for this, as they simply had not been exposed to Him. also, not all those who act virtuously in His name fear God. most act virtuously in absolute love of the Lord. to act in His name is to recognize His power and stand subservient to Him. this is not to say virtue without holiness is inherently sin, and i admit my use of the word 'sin' and reference to them as 'sinners' is wrong. but a love for Him and dedication towards His word lead one to holiness— a dedication to Him will allow Him to cleanse those worthy of His love and purge them of impurity."

V2 squinted at gabriel's wording towards the love of God, but resumed the line of dialogue. "it's just... a next step."

"yes."

"i see. so?" V2 gestured for him to continue.

"where was i..." before V2 could respond, gabriel found it. "ah, yes. they had been exposed to God, but they were still much too guilty of the original sin, and it was the word of God that they could not enjoy the wonders of true paradise again had they thrown it away once already. discussions were hosted in palaces like these, or on the plains, where the greatest thinkers would gather and discuss. well... you place enough monkeys at a typewriter, and they will write shakespeare. talk of angels perhaps having the capacity to carry those to heaven spread, and... in their hopes, in their torment, they would have believed anything. no matter how terribly i wanted it to be true, there was no saving them. no divine absolution of sin." V2 listened as gabriel descended to the floor unknowingly. the words that had bound his mind in iron shackles melted and came undone— never before had anyone else witnessed the guilt and shame pent from his terrible relations. "i did, quite genuinely so, see what i could do, but... when heaven needed me, i disappeared from their lives in here."

“there was nothing you could’ve done, gabriel.” it murmured.

before his eyes, he saw himself seizing the machine by the throat and screaming until his voice went hoarse, all of the things he could've done— should’ve done. but in reality, he stood motionless, fists gripped in hatred, thousands of eyes fixated upon the skeleton's reverence. “i didn’t need to do anything. it was the will of God that they should be damned.” he was not an animal built of nothing but fury. the fury didn’t need to be redirected to the machine— no. it had not done anything to impact his situation. "despite knowing that… i can still see their eyes, sometimes... when i wake from restless, dreamless sleep. when i look onto the crowds of heaven, i..." he sees people wanting eternally without release. wanting the old ways. brought under fear. he sees people burning in the tombs of heresy. he sees his hands reaching into the ocean styx. he sees insurrectionists unable to accept the death of their leader, crushed under a terrible, cruel might. he sees the backs of those forced into the acid of gluttony, trodden upon by demons, angels, and passersby alike, consumed in agony. he sees minos' kind, peaceful face moments before a killing blow. he sees a skeleton knelt before an image of him.

how could they revere someone who had failed?

"... they don't have eyes, but i can see their hollowness nonetheless. no light at all. no hope. i had to remind myself that their torment was their hope. so many angels discarded that foolish idea, that the sinners could be saved. i cannot help but think that it was wasted grief.”

V2's whirring beside him was the only noise. unlike the rest of limbo, where birds chirping would emanate from speakers, and the talking of great philosophers would echo in the air, the castle had fallen silent, besides his grief. gabriel was stuck in thought anyway, and V2 seemingly did not wish to disturb him— even it recognized the necessity of quiet, where words would not always be able to calm one's soul. over time, gabriel sank to his knees— his left wing found its way around V2, and V2's right hand found its way to his back. his helmet clinked against the steel of its armor as he rested briefly against it, and it adjusted accordingly, embracing him with one hand as if letting him under a cloak. he mistook its warm hand for a human's. it made him want to weep.

"... your grief is testament to your goodness, gabriel." though it had the same voice, same volume, it felt like a whisper wrapping around tight jawbones. "you did not fail anyone. you are still good even if you could not save everyone."

it was brilliant. he could not be stupid about it for much longer. something with capacity for such splendid violence and bloodshed was as eloquent and comforting as those he sought comfort in in heaven. there was a safety net here, as long as he wanted to use it. human creation was brilliant. it was the only time he’d let himself think so. of all the things he’d witnessed, putting a hand on his shoulder and murmuring sweet words to him was the pinnacle of creation. to hell with it. whatever he'd imagined being wrapped in the arms of the Lord was like, this had to replace those relics immediately. even just a hand satiated him. one warm hand. one warm leg.

he did not expect such kind verbage out of the very machine that had told him they would have no relations outside of their crusades. and yet, it cradled him gently, shifting so his head rested against warm, thrumming, beating metal. he could hear precious fuel being pumped through vital tubes throughout its body, could hear electricity that would surely kill any regular human. but gabriel was no regular human. he was an angel. an archangel, mind anyone who forgot his supremacy. it struck immediately for his weak spot once it spotted how he'd lowered merely at being grounded by it. without realizing, he was lulled into steadfast security by an immovable object— or, rather, the unmoved mover.

he had planned and thought out countless operations, successfully judged billions of souls, put down the might of king sisyphus and king minos and carried out God's will in righteous action. but it was just that— God's will. and he was just an angel. made to serve and sing His highest praises. he had not known divine love in such a long time. merely brushing up against it again was enough for him to want to ingrain every syllable in his heart. he did not even know what had brought on such fervor from the depths of his soul— merely that he craved to ask if it thought he was still good despite the filth that colored him terribly.

“gabriel?”

his head edged up slightly, although no words would come out of his mouth.

"would you like some time alone?" V2 beeped softly. his ribcage ached thinking of the thoughtfulness that had gone into formulating a question that had a dichotomous response— to give him a choice. ‘yes or no.’ it was an act of mercy to that which had never had its own will. he did not have any thoughts as to how it was others' ingenuity that made it that way.

"... i'll be done quickly. there is no need to step outside."

the machine nodded and stayed planted firmly next to him.

he knew that when they got up, they would speak nothing of this fruitless endeavor. it was simply the machine's programming informing it on how to shelter what it probably processed as an injured enemy. that was all. (he had listened. he knew it wasn't built for war. he knew everything it had told him, recited and stuck to the walls of his throat.) he certainly wouldn't mention it. it would never speak of it. the metal beneath his helmet was not human. the metal beneath his helmet was no comfort nor warmth— it was just metal. metal and blood masquerading as human. and something masquerading could not love him. it was the heat of the sun, that was all. eventually, it would set.

the artificial moon streamed through and painted the canvas of his armor brilliant colors. the machine's right hand stroked his back comfortingly. usually, he'd chastise the sinners— the image they should have been serving was God's, not his own. but his visage was brilliantly rendered and refined in such dedicated and devoted craftsmanship that when looking at it, he could not fathom there was a night outside the window.

"thank you, V2."

it was like magic.

Part Five: A River in Limbo

Chapter One: Violence Against Others

rivulets of water ran in neat streams down V2's angular plating. its cherry-red only gleamed brighter under the gentle caress of the stream surrounding the palace of limbo. screened skies and clouds framed its sturdy, now battle-worn body as it showered itself in water. ripples flowed from where droplets descended, sliding right off of it. though it seemed it was still hydrophobic, its plating did not shine the same as it did before— where direct lighting would normally be met with glittering crimson stars, its exterior seemed to smudge against the digital backdrop of the sky and under the artificial sun.

he supposed that's what happened to all good things. if one stayed for too long in hell, it would... infect them. tarnish and ruin them. there was this crazy rumor circling the lower heavens that if an angel touched the floor of hell, they would cease being an angel at all. now, he'd touched its floors plenty of times— enough to know his radiance had not disappeared, but still, it did not help unhelpful rumors about the virtues that worked and oversaw the various layers.

it leaned down, cupped water in its present hand the best it could, and scooped the water up to run another handful down its body. he noticed it took care not to dump any directly near the exposed socket, rubbing nothing against its plating except sleek, (now) slick steel. a waterfall behind it supplied fresh, clear water to the shallow bank, and behind it laid a private, secluded area. he sat by the shore, running his coarse stone over the edge of splendor, honing it as he did. it was the same little block he'd used since he was gifted with these swords. by a miracle of the good Lord, blessed He is, it never once ran down and every time he used it, it would quickly restore itself. despite this, in the center, where he tended to use most, was a valley— and he knew it blunted the edge if he ran the sword straight and perpendicular to the stone, but the act of sharpening the sword was enough meditation that he tended to fall into a trance-like state. almost as if he was praying, honoring his swords by taking dutiful care of them. he sat kneeling on the grass, tickling his exposed shins as his armor sat beside him.

the wretch, V1 as V2 called it, stayed contently slaughtering all of lust— leaving them a brief moment of restoration in the grassy fields. wherever hell seemed to whim them, they went, and quite conveniently, it was never where V1 was. V2 had sought and found solace in some 'slab revolver,' as it called it. the brief period of separation disturbed him, but delivering the good news of the other slabs being pressed seemed to elate his traveling companion. in their separation, he could only be assured by the strict meeting time it had told him, and his constant prayer to the lord that it would make it back alright. despite both of them making it back 15 minutes early, he flitted about it wondering if it had suffered some terrible battle or dangerous encounter in his stead. luckily (and quite unfortunately for the fate of hell itself), not many husks seemed to be left in this layer, nor machines.

much of the blood seemed to be in the lower layers, and any machines here seemed to be more dedicated to battling other machines than paying attention to an angel. the ones with the little robes and skirts and oblong, rectangular heads— he thought the machine referred to them as maybe janitors— would stare in reverence for his purity, shortly before being struck down. they would mostly horde V2, as to which it'd brave the flames and gun them down, darting eclectically between them and silencing their beeps of protest as they were ruthlessly slaughtered. they seemed to have populated this layer most, over all others— the machine hypothesized it was because this world was most like the world they were supposed to restore, and thus they felt a connection to it. when it spoke of the machine world, gabriel listened like it was telling stories: V2 was a machine just like anyone else, but to gabriel, it was the machine, and thus others seemed lackluster in comparison. the pinnacle of creation, a bulky creature covered in gleaming red and caution tape. all others were just... machines. he did not care enough to tell the difference between them.

gabriel couldn't quite tell the difference between the regular revolver and the slab revolver except for the protruding barrel, and didn't know why such wretched tools for violence would be hiding in the upper circle of hell reserved specifically for those virtuous that did not love God, but nevertheless, he listened to it prattle on about the firing rate and its desire for more piercing shots. he had never fired a gun before, and was not going to find out. in its arsenal had also joined a nailgun. thus, gabriel had kept some sort of distance ever since. he had a terrible aversion to them. some religious allergy as a consequence of his moral goodness, holiness, and utter virtue. from its wings, it seemed to produce all sorts of shining weapons: the method of which they were stored was entirely elusive to gabriel, who was now staring directly at its golden wings, spread flush against the digital sky.

V2's shutters squinted at his staring. gabriel kept honing his blade, missing the edge and letting the stone fall and crush the delicate blades of grass beneath it. he nearly slid his fingers along the edge of the blade, had he not caught himself. not sharp enough.

"be careful with your weapons, gabriel." it warned, chiding him for his utter carelessness. as it turned, he could so clearly see the exposed arm socket— disconnected and frayed wires brushed against each other, occasionally creating hot sparks and smoke that would rise to the ceiling. from behind a knot, gabriel could see a fuel tube stuffed to the brim with the wretched substance that kept it 'alive.' it seemed to automatically adjust the lean of its body based on the lack of weight on one side, and if he could see inside its head, he was sure flurries of algorithms would be organizing the distribution of weight across its body for all sorts of different scenarios. somehow, seeing the exposed socket seemed... scandalous, to him. a display of blatant, vulgar weakness.

