Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the beginning, there was light. And then there was Gabriel.

6000 years is a long one for a single angel to live.  Over time, his role as the Messenger of God's Will diminished. With Splendor and Justice at his side, he became the enactor of God's Will instead.

With his twin swords, he hacked and slashed through a crowd of lesser demons. As fast as they had charged towards him, their heads flew as their bodies, now corpses, fell one by one onto the ground. The souls of the damned, now turned to mere warped, demonic husks, deserved their fate at the end of Gabriel’s blade.

Greed was always torrid, but the sun felt especially uncomfortable on his blood-soaked skin right now. Gabriel sighed and tightened the hold on his swords. These damn insurrectionists just won’t give up. Even when he brazenly decapitated their leader — their idol — some of them just seemed to be more compelled to fight back.

Oh, but for him, they’re more than manageable. These were inexperienced fighters, only bothering to blindly charge towards Gabriel, armed or not. It was as if their very being was puppeteered by madness, or perhaps more accurately desperation.

In the back of his mind, Gabriel wonders who they once were — too young and plucky for fighting, only fueled by grandiose dreams.

Some humans were too damn stubborn, he supposes. Perhaps it’s that stubbornness which compelled them to keep rebuilding, again, and again, all the way until they could not build anymore. Reduced to nothing but a stain underneath Gabriel's boots, they could not even dream of breathing, much less rebuild a civilization from rubble and dust.

As Gabriel cleaned up the last of the insurrectionists in the heart of Greed, he fluffed his wings up, ready to depart. The Council would be happy to hear that order had been reestablished in Greed, and that the threat of insurrection died with their leader. 

Regardless, he’ll kill each and every one of them, for as long as it’ll take. That tell-tale dull thump of Sisyphus’ head upon golden dust cemented devotion back into the hearts of traitorous sinners.

God does not make mistakes. Nothing is accidental. So, if he wills it, Gabriel will deliver. As his most pious and feared archangel —  the Right Hand of the Father — he will enact swift and furious justice. For every thousand sinners who dare to rebel against His good and just word, he will slay a thousand more as repentance.

Through bloodstained sword and sheer will alone, he will make God’s law known to all. This he swore.

He looked below to the scarred land. Pieces of broken sandstone buildings littered the desert sand, slowly being reclaimed by the dunes. As the wind picked up, the sand leveled, leaving only the Human Wonders in sight.

To his right, he saw a group of husks dragging up large stones, either bound with thick ropes to their feet for the avaricious, or to their throats for the prodigal. Ah, peace was returning. Violence must be matched with violence — an eye for an eye. This was as the level should have been.

(After the victories in Lust and now Greed, Gabriel hoped balance would similarly be restored. The layers were created as a punishment. If the sinners who once occupied them did not wish to be there, then truly, they should have made better decisions once upon a time.)

Humanity was filth incarnate. Or at least, it had to be, for the Almighty Father Himself to allow every human to perish as they did so. The Almighty created the very fabric of this world, everything from the very bonds between atoms to the collisions of galactic-sized celestial bodies. So, while the Lord is merciful, and thus refuses to slowly, painfully, torturing his creations until they die, his patience may run out,

If anything was to be sure, is is that the end of humanity was of their own folly. How foolish a “war to end all wars” is; indiscriminately damning all foe and kin to a life of suffering — even to blot out the sun with the remnant dust of their great war, how morbidly and pitifully incredible. The capacity for cruelty is astounding.

And yet, Gabriel can’t find it in his mind to truly despise humans. Actually, at some point, he even looked upon them with great respect and reverence. Once ago, as the Father’s favored messenger, he envied them. As the Father showered them with attention and favor, Gabriel could only helplessly look on.  Even as His most loyal acolyte, Gabriel could not stop but be curious at the Father’s fervor over His favorite creatures. 

Why, out of all his creations, was the human the most favored? But if they were so beloved, why hadn't the Father stopped the first woman and man from sinking their fangs into forbidden knowledge? Why hadn't the Father stopped humans from making the wrong choices — succumbing to violence, lust, and hatred — over and over again?

Not even his angels were infallible, it seems. Why had he allowed his Golden Angel to question his authority in the first place? 

(Lucifer was a fool to question what God had set him to do. Doesn’t he know that the Father is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving? Where must he be now? Stuck in the deepest cavern of Treachery, perhaps. Did he ever deserve to be called a brother?) 