"why not cleanse that one as well?" he pointed clearly to the green arm, as it sat on the shore. the hook at the end of the string sat extended— from all of V2's explanation about its own arsenal, which gabriel listened dutifully to in case V2 turned on it later and he needed to fight it, it seemed the mechanism that would draw it back in after it was extended without weight on the other end needed to be reset. seeing it limply extended, lying dead on the ground seemed... wrong.

"it is too risky. it may short. the model is highly experimental." it closed its eye, now shaking its head in blatant disapproval for the consideration gabriel had made.

"could the same not be said about you?"

"no. unlike other prototypes, i am well-equipped for the water." it declared, despite the massive and gaping hole in its shoulder from its missing arm, and the smoke that emerged from within. V2 waded back in deeper, turning away from gabriel. the deepest depths of the river only seemed to graze V2's mid-thigh, wing blades dipping into the water. in and out, in rhythmic, oscillating motions– up and down, out and in, like a heart beating, waiting to serve their purpose again. he decided that sharpening splendor distracted was worse than not sharpening it at all. any mistake could cost him a finger, and he owed it to his swords to take care of them accordingly, should they serve him well in the future.

"so far as to seek it out?"

"it is the only way i can get clean again." it pointed to the stone, still sullied by the ground. "i do not have such specific materials to clean me as i used to."

"i thought you prided yourself on your adaptability." he scolded.

"i can fashion basic materials necessary for my maintenance." it reached down and cupped water in its single hand as it turned once more. "the things i would need for any sort of polish to handle any issues related to tarnish or corrosion are in the lower layers. and i cannot make much besides mechanical objects in this state." with the cupped water, it ran it over a spot of dried blood on its hip. "some sort of salve for humans, maybe. industrial-grade polish? no. not for my paint." it huffed, turning its chin up in horror at the mere suggestion that gabriel would consider anything else but the best for it.

"tarnish? corrosion?" he did not click his tongue, or approach with reproach and recourse. he believed it was unjust and unfair— for how much labor the machine had picked up, he ought to be somewhat thoughtful in turn. "are you really suffering so much?"

"not now, of course." crusted blood came away at its index as it scratched at the spot. "right now, i just want to look shiny."

he looked away, partially in shame for his mistake, partially to avert his gaze from such a sinner. "vain creature."

it clicked in the water, and everything went utterly silent from it. unusual— he expected some kind of retort or snarky reply. perhaps it'd spotted something and he'd get the joy of seeing it all puffed up, wings flaring red and screeching to alert its charge?

this was only somewhat the case, and he should've been proud to be half-correct. largely because as he looked up to observe, he saw that an incoming group of objects, some omnipresent, all-encompassing attacker was about to strike him— an assailant that had struck so quick, so swift in its hatred and fierceness, that he did not have any time to react whatsoever. despite the wax he'd just applied to his armor, all of it, including him, was now doused in water, and sopping wet.

he looked down to observe the state of his lower armor and loincloth. completely and utterly soaked. then, he looked back up at it, head partially turned to face him in that way that men lusted frequently after— the illusion of innocence under a deeply vile core, the whore of babylon possessing its spirit.

"my apologies." it dropped the top lid of its shutters. "i didn't realize you were so close. what a catastrophic oversight."

gabriel did not say anything. within him, a deeply annoyed fury was burning hot, and on this particular hour, V2 might have been said to be doomed.

he got up. he put his armor on slowly, piece by piece, letting every assured stroke of his hand result in some click of his various buckles and straps come together. V2 had turned to watch, feet now facing him rather than looking over its shoulder.

when he'd fully donned his chestplate, pauldrons, and gauntlets, along with his various sleeves and covers, he picked up justice and splendor.

"are you moving elsewhere?" it asked.

"no. i don't think so." gabriel spat, loathing seething through his words. to get so annoyed over something so little? it was lucky he would not do something so idiotic as to strike without his coverings. "machine, look over there!" he acted surprised and stanced up, pointing off in the direction of the entrance, as if there was another assailant.

and idiotically, it did, wings flickering blue as it grew curious and looked in the direction gabriel pointed. mostly because he knew it was always on its guard, but it would never expect gabriel to lunge at it. it pulled out a gun just as gabriel launched himself at it— with his hands, he pushed V2 into the river, summoning light as quickly as he could to cap its exposed arm socket. he wanted to annoy it, nor maim and kill it. as his hands connected with it and forced it under the rippling surface, its chassis vibrated with the wild whining and screeching of its alarm. its wings flickered red, and it turned its gaze back to him. a cold steel hand wrapped around the straps connecting his pauldron to his chestplate, and as soon as he thought he had the upper hand, he went tumbling right into the stream with it.

as soon as he made contact with the water, he anticipated the bottom and pushed himself off the floor, golden sleeves stiff against the movement. the pebbles bunched in unified individual motion against his force on the ground as he crushed the more delicate ones under a golden fist. he rose to the surface, the weight of his armor shoving him downward as he tried to resist. the first thing he laid eyes on was the machine grabbing for its arm socket, wings red and shutters completely invisible.

god, the noise— it whined at him now, looking from its arm socket to gabriel. "covered! i covered it! you're okay!—" he raised his hands in defense, accidentally splashing it again as its whine grew louder and eventually became coherent again.

it shouted, alarm quieting down but the whine reincarnating itself in its accusations against the mighty archangel gabriel. "complete overkill!" it pointed a steel finger directly at him, as to which he suddenly grew conscious of the fact that he was defending himself against the utterly idiotic machine.

"overkill?! you splashed me!" gabriel spat, shoving a finger in its face in turn.

"because you insulted me!" it waded closer just to point in his face as well. their fingers were now comically close to each other's faces, and no resolution to the actual conflict at hand was near. this is how the end of days was going— a machine and an angel arguing and pointing at each other in a completely peaceful, idyllic, non-paradise.

"insulted you?!" he scoffed. "i called you vain! you should be thankful!"

"i feel like all of the depictions of angels as joyous and playful creatures lied to me. you are joyless and cruel." it crossed its arms and huffed, bubbles rushing up from the submerged vents in its thighs and hips.

he sputtered. "over— over pushing you in the water?! oh come on, machine!" gabriel reached up to polish the cross on his helmet. so much for waxing— he'd have to redo it all. "you are lucky i am the will of God, as i need His infinite patience and love to try to understand whatever the hell is going on in that head of yours."

"God did not give you any honor?" it seethed, squinting at him and pulling itself tighter in its lone embrace.

a machine like it having honor? please. "honor? i'm sorry— are we forgetting your response to me rightfully—" he underscored that specific word with the bitter aftertaste of sea salt taffy— "yes, rightfully— calling you vain was to splash me?"

"the action of you calling me out on wanting to be clean and shiny is equally as annoying as being completely doused in cold water. i reciprocated your gesture." it sneered. waves lapped at their legs as they continued bickering. the waterfall continued to flow, and life continued to move.

"and denying my progress on waxing my armor? aren't you supposed to be a peacekeeper, machine? you should understand the benefits of not being petty."

"oh, please." its chassis rattled with its haughty sigh. "you put on your armor, grabbed your swords, and charged me because i sprinkled you."

an obvious heat came to his face. an electricity known as hate came to his spinal column and rushed up his back. "that was not petty! that was justified!" it foamed and bubbled out of him, spilling out of the breathing holes in his mask. like a rag had been pulled and tied tight over his mouth, he could only breathe his own spite and hatred— how much there was, exactly, was something he would never know. it populated and made up entire oceans within him, and from its source he was... unsure.

"and being a peacekeeper does not exclude me from using force, angel." it mocked, tilting its head back and forth as it exaggerated each separate syllable of the word 'angel.'

he laughed, if not out of exasperation. "peacekeeping? you have stirred up meaningless conflict in the name of your pettiness."

"if it is meaningless, and you know it is meaningless, then why do you continue to indulge me?"

"because i already have indulged you. you cannot see it." an argument that those who preached the gospel up in heaven would frequently use— those who would question the word of God simply did not understand it. such arguments, though he recognized their emptiness, still came to him. "i have rightfully cleansed you, as you desired. i am fully and wholly compliant with your whims, which i should not be, because it is indulgent of your vanity." he seethed, tongue clicking out each syllable like another slash of his sword. "you should be grateful.”

its voice synthesizing module went to generate a reply, growling and hissing in what could've been words, but was soon shorted and cut out. gabriel shifted his weight onto one leg.

"you want me to resolve this conflict? fine. let me come up with a solution. to appease you." it hissed angrily, putting its hands on its hips. "let me think... solution loading, beep boop..."

he threw up his hands once more and stormed up to the shore, steeling himself against the urge to curse it out in latin.

"for the sake of the Father—" he went to turn around, but—

"we will settle this matter with a duel, then." V2's words to resolve the conflict hung in the open air between them. a proposition to end their petty fighting. "i will let you set the winning conditions.”

he clicked his tongue as he turned to observe it, expecting words of apologies or another chalkboard-scraping laugh. no. it seemed to be completely serious about this endeavor. imagining all of the ways he would put it back into the resting place of its creators, he put his hands on his hips. "a— duel?” he laughed, if not in complete disbelief. “foolish machine... you have not solved our conflict, you have created a new one."

it raised a finger. “you specified that i started a meaningless conflict. here is meaningful conflict— to end our conflict." it began ticking up fingers to enumerate all the reasons it wanted to kick gabriel's shit in. "also, to practice skills frequently used in combat against an equally abled opponent, and to release stress. i need to fight something challenging. here you are, wanting to fight me.”

at the suggestion that they were of equal skill level, gabriel shifted his weight to the other leg and cocked his head, puffing his chest in the formation of a scoff that never came. he had no stress that would be relieved by any means other than catching the wretch and ridding himself of this aggravating, insignificant fuck. the motion was completely pointless otherwise, if not to get in practice or amuse it in hopes it’d be too busy sulking after losing that it would not approach him.

"you allowed me to create any winning conditions i would like? fine. here are the conditions. if i win, you will polish my armor. if you win, i will somehow conjure that polish you desire."

"somehow?" it scoffed at the uncertainty of the terms.

"the Lord works in mysterious ways." he waved his hand away.

it hissed and turned away, crossing its arms. "you have no polish, do you?"

"i can conjure polish!"

"and i still have my knuckleblaster." it snarled. "you cannot conjure polish. there are no miracles.”

he sighed. its stubbornness was getting them absolutely nowhere. it was still stuck halfway in the river refusing to yield. the current moved around it, waves shaping an oblong egg in the stream. bubbles rose to the surface and floated away carelessly, escaping from their fate of being trapped beneath strong metal pistons generating enough force to pulverize his hands.

he briefly thought. "we use... a specific polish for the chariots of heaven." gabriel mumbled, more thinking to himself than to the machine.

"you're going to polish me with car polish." it began stepping out of the stream, huffing at gabriel, releasing hot steam that ran up his shin guards even from his position on the bank. “do you not see how that is insulting? i am not a car. i am a highly sophisticated security machine with much more function than a car.”

"this is heavenly polish." he corrected it. "nothing like those... lackluster human creations." though he wasn't looking, V2 nodded imperceptibly. "we could do a sample—" he spoke aloud, gesturing with his hands as he turned and mumbled under his breath— "assuming i'm even going to have to use it."

its wings shone a violent red against the water, heretical reminders of its awful pride. requiring something to reduce it to humility and grace. yes, this would be an easy fight— though appearing rational and stubborn, V2 was still aggressive and haughty. if he got it to act on its impulse, he could quickly change the tides.

"... i won't wait for the sample." it spoke, hand twitching as it stepped out from the water, wrestling in desire to arrest so firmly and have under its orderly iron thumb. "give me a starting position. pick any spot in the room you would like.”

Chapter Two: Violence Against the Self

it stood 10 paces away, leering into his very being with a gaze he had never quite seen before and could not place, like it originated from somewhere else he did not know— not of heaven nor earth nor hell, but something entirely new to him. it was sharp, undeniably pointed directly at him, like its mere attention was a weapon to be used to intimidate and terrify him. such useless tactics from a machine.

he extended the arm holding justice, and pointed it out to it. then, he put it down, and extended instead the arm holding splendor. the point was aimed directly at V2's torso, right where a human heart would be.

it did not reply by extending a weapon in turn. no.

it extended its green arm outwards, not towards gabriel, but perpendicular to its body. it outstretched its palm upwards, towards heaven, then flipped it, such that its palm garnered honor from hell over heaven. in a slicing motion, it bisected its torso with its red arm, and... bowed. it bowed to him. green arm honoring that from whence it came and deserved to return to, and red arm honoring the moral values that guided it. every muscle braced for it to take off from that position and lunge towards him.

it stood upright once more, motion far too fluid to be robotic and mechanical. then, digging its heels into the ground, it rolled into a slide, and its wings shone garnet. he brandished splendor, preparing to meet it in its path straight towards him. yes, he had the perfect image in his mind of what it would do, having pondered and tossed over the moveset of that wretch endlessly in his mind upon tumultuous waves of thought. it would approach him to feed, and—

"fuck!—" he let slip, his back arching as a coin ricocheted square off the small of his back. if he was not busy getting his ass beat, he would've perhaps stood and asked for a few more demonstrations on the capabilities of the coin and how V2 had learned to do such a thing as purposefully target any weak spot he had with such a small projectile. he turned and sliced in the direction the coin had come. gabriel charged forward, the new green sunrise of its wings reflecting off his blade as he lunged forward. in a bloodied waltz, he took two steps forward, and it reciprocated by taking two steps back— a graze of its chestplate, a shot of its revolver. both bit, sending fiery shots of agony up his spine and into his mouth. when it tried unleashing its grappling hook to pull them closer, he caught the cord in midair, just before it could snag on his right pauldron. holding it, he tilted his head as if he was scolding a child.

"getting too hasty, are we, machine?"

it shook its head as he let it go and lunged forward, appearing to jab for its torso, but instead tricking it and taking a slice at its knees. this, it seemed even to foresee, likely because he'd pointed his blade downward even while faking it out. it leapt backward, wings flicking and turning yellow as it reached over its shoulder towards its upper wing blades. out from its arsenal came a familiar shotgun. he'd seen that one before— the machine would often flip a coin into the air, then pull out the shotgun and eject a small explosive into the coin. the explosive would hit the coin, and somehow, husks and machines alike that touched the blast radius were decimated, torn right to shreds before any blood could be harvested or shed from them. he had no idea how it reasoned that such destruction could be pulled from a coin, nor connect his knowledge of the divine mechanics of the universe to the coin being impossibly powerful, but nevertheless, he maintained his composure. it ejected a small explosive from the shotgun in his direction, aiming carefully for his chest.

he replied not by running and losing his composure, but instead hitting it with the blunt edge of justice, forcing it away from him and back towards V2 as it exploded, bright colors exploding in his vision as the firework went off. a fiery red emerged in the wake of the flames, trailed by bright orange-red wings.

V2 had... slid through the explosion, gleaming cherry plating now sullied by the ash and gunpowder that covered its body. steel screeched against the pebbles of the shoreline as it pursued him, but instead of running or backing away, he stood his ground, opting to try to shoo it away by summoning spears of light to cascade upon its desired destination. it seemed to think it wise to be cautious, as gabriel was now circled by eight ashen blue lights.

as they clashed once more in swords and gunfire, gabriel began trying to reason strategies. previously, he'd just been relying on his instinct and natural prowess for combat, reasoning methods of approach on the fly. that would normally work against any sort of angelic opponent, as many were much weaker than himself. but if he wanted to show it who truly was the best out of the two of them, he needed to think quicker than it— needed to think ahead, before it could devise a strategy of its own. and in the close quarters they seemed to be fighting in, it was only natural that the machine would be focusing most of its mental energy trying to avoid the barrage of spears or blades that came for it.

precisely because he was too busy thinking to pay attention, he did not realize V2 had broken out its nailgun and was shredding open his exposed abdomen with nails. more than just agony now, it transformed into a deep, searing pain, as if with every nail that embedded itself into his skin, his skin melted and dissolved into thin air. he cursed into the open air, using justice to knock the aim of its nailgun off and slicing open the wires connecting its forearm to the motor-sensory complex within its body. plasma rose in a beautiful arch across its body, and sparks flew as metal clashed with metal. its forearm fell limp, breaking unnaturally, as if quadruple-jointed— and the nailgun dropped with a heavy splash into the river.

but the brief rush of ecstasy and triumph at his victory did not last long. as soon as they had been severed, the machine used the articulate fingers of the green arm to reconnect the various wires. its forearm rose stiffly as V2 darted back from gabriel's continued assault— jabbing so V2 could follow it with a dart to the side, slicing so V2 could dart back. when its hand was fumbling under the heat of battle and the heat of the moment, gabriel raised the swords above his head in an X, intending fully to finish the fight off then and there.

but the swords never came down.

its forearm was stiff, but working and moving. it had fixed itself on the fly— and while it might have fumbled briefly, gabriel himself was so hasty for a victory that he left himself open and unguarded, putting his multiple eggs in the smallest basket that a blade of grass could make. once the green hand had its duties relieved of it, V2 used its rope to tie around the X and render gabriel incapable of moving his own swords. it yanked on the rope, and despite gabriel’s struggle, the pulley system it had made could resist against forces much greater than the ones it could generate alone. it pulled the swords out of his hands, catching him off guard, and pulled them to the ground. the benefit of being able to make calculations on the fly seemed to be much more obvious here— as if on choreographed strings, it dropped to the ground and picked up both justice and splendor, wings turning their signature splendid yellow as it held them.

with (actually) practiced anger, it threw the swords into the far wall; which he only knew because after it threw them, a loud cacophony of crackles, sparks, and screeching emerged from the screens that made up the digital sky of limbo. he held his hand out to will them back to him, mumbling something he could barely even remember in latin—

and found a fist delivered in a hooking motion to his helm.

alright. that was it. no more playing nice. his helmet was probably fucking dented, and it was all V2’s fault.

gabriel’s wings shone bright gold as his armor turned an inflamed, infected red. as he kicked it square the chest, right between the two light indicators on either side of its metal pectorals, he was sure it had mixed up the sounds for ‘wild, rabid animal screech alarm’ and ‘laughter—’ either that, or it emitted both of them at once, because he almost had to buckle over and cover his damned ears as the cacophony of noise arose from its chest. it stumbled backwards, and gabriel took this opportunity to so generously assist it by leaning forward and seizing it by the swivel. every muscle in his arm locked up as he lifted the damned thing into his hateful embrace, wings golden and triumphant as its were a horrible neon green, flashy and unpleasant to the eyes. for once, he could sense one clear, identifiable emotion in its eye— panic. fear. it had never been fearful before, not in front of gabriel. the weight of its body, as well as the size, was sheerly immense; surely much more than gabriel ever expected, but expected of an object its size. it screeched wildly, the hook it wore reaching up to scratch the gold plating on his hands. if V2 fought dirty, he supposed he was allowed to as well: and fight dirty he did.

“not so powerful are you now, machine— ow—” he hissed as V2 retaliated by digging its stiletto heel into his stomach, kicking in an arc thankfully avoiding any area beneath his loincloth. it dug and twisted into an area close to his belly button; one area could not identify by feeling alone, but knew it had pierced the skin. he shouted, shaking it in his hands as it kicked wildly, reaching up now with both hands, as if being strangled with no air. he tried holding it away from him, but realized he had to lean slightly forward to do so and still support the weight of its massive body. as he did, one knee falling in front of him, it stopped seizing. a cold pressure made itself evident as he tilted the camera atop its head up towards the sky, sneering in his triumph.

then, he collapsed on one knee into the river as one foot wrapped around his knee and pulled tight.

it dropped, splashing him as he stumbled backwards, standing up and dusting itself off. its wings grew red as it laughed once more, too busy reveling in its wit to realize the angel had gotten up completely and decided to charge it, yelling a— “i’ll fucking baptize you for that, machine!—” and colliding with its chest. they fell into the river together once more, rolling like wildly weighted dice trying to find the side to land on that would appease their owners before going back to clack around in some velour drawstring bag.

gabriel swallowed much freshwater— choking in it like he was bathing in the rivers of milk in heaven once more. every time it tried to grasp and reach for his neck, he would disturb its footing and roll it such that it was on the bottom. every time he tried to pin it and restrain it in his arms so he could force it into a surrendering position, it would use its various joints and the promise of injury to get him to falter, as to which he would find himself on the bottom again, manipulating its shoulders and faulty wiring to get back on top. they were locked in an endless cycle of superiority, angel and machine: an ouroboros of consumption of the self, not realizing they were one in their complete power. this was no longer some petty spar— gabriel realized absentmindedly as he found its hands wrapping around his neck once more— this was all out war without reason whatsoever, outright plain aggression and impolite behavior from both sides. V2, he supposed, was right in proposing the spar would get out unnecessary or unhealthy tensions between the two. as he swallowed more water, he realized he’d never been more hydrated since he’d gotten here. in fact, this was the first break in the fight he’d gotten when he wasn’t thinking about fighting it or what move to make next. he didn’t think about anything else. when its fingers were digging into its shoulders, or when he was thrashing and redirecting to gain an upper hand, he didn’t have any thoughts of the council’s treatments of him, nor could he do the mental gymnastics necessary to justify all of their actions— he was in danger, but the danger wasn’t real. V2 had every opportunity to blow his head off, as did he to decapitate it and render it useless and inanimate once more. the danger was there, but under its duress, he felt more in control of himself and his actions than he ever had in the course of centuries of rule under the council. V2 never expected anything from him without giving anything in turn, and at least in a fight, everything was reciprocal. if he kicked it, it would deliver a hook to his cheekbone. if he sliced, it would shoot. if he threw, it would throw back.

once gabriel made his way to a position where he could, he grabbed V2 by the waist and tossed it above him, hauling its ass onto the pebbles above him. he turned, getting on all fours on the shallow bank and scrambling to his feet. it scrambled up off its ass and rushed forward as he did— and now they caught each other. red and green met gold and black as they intertwined their fingers and struggled against each other.

“i hate you.” he hissed. “i hate you more than i’ve ever hated anything before. you irritate me. you are annoying, useless, you don’t— you don’t make any sense, you make me feel—” he was out of breath— for once. he’d never been so out of breath in a fight. his eyes were drawn to its golden plumage, so similar to his own now more than ever. if he was going to make any self-discovery today, apparently it was his capacity for hatred, if not for other assorted things— “strange. have i ever— have i ever told you that?” he gasped for air.

more suddenly than not, gabriel found himself staring into its devoid eye as they deadlocked completely, no longer circling and cycling beneath the waves. a deep rumbling emerged from within its chassis. its fingers interlocked with his own in a cruel embrace, and he knew that without the protection of his armor, it would’ve crushed his fingers ruthlessly and drank in the afterglow of his screams. he did not realize his own wings were no longer gold, but blue, when entertained with that mental prospect.

“the feeling is returned tenfold. i wish you would tell me more often.” it said, much too monotonously for his liking. he pushed forward, elbows jutting out towards the screens of limbo.

“oh, really?” he sneered, tongue dry in his throat. the feeling was mutual. his hatred was reciprocated— he did not know why his heart was suddenly so light, lost in the dance of flashing lights and blurring colors, allured forever by another flash or movement in the darkness it would never find its way out of.

“yes.” it said, too certain of itself as it braced its shoulders. “tell me more.” its cooling fans were going haywire under the excess stress, ticking faster than he believed was physically possible for its safety. it stared into his soul with a look he’d only found in other angels— devotion. he gazed back, face aching with a smile that nobody could see and he could not make. his heart smiled with pearl-white teeth stained to the core with blood and rot.

“i hate you.” he chuckled. “i hate you, i hate you— i fucking hate you—” he devolved into delusional, loud, breathless laughs, mumbling the words over and over again. an onlooker would’ve mistaken it for sobs.

“i hate you.” it repeated after him, holding his hands tight. as he found purchase against its embrace, he found no oppressive nor aggressive force waiting for him. he tried to thrust forward while it was distracted, but it was no use. against its weight, he began faltering with the extreme force it used to push against him— unstoppable force, meet (now) movable object. he scrambled to match its force, digging his heels into the pebbles. its wings flared an angry red, spreading wide against the blue skies and green grass behind it, as if offended by the mere thought that gabriel could beat its prowess in taking on much larger and unpredictable opponents. when he tried to focus in on his hearing to see if he could predict its next movements, gabriel heard the rushing of water. shit— he had his back to the waterfall. in no way would this end well.

“predictable, angel.”

“point made.” he chuckled.

“you make me wish now more than ever that i had the knuckleblaster back.”

"why?"

he moved again, this time managing to shove it slightly backwards, gaining purchase against the moving pebbles and finding steady ground to distribute his weight on. it snarled—

"i'd like to see your reaction to it. i wanna rip that little chestplate of yours to shreds.” its optic poked into his face. if it had teeth, he was sure they would be seething pure spittle and drool at the prospect of tearing gabriel apart. that thought made him falter as it neared him, showing him just how useless he truly was. such desire would typically be expressed in rapturous slurring or speaking in tongues— but its wants were straight-forward, as clear-cut as it was. “i want to see how much you really hate me. i want you to prove it.”

it'd never been called little before. gabriel, one of the more infamous angels, the deliverer of the Good News and mourner, had never had any bit of him demeaned in such a pointed manner, like a sword had been shoved right through his back. if it was a sinner, he'd brush off the comment as made in bad taste and wrath that ought to be repented for. but the twisting of its cold blade sent rapturous shivers up his spine, a cold dissonant thrill of... something he believed he'd lost, something holding him over the edge, something he might've had once but had given up, and now he didn’t even know why he gave it up if it was so damned wonderful— the thing only reached by hours upon hours of bone-chilling gospel, the hiss of live music coming to its peak, reaching up his spine and pulling up his neck and fully bathing in the feeling of what he could only describe as the product of the purest drug, as—

the rope of the grappling hook dug into his neck, the edge of the arrowhead so near to his carotid artery. warm blood trickled down his chestplate as the cord pulled tight. V2 tried to force gabriel onto his knees once more, but only having practice with smaller husks, its procedure was quite unreliable. against the force it exerted, gabriel stood tall, struggling as the hook cut deeper. he only got closer— nowhere near the kind of submission it desired. instead, gabriel leveraged the cord around his neck to spin them parallel to the waterfall, keeping at the forefront of his mind the importance of tactical positions and maintaining the high ground to distract himself from the flurry of sensation that had whirled him off his guard. he abandoned the idea of fighting with his swords now that they were stuck in the wall, sure that they were conducting a current so strong he would not want to be part of any circuit formed, lest he turn into a fried angel. he opened his hands and found a spear waiting within. the spear fell in an arc towards the hook, as to which V2 quickly retracted it to avoid injuring its beloved arm. it backed up, picking up the nailgun that had been forgotten in the river and attempting to fight him back.

but gabriel was no longer fighting on logic. in their embrace, he’d found a ruthless, reckless abandon he would never be able to retrieve again. a heady flavor rested on his tongue as he rushed forward to meet the bite of the nails, dual-wielding spears to meet it with everything he had. they clashed in a barrage of blows, V2 acquiring scratches on its plating and gabriel finally finding a dent made in his armor, pierced by the nails. in the sanctuary of limbo, the nails were as cleansing as the water, penetrating him and making him pure again— reaching down to his bones that had stored all of those repressed sins, all of those repressed possibilities. they redeemed him through his pain, suffering equating to his cleanliness in ways he never could’ve imagined. he wanted to kneel before it, beg for a nail to the skull, right in the heart of the cross. he hadn't been fighting before. now, he wasn't sure who should be destroyed first— him, or the machine.

he rushed forward, and V2 whined, wing blade caught in the crossfire of gabriel’s spear. its wings flickered green as it ran to the waterfall in the center, wading through the water and launching itself into the enclosed space. it wanted a challenge? fine.

“coward!” he shouted. he would follow, if not to practice fighting off an ambush. “damned heretic coward! get back here!”

he pushed his feet off against the ground, using his wings to propel himself into the dank chamber behind the waterfall. if he went further, he would be able to surprise it— perhaps collide right with it.

he entered the small, cramped space. once, perhaps, someone had lived here, or found solace here. humans reading books or texts behind curtains, or children playing hide and go seek. water dripped off his armor as he stepped into the room. the possibility of innocence far outweighed the possibility of danger in his mind as he sought the same solace— because truly, the peaceful world he'd known had just been mentally turned upside-down, and any sort of break from it would be terrific.

but he found no such haven. he found nothing waiting for him except the bright reflection of blue across the far wall. it was too late. he’d let his hopeless sin get ahold of him again before he could refrain and immediately repent—

he turned. his wrists met each other as it tackled him, arms wrapping around his midsection as it brought him down, column collapsed. his chestplate hit the floor with a loud clank, scratching against the floor as a red hand wrenched his helmet upwards by the chin. now, he faced the machine, optic staring into the cross on his helmet.

“got you.”

Chapter Three: Violence Against God

the water fell behind them in a rushing motion, a neon blue curtain secluding them from the world. the falseness of the water had camouflaged perfectly with its damned wings— he should’ve remembered, he’d been stupidly distracted by them for the entire sparring session. V2's wings, splayed profanely above them, shone gold throughout the chamber. each blade was articulated in perfect form, vivisecting the air and illuminating the foam stones around them with its perfect, beautiful brilliance. gabriel thought he was looking at another angel, or perhaps returning to heaven.

"yield." it commanded. the weight of it straddling his stomach forced a weak cry out of him as he attempted to move— his wrists rubbed raw against one another, forearms shoved uselessly to the side as it fully detained him and restricted any thought or micrometer of motion. he squirmed, but any resistance was ultimately futile to its unyielding, unmoving will. it occupied every inch of space in his mind, removed any threat of the outside world. the waterfall became silent, clearly unmatched by the weight of its words echoing and rattling in his head. yield. yield. yield. every part of him burned now to succumb to its will, but he forced himself to resist its temptation. he was a chaste soldier of the Lord— why was he thinking about his chastity?—

"never—" he hissed, "useless machine—" he laughed as air was forced out of his mouth. the sun in its visor sat above him, blinding him with its light as it let out a hot hiss of air in annoyance. he was frustrating it— if he continued, it would be off its guard, and he could get his obvious upper hand back.

"angel. i am giving you the chance." it pressed the slab revolver to the underside of his chin, nerves frying alive as he was exposed to its electric heat. "you are injured. this match is over. resisting arrest is futile," it reminded him, bearing down on him and firmly holding him. strangely enough, besides the revolver on his chin, there was no obvious hurt or ache anywhere. it was not doing this to harm him. when he moved, it would move with him, still enforcing its will without any harm. a benevolent ruler. gabriel could see his blue wings battling the oppressive gold in the beautiful waking light of their battle. sweat ran down his exposed stomach, met by its warm, wide legs locking him firmly in place. it was glittering in their light, water dripping down from tackling him through the waterfall. he was stupidly arrested by the sight of it so superior over him. "gabriel."

"machine—" he sighed out, holding his breath as its revolver inched closer to his flesh. somewhere in his conscious mind, he repeated the verses of the Lord’s good word that would reassure him and prevent him from indulging in want without desire. it didn’t matter as long as the thoughts didn’t take shape outside of his head, right?— but he’d still be motivated to do sin, he’d enter a gateway— it was wrong to keep walking this path, but he inched closer to its trigger while struggling and his nerves nearly fried him out of his trance-like stupor.

its finger squeezed lightly on the trigger, balancing thin the line between sparing his life and showing him what pure nothingness was. "you authorized me to use force."

"i—" he tried to claw at the words in his throat, but found nothing come out except his stupid stammering and eagerness to please. he couldn't tell if he wanted to run or play deeper into the webs it deployed around him, be the willing test dummy for new tactics and techniques. he was immensely jealous of the water droplets falling on the floor, as at the very least, they got to fall and meet their final fate. he was left teetering on the edge of something he had never quite had a name for, held over a cliff whose contents he could not name but knew would swallow him whole if given the chance. his tongue curled around the wicked words, but would never make them form.

"surrender."

that was it— the pinnacle of the cheap carnival they put on for each other for amusement. "i yield," he exhaled, the words leaving his mouth as quickly as they came to him. though relief immediately came with the negative reward of the revolver being removed, there was no release from this feeling that plagued him. the dull clank of his helm hitting the cave floor reverberated like his knees to the floor of heaven's grandest cathedrals. despite the comfort of the audio memory, this turmoil within him did not ease. it sat above him still. the grappling hook's grip was removed, yet his wrists stayed obediently still as he heaved in and out for air. he didn't realize how dizzy he was— he wasn't paying attention.

it dismounted him, swinging a leg over his drawn ones and taking care to not catch his loincloth in the complex joints of its legs. he filled his lungs with new, fresh air, and the taste of copper ran down his tongue. not for any particular reason, but only because it was the closest scent he could recognize on its armor, and he had been drinking it in for minutes at this point.

the fight didn't even last long— it had been only a few minutes, and he was already useless on the floor, needing an hour on his knees in a chapel or cathedral to recuperate his loss of psychic discipline.

"what...?"

he questioned it, trying to cover his open wound. the gash from the grappling hook stayed, and he hadn't realized how sticky the area beneath his chestplate was until he'd been trapped beneath it, sweating in his armor, an iron maiden that swaddled him in steel.

"hungry?" he snarled.

"no. let me see it."

it reached down to one of its wings, the top left blade moving to meet its hand. gabriel shook his head.

"i am not letting you feed off of me." he scooted back on his elbows. "that was not in our conditions."

... but instead of procuring a weapon, or some sort of jug, it pulled out the medkit he had seen in their earlier stops in lust. "i did not intend to harm you. i can clean and treat it, or you can do it yourself."

his eyes followed its hand as it set the medkit on the ground. "the bruises i can feel forming on my back say otherwise." he grumbled.

“shut up.” it opened the medkit. “me or you?”

he inhaled. he exhaled. he looked down to his hands— trembling, ropes so clearly cutting off any bit of circulation he might have hoped to have.

“you. i can’t…” he swallowed. “see it.”

it nodded, taking a packet out of the medkit and ripping it open. the sharp stench of sterile alcohol filled the air. “take off your chestplate.”

he sat up, focusing his hands on each individual button and strap as he fed the tails of the belts through the buckles as it prepared its materials. the chestplate hit the floor with a dull clank, and it scooted forward beside him, showing him first the alcohol wipe and then applying it to his skin. he jumped with an agony unlike even the searing flames of heresy within the tombs of heretics— yet he said nothing, acutely aware that it was observing his response most carefully, seeing as its optic was trained on him while it made circular motions to wipe away the blood.

“you’re the victor. why offer to take care of me?” he laughed.

“it is polite.” it tilted its head, as if bouncing upon the tumultuous waves of the ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “mostly. and i really did not intend to treat you as harshly as i did. it’s good sportsmanship.”

“so you do care much about sportsmanship…”

“did you question it?” it tilted its head, focusing once more on getting the bits of blood now beginning to clot and crust on his chest.

“when i first met you. i thought the notion was obscene— a machine caring about sportsmanship, or good practice.”

it picked up a dry pad of cotton with its other hand from a thick bundle in one of the rightmost compartments of the box.

“do you take back those words?”

“only for you, i can allow it.” he chuckled. “i thought you played quite dirty, at times.”

“the idea of kicking in your leg was completely original, by the way.” it let out a puff of hot air.

“i’m relieved.” he droned.

“you weren’t exactly the cleanest, either.” it alternated between wet and dry wipes, occasionally switching out either in order to make sure they stayed clean.

“i started clean, though.” he held up one finger. “i was only forced in my usually uncompromising hand by you.”

they sat in silence a little while longer. the water rushed behind V2 and in front of gabriel. he would be able to monitor the presence of splendor and justice from here, seeing as they always returned to him eventually. in due time, he would have to go back out to that room and fix up the screens that they had ruined, or kneel and wash his blood off of the pebbles. they would have to clean up, perform proper reparations… and then leave and set off back towards gluttony, hopefully progressing to the later layers after that. the water fell in cascades, steps almost, as it was released by a pump and teased over the edge of the waterfall, hung by a curtain rod as it plummeted, uncontrolled by any object that interrupted it. if he was to try to catch the water in a bucket, it would be part of many drops to overflow anyway, if not wholly evading the fallible grasp of the bucket. it would be part of the river eventually, one that would only serve to wash his feet and nothing more.

“i thought angels weren’t supposed to lie.” it spoke as it retired back to its position, kneeling over the medkit. it checked over its collection of bandages, occasionally checking back in with gabriel to compare the sizes of each packaged bandaid to the wound. most were inadequate, some would work, but only one would be right.

“we have free will, and thus can choose to sin or choose a wicked path if we desire. it is not like we are bound wholly by the rule of God. only that it is the most righteous to follow.” the words were beginning to rub his teeth wrong, leaving a thick film over his tongue rather than reassuring him. “why do you ask?”

“you lied when you said you hated me.”

his throat grew dry, and he was briefly considering telling V2 that he would require more serious medical attention and care.

“i— i don’t…” he squeezed his fists. “i still don’t remember what came over me when i said that.” all he could remember was a warmth running over his fists, as if he wanted to plunge them deep within the meat of its chest and wear the metal scrapes he got on his way out like a badge of honor. he remembered no release, no promise of breaking the shackles that he bore happily. he remembered heady ecstasy in his mouth, and looseness in his jaw. he remembered no problems, no conflicts— only V2 in front of him, and how much he loathed it, and how much he could not say what it was exactly he loathed about it, just that he was stating clearly that he hated it. extremely dignified, gabriel. “i have to apologize for misleading you, then.”

it paused in its search and looked directly at him for reasons he could not even remotely begin to understand. then, it lifted the final bandage to his neck— a little too big, but right enough to cover it.

“i know it was a lie. i don’t blame you.”

satisfied, it took the bandage out of the wrapping and placed it on his neck. it sat just right, curving where his skin did to accommodate for the motion of his head on a swivel.

“i was lying too.”

before he could say anything in return, it shut the medkit abruptly and stuffed it back into its wings. its wings now shone blue, right upper wing blade twitching as it looked at gabriel.

“come on. where is my car polish?”

“i thought you said you didn’t want to be polished.”

“i changed my mind. making you struggle is remarkably fun. summon the polish.”

he groaned, reaching up to polish the cross on his own forehead with his thumb. “go collect a tin or jar and fill it with water for me. i’m going to perform a miracle.”

“those don’t happen.” it said, fetching an empty jar from the medkit, completely in disbelief but still obeying anyway. likely morbidly curious, gabriel reasoned.

once he was given the jar, water spilling onto his fingers as he took it in close, he mumbled something just barely akin to a prayer to use the miracles of God to cleanse a soldier of the Lord, and then held it out for V2 to observe the divine magic he’d just worked on water; not even ordinary water, but worse. the water of hell.

“... nothing happened.” the top lid of its shutter dropped as it stared at gabriel. “is this what you meant by ‘angels have free will to lie?’”

gabriel sighed. a demonstration would be much more helpful for its mind to understand. he set the jar on the ground and dipped two fingers inside. he took V2’s leg in his dry hand, then, with his fingers, rubbed a small amount of water on its shin. he procured a microfiber pad from his skirt, exceedingly useful for shining his swords or polishing his own armor.

“and you can see, there is no way that anything could possibly be on the cloth, because you have dunked me into the water more than enough times to adequately cleanse me.” he spoke through grit teeth, through bitter plaque.

it nodded, although its top shutter still halved the moon of its eye.

he rubbed the cloth into the plate composing its shin. the dirt and grime was washed away by the transubstantiated polish, leaving a bright gleam in its wake as gabriel showed V2 the results of his miracle and his labor. V2 looked upon its shining shin, then looked to gabriel, then looked back at its shin.

normally, someone who witnessed such a divine miracle, even other angels, would be amazed. they would fall to their feet and immediately convert, now convinced of the power of the Lord to perform heavenly acts and services to those deserving. many had lost their mind upon receiving messages from gabriel himself, so to have a divine miracle performed in front of it should’ve been an honor reserved for the most high, most holy, most understanding— the most precious and powerful of those minds amongst humanity.

but V2 was not human. “is that not just how it looks when you wash it with water?”

“oh, for the sake of the Father—”

Part Six: Enemy of my Enemy

its brilliant red gleamed desperately in the sun, shine searing his vision with the glare of the sun. chipped paint turned gold under the embrace of the light, rays forming a halo over its steadfast position on a temple high over the dunes of greed. terrible, terrible greed. and gabriel could only watch it survey its surroundings helplessly as he grew dizzy from the heat of the eternal sunshine of the layer. the expanse of the desert stretched infinitesimally from the tiny speck they briefly possessed, eternal sunshine clubbing them violently. he didn't want to know how hot the machine's outer shell was, but it didn't seem to raise any concern or even bother.

perhaps its creators had been kind enough to endow it with the ability to stand such heat, but as for gabriel, he was getting sick of idling in one place. he dearly awaited the next layer— yes, the spray of water would cool them down greatly, and the machine could keep up on the unsteady ground using the little
grappling hook it'd fashioned itself. it'd be able to find more parts from the machines he'd seen reported by the virtues to now reside on that level... perhaps something fitting of the old mechanisms of the knuckleblaster that had threatened to rip his breastplate to shreds, cut clean through holy metal and throw him up to the upper rings of the heavens.

it might be too wieldly for it. the arm had a heftiness to it, and the machine had already noted a weight imbalance with the hook. too much weight on one side might throw off calibrations in battle, and... it would be one less ally in his war against the machines, he supposed. their allyship would've been cut short. he supposed he should ask, now that he's
planning their route in his head.

"would you prefer to have your arm back?"

"excuse me?" it faced him, as if to say 'what else do you think we're doing here, asshole?' its wings twitched, opting for a curious blue rather than a standard shining gold. the light in its optic, a bulb in its center, though pinning with a piercing gaze in its scope, though hateful, wrapped him in a warmth he hadn't felt since before god went missing. since before god's light was stripped from him, leaving him cold and heavy and hateful. its light was... brilliant. the culmination of human genius and marketing to manipulate their own kind, prey on their lack of feelings of security, prey on their willingness to show violence over others despite their peace. he saw it too often in the angels, and god knows minos' words haunted him— heaven fell to the same violence they damned those sinners for, damned sisyphus for, damned those in the garden for. was he not made for such a cycle? was he not perpetuating it? was he not a cog? not a cheap piece to be tossed whenever something terrible happened? but the difference between them was that it was absolutely beautiful. he couldn't see himself falling from the grace of god, but this thing had already fallen. it was already waiting. already assuring him there was something left after the fall. still standing tall over the dunes when its purpose was missing— still standing tall with chipped paint and a mismatched arm. assured in its security in violence. keeping the peace. its chest puffed in the pride of a people that knew it was going to plant and sow and reap the rewards for its violence in fear— a fear of power, a fear of losing power, of gaining power. blood was life. red was its shell, the brilliance of life, life and its cruelty, arming its protectors. the cold scrutiny of intention, of behavior, of nodes weighted to tell it whether or not something could kill or maim members of its precious humanity, unaware it was continuing a cycle far beyond it.

it made him dizzy, yes. made him sick. sick with connection to this loathsome, heretic thing. unspeakable object— humanity thought they could make their own life, go against the will of god, ruining this perfect object with their greedy desires. its creation reflected that of angels, but in making it, they'd ruined its visage. made in their image, made in god's image. derivative of derivatives. cheap imitations of a god that was missing. unwanted desires left from a humanity that had burnt itself off the face of the earth with their beautiful, horrible curiosity. with their awful desires. with their awful longing, and awful urges. it was beautiful. it was a strict disciple to the will bestowed upon it. what was it protecting?

whose dirty work was he doing?

"i was thinking about what i'm going to do when i strike that machine down. i suppose i could... spare that part for you. if you wanted. make an exception."

it sat in contemplative silence. this one, easily, though dedicated and ironclad in its appearance and will, brazen and impulsive and headstrong, championing its desire and its will— contemplated. thought. dreamed. for a second, he believed it could do so. everyday, he seemed to be slipping further into this belief it could actually think. the next second, he snapped out of it. likely a simulation of thinking to make it appear human. (did it desire to be so close to them? did it have their feelings? their thoughts?)

"i thought fraternizing with the enemy was grave enough of a sin for you." ('why would you help me?' gabriel heard. he didn't know. he didn't want to know. it didn't benefit him in the slightest. in return for accompanying him halfway across hell, maybe. in return for the light in its eye, maybe.)

"are you questioning the will of god?"

"indeed. forgive me for such heresy." its wings shone bright red. curious that they did, as they were not engaged in combat. (gabriel almost wanted to think it was an adaptation from whatever socializing it had undergone to communicate tone with civilians in the absence of its expression. but then again,) the top lid of its visor came down in such blatant mockery of an apology that he almost wanted to roll eyes they would not see back into his own skull. fortunately, he was patient. he was virtuous. he was benevolent and merciful, and not particularly desiring at all to rip the wires connecting its head to its chest out. he questioned such usage of tech— to keep soot and rocks out of its eye, maybe? "you have no reason to return to me after this mission is over. when i have killed the prototype, our reasons for alliance will be nil. null. nothing." it crossed its arms.

he stilled. the world stopped when it stopped 'speaking.' it was right. gabriel's world stopped. thin beads of sweat ran down the rivulets of his bodysuit. how he hated this layer— the beating of his wings would normally keep him cool— had he ever been so hot in his armor before? he didn't want to know. to think of knowing anything made his mouth dry. (to think of returning to it returning to the armor returning to the ground to his knees using his own sword to disarm him using his own blade and sheathing it for him writhing as a crimson red heel generated enough force to dent his holy armor to tear into his skin to drink to use to know his purpose to know his purpose to know) he didn't realize how tight he was clenching his fists until he let them go. it looked at him. he looked to it.

"gabriel?"

"fine. it's fine. alright. when we cross that bridge... we'll burn it."

what a stupid fucking thing to say. when it came out of his mouth, it made no sense. but it sounded brilliant. the machine didn't question it.

"... affirmative. let's keep moving." its wings returned to reflecting the gold of the desert. the spread blended into the sand and brick surrounding them, bleeding into the environment.

its glow stayed on his skin long past it averting its gaze from his shameful form. he didn't want to know how many hours were left. it walked away. he followed, never letting his boots touch the deathly hot sand, but feeling its warmth radiating from below. threatening to sear him.

he could've stared into the sun forever. its brilliance was terribly indulgent.

greed.

what an awful sin.

Part Seven: Cirque du Soleil

V2's optic lit the room up.

As the circular door slid open, gears running along the cool stone walls turned clockwise and counterclockwise flush against the wall, connecting to the blinds on the opposite side of the circular room. Venetian slits opened, letting the bright sun on due east illuminate the room far better than the little torch it clutched could. What a mockery. They lit the inner rooms and tombs of the pyramids with torches, passing along gifts of cruel hubris and pride, prometheus rolling and clanking his shackles together atop his rock as the eagle went in to chew his liver out. He wondered if the eagle had identified which spots would make prometheus twitch less, which spots would leave him gasping for air, which spots would settle him and make its meal easiest to achieve without struggle.

V2 extinguished the flame it held captive and looked about the room. The laid limestone and other granite bricks were smothered in the horrible yellow sand that plagued the land of Greed. Even the murals carved into the walls had their Lustrous paint faded by its awful reach— he silently mourned his beautiful visage erased from the expanse of brick. Though human creations were limited, they were, at times, ingenious, as they had been preserved by a perfectly temperature-controlled environment and barely any dust sat atop the endless array of human possessions. Rows and columns of furniture were arranged and organized neatly (likely by virtues, the only creatures diligent yet temperamental enough to care about the organization of furniture) by structure, type, and color. V2’s brief survey implied the existence of a database stored somewhere inside the writhing, wiry mass of its body— just as diligent, just as temperamental. Except V2 did not care for his approval, nor follow his every waking word.

He briefly uncrossed his arms to give an open-palmed gesture towards the vault. “You have full permission. Go forth.”

The distinct un-virtue-like (unvirtuous?) behavior was proven by V2’s shifting of weight onto one leg (its right, his left) and crossing its arms in some vague sassy gesture, complete with the dropping of the top shutter of its optic. “Inform me of our purpose of being here. I have many other things to do.”

“You may find something useful here.”

That feigned reassurance did not lighten its harsh gaze; the gold markings inlaid and carved over his skin burned with its disapproval. It stared as he walked forward, headstrong and immovable no matter how mighty Gabriel was. It did not fear him, nor heed his word as holy and superior, though it did respect him as an equal. A creature of words, it would not be convinced by any means of his radiance and persuasion— it wielded them as carefully as he did. He would have to appeal to its sense of reason.

“... Do you know anything about this layer?” His arms folded yet again, and V2 shook its head. “Very well then. Let me enlighten you.” He turned towards it in a flourish. his chest puffed with brief pride (curse prometheus) as he observed its eye stuck on the gentle, sky-blue glow of his wings. It made eye contact with him, much too aware of the condescending nature of his words, and his chest deflated only by mere micrometers. "Within this hall are possessions seized by those hoarders of wealth. We intended to reuse them in case the boulders they pushed eroded over time... or use them as motivation, both to fuel the hatred of the prodigal and to torment the avaricious. As far as I remember, this one stored furniture and other decorations."

“There were two?”

“Two what?”

“Two classes of sinners.”

“Oh.” He hummed shortly. “Yes. You know of avarice and prodigality, don’t you?”

“Affirmative. Inform me of their punishment.”

“Ah…” Gabriel searched through his memory to try to recall. “The prodigal and avaricious would push boulders up those monuments in this eternal desert, scorched by the ever-present sun.”

They began walking. In the middle stood a monument towering over much of the room— as he remembered, a tomb inlaid with gold of a general that had died in some great and terrible war. Whichever war it was, Gabriel had forgotten. Humanity seemed to have so many that it eventually tripped over itself and died.

“Interesting. Dante got it slightly wrong, then.” V2 remarked.

“Dante?”

“Dante Alighieri. Thirteenth to fourteenth century Italian poet and philosopher. He wrote an allegorical account of his descent into hell and ascent into heaven titled Commedia, or The Divine Comedy."

“Well, yes.” He guided them down the center aisle towards the tower. V2 did not walk behind him, already sure in its movements. It chose to walk beside him. The towers seemed to shorten as they passed, sinking into the ground in some deep and terrible shame for their origins. The value of the possessions seemed to increase closer to the blinds and closer to the centers. He could see from his hovering spot that outside of the monument, trails and tracks that were once laid too deep into the ground for even the most steady not to stumble over were brushed over with the divine paintbrush of the winds, missing forever. It was as if nobody had ever suffered there. “Mortals have been wrong about such complex things for centuries. long before your existence. It is natural. They cannot comprehend the genius of God’s design.” Despite this comment, bile and scorn stuck to the back of his throat, leftover from the vomit he’d tasted when he got his assignment as the Judge of Hell. No angel wanted to be near God’s little… experiment. not even God.

Though, on brief missions to hell, he would occasionally descend out of curiosity to the layer of Greed. He remembered, once, seeing two twin paths alongside each other. He would return in the minutes-long nights to observe them. Though the sinners would eventually diverge in their paths, circling around their respective monuments before mounting them, they would eventually return alongside each other. When he caught them speaking, they would speak quiet insults to the other. Then, something changed. They began asking questions on the lives of the other, growing curious on the reasons for their indulgence or lack thereof. A strange pang in his chest arose when he saw that mere hours after they were separated by the virtues surveilling that layer, their paths were brushed over and swept away again. The sinners in Greed were monitored much more closely after that.

“Anyway, that aside, hatred was their motivation. Each believed the other had caused their punishment, thus they scorned each other and prevented their menial work from becoming meaningful. mostly, it kept them from banding together.”

as they passed, he pointed to a collection of ornate chests adorned and carved in gold on wood covered in varying colors of velvet— the most popular being green and purple. various scenes from the bible were decorated or painted on the fronts and lids of the chests. all of the chests contained hair in various colors and thicknesses, organized by length and depth of sin. those whose sins were much more grave (measured by the people they affected) would carry heavier weights. “when hell was less… populated—” his lip curled— “we would shave the clergy and leave them to dry further in the sun. the avaricious would have their hands bound in gold, and the heads of the prodigals would be shaved.”

he remembered seeing the prodigal one pass a twine necklace to the other. tied to it was a single lock of hair. he remembered seeing the avaricious one making him place it around his neck. he remembered seeing the prodigal press a kiss to the back of his neck as he did.

their abilities to use their mouths were unnecessary for their task, and thus they were taken away by usage of little masks that made them all look like pests. their hands were also resigned to their boulders specifically. if it could be used in any other way besides carrying out their eternal punishments, it was immediately restricted.

“why bind their hands?” V2 asked, looking where gabriel was— outside, towards the paths. in the distance, a set of pyramids loomed over the desert, the most insurmountable of the various monuments; many would collapse while attempting to peak it. those who had fallen would still be drawn up to its peaks in a trance-like state, as if nothing else existed in the world but the impossibility of that beautiful point of the pyramid. it was hypnotic to observe, if not greatly cruel— but gabriel was much too wise to say anything against God’s good word. He was their merciful, glorious maker.

“the avaricious here would hold tightly onto their money, thus they grasped tightly onto nothing.” he remembered seeing twine buried in the sand. “the prodigals would spend even to the hairs atop their head.” he remembered the tiny act of defiance in taking apart one’s clothes just to make something to give away. if the act of love was any bit redeeming, two hands reaching for the other across the desert would have earned them a ticket to heaven. but damnation was permanent. and once the blood welled on their hands from the blisters earned pushing boulders, they could not rid themselves of the stains of sin. “it was… fitting, almost. the late king sisyphus had where his eyes ought to have been bound and blinded in gold, as he saw opportunity and power everywhere.”

it mumbled something and turned away. he was going to speak— perhaps scold it for its impoliteness and rudeness to an angel of the lord— but its wings spread in a display that reminded him of one of those cats trying to puff itself up to look larger and more scary. he would’ve chuckled in endearment, had the gesture not made him place a hand on splendor.

“what do you—”

“requesting permission to secure the premises.” it only reverted to such language when something was terribly wrong or it was kidding around with him. ‘mission mode,’ he’d resorted to calling it quite drily in his head. it reminded him of his own language when he commanded armies down here. he didn’t remember much of that— only chopping the head of sisyphus and returning. he had gratitude bestowed upon him, and the paperwork he’d done upon returning was filled out in beautiful script, but that was it. it was like he observed himself committing these actions, reassuring that quiet observer that this was for the Lord, for the order of heaven.

gabriel scoffed, but his hand stayed on the hilt of his sword. “this vault was secured after the insurrection.” though, he did wonder why half of the possessions were missing— sections in seemingly random patterns had large chunks taken out of them, as if they didn’t exist at all. the insurrectionists took no pride in retrieving their previous possessions nor those they had envied or sought after— half abstained gleefully, half swore off for their honor. the radiance of their leader had, at the very least, taught the damned good temperance. “though… sections are missing.”

“cause for concern was already identified. that’s redundant.”

the scattered things that were left in the empty sections were all machine parts and empty glass cases. due to his excellent deductive reasoning ability and general good-naturedness and favor with God (as His brightest angel and His will), he was able to somewhat correctly identify that whatever thief had been here had targeted anything technology-related. the only reason why he’d know whatever was in the glass cases was, of course, angel gossip. virtues would sort the possessions and, being so naive, would spread the word of whatever silly things humanity was obsessed with hoarding to other virtues, who would tell their supervisors. the word would inevitably get to heaven, where those who watched human affairs more closely would interpret them. eventually, this gossip would spread to gabriel, who would sigh and pass it off as silly and unworthy of valuable time, but he still lent an ear to his fellow angels who were caught up in the throes of human trifles and poor decisions.

he began prattling on. “these things are—”

but when he turned to the side to face the machine, V2 was nowhere to be found.

“machine?—”

he turned around. V2 was gone. V2 was nowhere he could find it. V2 was missing.

“machine!—”

normally, this would not be a problem. instead of doing anything particularly normal, such as wandering idly and admiring the possessions mankind once had, the machine had apparently decided that randomly disappearing should join its list of peculiar habits. but the machine never went behind him, nor was it keen on leaving his side ever. it always had a clear line of sight of him, herding him wherever it pleased to whatever destination it saw fit like some ill-tempered, neurotic border collie.

when he shouted once more for it, a loud whine emerged from one of the further aisles. its siren had activated to help him locate it, it seemed. either that, or alert him that something was terribly wrong.

he darted to the main aisle. he turned to look behind him and in front, but there were no signs of any sort of trouble.

“damned machine! get back here!” he barked, launching himself into the air in an attempt to get sight of it (and also maybe create distance from whatever threat it saw).

it seems that it had already scaled much of the maze, either in an attempt to get away from whatever danger it saw or to search the area for any suspicious activity. dusty gold mortar illuminated its location, gleaming the red light of its wings back at it like an aura of danger radiating from it. it did not have any of those nasty little things it called 'weapons' out (tools, if gabriel were to refer to them, not weapons. weapons were much more regal and royal, used with intent rather than clubs or electric shocks to tase someone with). it kept shrieking, either to scare whatever had startled it or to continue alerting him to its location. he proved the latter correct as it turned its head to look at him, upon hearing the downward gust of wind rushing throughout the aisles, generated by the motion of his wings propelling him upwards. once it spotted him, it instantly quieted down and resumed its original task, looking forward once more.

“what in God’s name are you doing?!” he shouted after it. instead of answering, V2 darted right throughout the aisles, then left, then left, then right, then left again, after some imaginary target, head on a swivel. he went after it, folding his wings flush towards his body to dive after it as the room sloped downwards.

it stopped as he dove downwards, stating something he barely caught over the deafening rush of wind. “this is an incredibly inefficient way to get things done, isn’t it…” it mused to itself. if thinking was recalibrating, all of its systems must’ve been terribly off the mark at that moment, as it even went as far as placing a finger on its chin.

"machine, answer me at once!—"

but it refused. as soon as he caught up to its position, it deployed a magnificently long wire from its green arm and… disappeared.

it had used it to get away. after all, the end of it was a hook that was shaped too much like the first sharper tools mankind had fashioned for themselves. arrowheads, spears... whatever they were called. he would’ve thought that the similarity was amusing, had he not been reeling from the whiplash that the turn of events gave him. he called after it as it launched itself to the tower, wings shuttering and folding themselves in for the sake of every known law of aerodynamics. he'd noticed the same look on V1, when it was falling from the buildings of Lust, or searching for those peculiar little orbs. it'd learned from it. that was a significant problem.

well, whatever. the specificities weren't the point, and gabriel only thought of V1 for a mere moment. the point was that V2 was now atop a structure easily towering over him at 60 feet tall.

he wanted to shout, but he faltered looking at it. his hand to summon a spear. that didn't mean it materialized. he knew now there was no danger. it trusted in its traditions just as much as he did. old ways of thinking. it trusted protocols over ingrained instinct that had been whipped into him over centuries— where he no longer needed hands to hold his jaw upwards and march in the light of the sun, it no longer looked behind it to trust that the platform it had hooked itself to was stable enough to hold it. his stomach felt uneasy, and the sun filtered to hit his eyes through the breathing holes of his helmet. those weren't the same thing.

they both knew where stability was. far above everything, the highest it had ever been, with the most stakes, it looked upon its new kingdom, having conquered it merely by being the most superior to enter it, in comparison to inanimate objects. gabriel looked on and the only thing he could see was the red plating covering it and the spectacular gold of its wings, satiated by its discoveries and its superiority over everything. it shone in pride, a willing soldier of its desires, striding onwards towards the path it forged and checking off imaginary objectives. the camera atop its neck moved stiffly, and stopped upon him.

it was now staring at him. directly at him. he wanted to wipe the sweat that was dripping down his back away forever. he knew it'd leave a film he couldn't ever wash off, even if he left Greed. it looked down on him, yellow eye leering at his helplessness below. all of that training on the battlefield was useless now— if he flew up to get it, it'd jump before he had the chance. he wasn't going to risk taking the time to teleport up there.

"scanning for intruders. securing the premises. this is the easiest way to see the entire room at once.”

"i knew it was safe! you stubborn—" he didn't turn, didn't storm off. he kept his gaze trained on it, without its commands to tell him to look it in the eye when he was talking to it. "you don't even know if that's stable—" but it did.

"—the possibility of this collapsing outweighs that which argues there is something else in here. you've judged there's evidence that there is, so i followed through." it spoke so gently, so self-assured, despite the flare of its wings and the puff of its chestplate. "your safety is my sole priority." it seemed like a cruel, smug smirk in the face of gabriel’s unfettered panic.

"and leave me alone down here? your arrogance is too predictable—" he spat.

"—you don't want to be left alone?" the bottom lid of its visor dropped, and it tilted its head.

the anger left his body, replaced by a gradient of shock. he refused to acknowledge the constancy of his fear. "... what did you just ask me?"

"you believe your safety is ensured by my proximity to you." both shutters nearly collided in the center of its optic, one mere calculated inch apart. he almost found it funny, how much thoughtful engineering went into a simple expressive gesture.

"no—"

"or my safety is caused by your proximity to me."

“what is this about, anyway?!” he waved that train of logic it was trying to establish off, demanding answers.

“why do you want me to get down so badly?” its joints creaked as it turned towards the wall, planting its feet firmly into it and leaning back, arching its impressively flexible back to do nothing but look down on him. its green arm was extended towards the wall as a steadfast anchor— the other hung limply, a show of how powerful it was. he was sure that if he was near it, he’d hear the whooshes and whirs of its hydraulic and electric actuators manipulating enough force to keep its body and balance stable against the wall. its shutters cleared again, keeping its optic open so its full stare was trained on him. somehow, that little gaze managed to worm itself to the bottom of his soul, where it'd begun hacking away at the vulnerabilities of his heart and injecting a cruel poison— sowing the seeds of doubt in it, caring about what it had said. he kept his gaze turned up, away from the floor beneath him. it looked down on him, surveying the entire room moments before what he believed was certain doom. “what is so threatening about this? i have certainly pulled off maneuvers with less likelihood of failure.”

“you ran off, shouting as always, and got to the highest available surface in a space that was quiet. would i not be right to assume that there was some sort of danger?”

“i would not run if you were in danger. you have evidence to prove otherwise. any reason i have for fleeing is tactical, and i would never put you in harm’s way intentionally.” it spoke much too soothingly for his tastes. he was thrown between its cold orders and its soothing, protective grace— somewhere between the two extremes sat its sassiness, its defiance, and the virtuous mean of sheer and pure strength. somewhere, it steeled. somewhere, it softened. somewhere, gabriel looked up and saw its wings spread and was reminded of—

reason. he needed to be reasonable. it was beating him with reason, so he needed to speak with reason. he hadn’t needed to speak rationally or negotiate with anyone in much too long— his skills and his prowess as a messenger and noted conversationalist were going woefully unused. he pulled the desperation from his voice and replaced it with the radiance that usually captivated all. “what are you trying to prove? i’m not an enemy here. you have as much evidence as i do that putting trust in each other is reasonable. my anger only originates from the faith i have in you. i only want to see you safe.”

that speech and his changed tone of voice seemed to please it greatly, as it shifted its weight against the wall. they were speaking the same language; an elegant dance of words, displacing and shifting blame and focus between them. it was also a negotiator, he remembered. it also wanted to keep the peace. he hated how his heartrate began to pick up, anticipating its reply to his skillful manipulation. “you speak condescendingly constantly towards me. you seem to think i’m much less capable than you. i only want to prove myself to you, as you clearly think yourself to be worthy.” it parroted his words back to him, distorted and changed. very well then. they were playing this game.

“is that what you want to hear? that you are as capable as i? i would be more than happy to tell you as many ways as you would like to hear.” the anticipation of it surrendering crept into his voice. he was being tempted, taunted with the bloodied meat of victory. he was not above this. technically, this was not egotistical, nor prideful of him. he was, verbally, willing to lower and humble himself. both of them knew that it meant otherwise.

V2 could sense that the tides of advantage were shifting, and pointed out gabriel’s vulnerability— that he had not addressed his panicked reaction. “not at all. we have different capabilities, and i think you know that we are equals by now. i want to know why this action, something i said i would do, would elicit such a response out of you.”

clearly, it was much more sensitive to the intricacies of emotional bonding than he thought, and much more dramatic than he was led to believe. it was familiar with tones. while the whims of bureaucracy and multifaceted conversation were much too familiar to him, he had not encountered someone else willing to engage in such talk for ages. no angels wanted to go anywhere near hell. the only angels down here were virtues, and they were never good conversation. truly, there was no more isolating act than inheriting his title. even in heaven, the prestige of his accomplishments and the decoration he had earned made it impossible to make any true and close friends. he hadn’t danced in too long. he missed the security in knowing exactly what which word meant. he missed knowing that whoever he was conversing with or practicing these skills with would not inevitably loathe him. this was practice.

V2 wanted to demonstrate its prowess in wit.

gabriel was its willing opponent and appraiser.

V2 knew that gabriel trusted it.

gabriel knew that V2 trusted him.

and despite gabriel being completely unable to read V2’s mind, having minimal knowledge of its body language or cues, he was more convinced of this fact than he was that the council was of the benefit of heaven.

"i will always land on my feet." the bottom lid of its optic rose in its own smug little way. it was impossible not to believe it. it was impossible to believe it. the sweat ran in rivulets down his face and clouded his eyes, now. “you know this.”

“i’m only standing here in case you need someone to catch you.” he goaded it. he was goading it. he always did. and it would always give in. the same cycle happened to him. it was self-sustaining— no way to prevent either of them from reaping the immense satisfaction of watching the destruction the other was making.

“do you not believe me?”

“i do.”

“really?” its top shutter fell as the bottom shutter did, leaving a look of sly disbelief on its face.

“of course.” he braced to move.

“prove it.”

as soon as those words had a chance to reverberate against the cool brick walls of the vault, V2 folded its arms flush against its body and pushed itself off of the tower. his ribcage pushed out from his lungs, expanding as his body began moving without his volition.

in the few milliseconds he had before it dropped to the floor, he already knew that V2 had put it at a losing position. if he caught it and it planned to land, it would prove he did not trust V2 in being able to handle itself, and he would lose. if he caught it and it did not plan to land, V2 would instantly lose, and it would never plan for that. (halfway in its plummet, he rushed forward.) if he did not catch it and it planned to land, it would prove his negligence, and the argument that he trusted it would not be strong enough to argue against it, and he would lose. if he did not catch it and it did not plan to land, it would die, and it would never plan for that nor let that happen intentionally.

legs spreading to manipulate its fall, it turned in the air and oriented itself feet-first, arms stretching in a singular point towards the sky, engaged in a pirouette as it plunged downward, before flushing them against its body. Its wings shuttered inwards against its back, allowing it to cut through the stagnant, dense air around them. The movement was graceful enough that he almost wondered if it was practiced. Its body moved in perfectly angled arcs to ensure its survival on the ground, and yet, it calculated for uncertainty— and yet, it knew the risk. Both of them knew it was not optimal for flight, but its wings unshuttered in two beautiful half-moons against the tomb, streaking wasted wealth on its way down, catching the sun as it caught his eye. Though he knew of the chain reactions of calculations that happened only to put one foot in front of the other and not immediately collapse, he wondered if it drew the same table he did— if it thought he was going to catch him, if it knew how beautiful it was, falling to a doom that may or may not face it.

The radiant sun blinded him as it reflected off its plating, and he only thought of angels plummeting in aerial displays against the backdrop of billions of burning stars. He thought of dropping off of marble pedestals, nearly crashing into temples, colosseums, and monuments of the glory of God trying to learn how to fly. In the undisturbed and undiscovered golden glitter of the vault, in the few tidbits he got of old memories, he smelled home crushed and ground in its joints. In the gold adorning its body, he saw Heaven. His radiant star fell towards earth.

When it was a mere few feet above the floor, he slid forward, outstretching his hands.

When it was inches above the brick floor, he felt the warm steel of its body slide into his hands, and felt his hands curve around its metal waist. V2 was much lighter than he expected— especially in comparison with its more slim counterpart. Its more powerful, compact figure seemed to serve it well as a symbol of peace, but was more than indicative that it was made as a defensive force rather than an offensive one. It was easily over 150 kilograms of pure, solid metal that would never give under his touch no matter how badly he wanted it to. It was not light by any means, but Gabriel was much too captivated by the feeling of such a foreign body beneath the calloused pads of his fingers to think anything of the sort. Pipes pumped and pulsed beneath his fingertips as his thumb barely grazed the outer edges of its lower abdomen. seamless seams seeming discreet were outed by the intense concentration he was left with, spilling over from watching V2 dive from the top of the tower. He knew that it was made to withstand human force and exert pressure beyond his wildest dreams. It would mercilessly crush his hand if it so desired, just by steeling a muscle and popping one of its locked joints. It made his chest feel... funny.

Bracing for impact, he fully halted its motion, pulling it closer to still its body and lessen the whiplash it had against the ground. Gabriel felt his ribcage crackle and snap back into place, the vacuum of his heart letting go of the pull it'd had on it. Its chestplate screeched against his as the air stopped rushing around him. It hummed in satisfaction beneath his bare hands, and he heard two dull clinks against the ground.

"Perimeter secured. Task complete. Any more requests to make, Gabriel?"

Its optic would've normally been described as glaring, but in their proximity, it seemed to have cut some power to spare his eyes. That meant their closeness was intentional.

"Not at all."

When he looked down, the tips of its feet (he would’ve called them toes, had it had any) dragged against the floor. He didn’t realize how light it was until it was fully settled and still in his hands. Its warm, yellow gaze lit up the cross on his helmet as it looked up at him, gleaming his own glorious light back at him. Though it blinded him, he did not look away. It was curious about the chipping gold on his helmet, and he did not deny its wandering gaze— he would be a liar if he said he was not inspecting the impeccably painted plates on its face.

“You caught me.” It did not sound offended. It did not even sound like it was challenging him. It was a tone he’d never heard out of it before, and could not identify.

“I know.” The realizations he’d made in the past few seconds had left him already, and he only understood that he had caught it, and it had fallen into his hands.

The distance between the glass lens of its optic and the front of his helmet was so close that Gabriel could see his own reflection in its singular eye, burning and searing, branding his head with its spectacular light. He tried not to heave for air, but it was hard to resist the temptations of his flesh. He didn’t realize that its hands were clutching onto his breastplate until it let them go. The similarities of their struggles forced a chuckle out of his lungs and out of his mouth. It sounded more like a gasp for air than a laugh, but V2 still seemed to understand.

"I think I chipped your paint." He said, much too breathlessly.

"I'll fix it later."

He was searching, but all of a sudden, with the spotlight on him, he could no longer identify what he was searching for. He only knew he had been missing it throughout his entire life, and V2, suddenly, could provide it. Some sense of—

Nevermind that. He could sort out his thoughts later, after they stopped wasting time.

“Here we are.” Gabriel lowered it to the ground, ensuring it was stable before stepping back. “Are you done now?”

“I think I forgot to check behind the taller objects. There's no way someone would be able to see behind them."

Gabriel groaned. "Stand down. Christ, you are insufferable." He crossed his arms, stepping back a few more feet.

It extended its left arm outward, to the left. It then bowed down, crossing its arm back inwards towards its abdomen, as if a spectacular show had just been put on for Gabriel's own viewing pleasure.

"Insolent machine,” he chuckled. He never meant it, and V2 always understood that. “Your ambition and theatrics will be the death of you.”

It shrugged. "I have checked this room adequately enough. now we may speak of future operations, such as my death.”

“And actually proceed with what we are here for?”

V2 knew there was a smile beneath his scorn and chiding.

“Affirmative.”

…

"Ah, this... reminds me of you. V2." Gabriel turned to it and held it out absentmindedly, turning back once it'd taken the small item from his open gauntlet. He heard the noise of its joints flexing, perhaps moving the object about in its palms.

"It's a death whistle." He did not explain as he continued rummaging through the box.

“I understand. Previously uncovered in excavations of Aztec temples during the great war. Why would it remind you of me?" He turned back, seeing its optic shutters assume a doubtful squint.

"Have you ever heard one being blown before?"

"No. I have no experience with this technology. I am curious, though.”

“Very well, then. I will demonstrate for you.”

It stretched the hand holding the object towards him, and he took it.

"One second— turn away, please. The true form of an angel may blind you permanently."

V2 visibly rolled its eye before turning away. A blinding, divine light shone on the wall in front of them, and Gabriel pulled up his helmet just enough so that he could form something of a mouth to blow air through.

A bloodcurdling scream emerged from the end of the whistle as air went through. V2's body immediately instinctively turned, pointed chestplate acting like the great Gabriel was the truest north, but its head did not move. He'd commanded it to look away, so it did. Something about that turned his ribs into a Faraday cage, electricity falling down to his feet and transferring to the floor, a constant source emanating from a high-current heart.

"... The screams of the innocent remind you of me." It said, flatly.

His mouth grew dry with worry of its disappointment. Was he not being funny? “Your siren,” he sputtered, “that you just deployed, maybe around 15 minutes ago.”

"... I see." This time, its vocal tone was much more deadpan. He could almost taste the disappointment and scorn in the air.

"You may look."

It turned forward once more and settled its gaze on a far away section. Gabriel was silently grateful it did not spend too much time dwelling on his social embarrassment— perhaps angels and machines simply had much different senses of humor, or Gabriel was not as funny as he thought. There was not much time spent performing much witty banter besides self-righteous small talk in Heaven nowadays, it was extremely possible he had simply grown out of touch with comedy.

“We have neglected this section.”

“Furniture? in 'weapons?'” Gabriel scoffed.

“Chairs, specifically.” V2 corrected him obnoxiously, walking past the boxes of antiquated artifacts and strolling right into what Gabriel had lovingly nicknamed ‘the throne room,’ back in his days of overseeing the virtues who ran this small section. It was a rather large subsection of ornate chairs, ranging from solid-gold cast thrones for kings who saw themselves much too fit to rule, to bizarrely shaped stools that were barely fit to even be sat upon. The stacks of chairs formed somewhat of a wall around the section, and the items too heavy to serve as bricks for the chair barricade were organized in a neat grid.

As they fell into a lapse of silence once more, disturbed only by the flapping of Gabriel's wings, it was clear the terrible attempt at relating from earlier was still affecting their relations. Very well then— perhaps breaking the tension with a joke would've been appropriate. Gabriel scanned the room and placed himself near an object he was sure the machine would find particularly intriguing. "Machine. Look upon this throne for the divine and weep." He exclaimed much too comically— the joke fell from his lips and it turned, staring at the chair he had picked out.

This had to be easily number 17 of the billions of wild and eccentric possessions of the avaricious, whatever they sought to spend needlessly on for their goal. It was a banana peeled to look like a chair— the flesh of the banana making up the back of the seat, and the peel making up the armrests, legs, and seat.

Silence and sun streamed through the blinds of the pyramid and between them, the air growing dry and boiling his skin beneath the armor as much as the sharp gaze of that machine did now as it stared into his helmet. Not even observing it atop the tomb seared his head so terribly.

As soon as he was about to discard the idea, it appeared to be... trembling. Wing blades rattled in their holders, a violent clattering originating from some violent instinct deep within its body. A wild screeching emanated from its chassis. Its shoulders shook as it threw its head back, optic pointed towards the ceiling, arms cast towards a throat that made no laughter.

... It was laughing. Laughing at something he had said. Soon enough, metallic screeching was met with divine and hearty laughter, booming in many tongues and echoing off the walls— laughter he hadn't let out in quite a long time, and at a chair that looked like a banana, no less.

When it calmed itself down, whooshes of air no longer wheezing out of its vents, it looked around and pointed.

"Gabriel. Look."

He looked over to where it seemed to be gesturing. In a flash, it had launched itself across the arm using its grappling hook towards the chair, and seated itself regally. The shape of the chair tied the bit in together— a middle finger, with the palm gently supporting its body and the middle finger sticking straight up.

"I believe this is much more fitting for a vengeful conflict. A massive 'fuck you.'"

"I think the hand is a little on the nose." He crossed his arm and tilted his head to get a better look, shoulders shaking with the laughter that he was trying to force back. "Don't you think?" He let out a few snickers.

It hoisted its leg up on the seat of the chair such that its foot rested on the seat whilst the other rested on the floor. It spread its legs obnoxiously wide, as if to exaggerate human dominance, and slouched.

"Absolutely not."

He folded over himself laughing, mental image aside. It also let out a few snickers, getting up out of the chair, chestplate swelling under the pride of reducing Gabriel to tears and sniffles and, of course, cackles.

"This is a serious endeavor—" He tried getting back up, only to find that V2 had hooked onto a chair that was also hand-shaped, but with a foot serving as the singular leg.

"Sit in this one." The lower lip of its optic was raised in amusement. As soon as his armor hit the chair, it let out a couple of chuckles.

"Get it?"

"What?"

"The righteous hand of god."

Usually, he would find that joke quite offensive to his title. He would draw his blades, puff his chest, flare his wings, curse them to the higher circles of the glorious Heavens for failing to recognize and respect his God-given honor. He would stand, chin held up, and would reduce this blasphemous object to smithereens, smiting them wherever they might think to stand.

... But this was not any occasion.

In the presence of a friend, the weight had lifted. He did not need to act holier-than-thou all of the time, not around it. Laughter filled the grand pyramid of Greed for hours on end as they filtered through dust and old possessions.

…

As the setting sun filtered through the blinds, they had grown silent, stories shared, content with sitting in the still peace of the layer. Sat on a throne beside him, V2 seemed content sharing an armrest with the angel he’d made fun of a mere hour ago, staring into the gleaming sun ahead of them. Gabriel had surrendered said armrest to V2, content with casting his gaze downwards and busying his hands polishing Justice and Splendor. Its fans whirred in thought beside him, and he looked over.

He swallowed, mouth painfully dry. it gleamed so bright that it blinded him. The sun shone on its chestplate and knees, crimson plating looking glorious and honorable in the air of the late summer’s day. Its wings were brilliant behind it, spread in magnificent opulence in a splendid golden color. Gabriel’s mind flitted to one of the many works of art that were plastered all over the layer of Limbo— his visage being in one of them, in that exact pose. They’d depicted him the same: wings spread magnificently, plating shimmering with the gorgeous sun. It never looked like him, as much as he wanted to change the accidents of his poor shade into something more beautiful. He expected his stomach to bubble with envy at its pure radiance, and for him to have to resist again.

Instead, his chest seethed and hissed with uncontrollable emotions stirring and disrupting his trains of thought. He had tried keeping them under control through menial work, but he failed to contain them. He’d only felt such things in the heat of their little argument, and when he was waiting for V2 to fall into his arms. The most strong of all, overshadowing those feelings rattling in their cages, was a peace he’d only known in grand cathedrals. Heaven was always shuttling him around to do their dirty work. How long had it been since he’d had a moment to truly polish his beloved swords?

“Gabriel?”

He hummed. “Yes?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he spoke, tongue itching to escape his mouth, words writhing to crawl from his throat, “everything… everything is okay.”

… He looked back towards the sunset. It hadn’t done that before.

“... Why do you ask?” He continued. If he left it off on that, it would know something was wrong.

“You referred to me as ‘V2’ earlier.”

… He didn’t realize he’d done that.

“Ah— I apologize, I—”

“There is no need to apologize. My designation is a perfectly acceptable name for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It's just…”

The setting sun reflected off of Justice. He did not want to look at V2. He made himself.

“You don’t usually do that. I thought something might have been...” V2’s neck craned off somewhere in the distance, far away from any imaginary boundaries drawn by Gabriel’s line of sight.

Was that the only way it could justify him referring to it by name?

“... Anyway, ‘machine’ is just fine as well. I have learned to differentiate between the tones you use. You reserve specific tones for me only.” It sounded… fond. Affectionate. It was similar to the manner he could not identify in its verbiage earlier.

“I wasn't aware I did that.”

“I was.” It hummed in delight. He would let it gloat about more minor forms of superiority over him.

Soon enough, he returned to polishing his swords. It returned to gazing into the setting sun. There was perfect equilibrium between them. Nothing else needed.

He knew better, but he’d missed this. He'd missed the light, and the glow of the promising sun guiding him towards more. Never before had such peace settled his heart.