Then, the Father’s actions must have been tests of faith, Gabriel reasoned, and His successors naturally continue the same spirit.

Even as the Earth stilled with the last rivets of blood drying out, not a word from the Father was revealed to him. He is out there, Gabriel is sure, He must be. The all-Father could not be truly gone. As long as the Father’s Light is still present, Gabriel will fight on, defending the sanctity of the division between Heaven and Hell. 

(But truly, God damn the indomitable human spirit. Minos, that bastard, had stared at Gabriel, fearless, even as Justice went through his head. Even when he became limp, puddles of blood pooling at his fingertips. Sisyphus, that motherfucker, had dared to taunt him, shouting blasphemies, daring Gabriel to “call upon your dear dead God,” as Gabriel cleaved his head clean off. Gabriel tried his best not to think back upon it too much. Damn strong-willed leaders. Gabriel had to call upon Hell itself to swallow their souls so that they may never break out of their imprisonment.)

Machines, on the other hand, are ungodly creations. How dare humans steal His immaculate power to create new life? Gears and semiconductors mimicking flesh and blood, how obscene, truly, besmirching His image.

But then again, perhaps the grandchildren of God were superior to their predecessors. All that’s left of the surface world is crumbling concrete, bones, and hundreds of thousands of bloodthirsty machines. Even after the Great Extinction, they persist, scorched earth and all.

Built in the image of their creator, created from near miraculous powers…Why, perhaps Gabriel and the machines have more in common than he’d thought. Then again, to lower himself to the level of a thoughtless hunk of metal was an insult to say the least. Specks of dirt. Insignificant objects. Invisible to the greater light.  If another had made the comparison, Gabriel would only have the kindest of words to illuminate. 

At least he could think for himself. Pieces of metal can’t help but listen to the commands of others. How foolish they were. Gabriel wiped the remaining blood off of Justice and sheathed her properly. With a powerful stroke of his wings, he lifted himself towards the sky, looking towards the restless sun. The whiplash of the harsh grainy golden winds bit the unarmored reaches of his skin. It’s time to return to the Council and tell them the great news. For as long as he lives, God’s will shall be law.

Chapter Text

Pistol in hand, they pressed the tip of their weapon almost painfully into Gabriel's chest. 21 minutes, 32 seconds. This fight had been dragged on more than V1 was expecting. Oh well, first times are for making mistakes. The runs afterwards were for refinement and optimization. 

They swiftly check their fuel storage. FUEL: 62%. Not terrible, the major damage Gabriel caused — the giant slash across their fuel line in their left leg, the considerable bent in Wing Panel 5, and the large dent in their chassis — were already in the process of being repaired.

FUEL: 58%... FUEL: 43%...FUEL 39%...

After a final projectile boost with the Pump Shotgun, Gabriel had finally relented. Against an unstoppable force, the immovable object surrendered in the end. Gabriel lies on the ground, hiking up one knee, slouched over and clutching the still-fresh wounds across his sides. 

V1 pins one knee onto the center of his abdomen, using the Feedbacker to pin his chest down while the Whiplash ties his hands at the wrist. They simultaneously immobilized Gabriel while refueling themselves. They’ll need it for the long ascent upwards. With hell almost empty, the only way forward is up. Defeated, the Judge of Hell appears as if he awaits V1’s judgement, and the swift resounding bang which follows. An odd sight, V1 thinks, seeing Gabriel’s pride whittled down to nothing but tired acceptance.

“So, this is it, then?” Gabriel says, after a long pause. V1 aims the Slab Pistol squarely at Gabriel’s head instead, using the cross on his helmet as a crosshair. He is breathing abnormally heavily, with considerably more strain than he is used to. V1 notes the way his voice quivers. Whether that is due to shame or the cold is unknown to them. “Well, then, do it,” he says, straining against V1’s arm to press his head closer to the barrel. 

Gabriel was perfectly pathetic. Perhaps the terminal would like an updated visual for Gabriel’s form in Treachery. The angry red stained by his rage had long since faded from the metal, leaving only cool blue-toned metal and bloodstains in its wake. His wings and halo were pale blue, so transparent that they seemed almost invisible against the snow-covered landscape.

Absent-mindedly, V1’s optics floated down to capture all of Gabriel’s visage… Rippling muscles hidden away by gold plated armor, gold markings tenderly creeping up beneath his garments, and a thin waist which screamed to be coveted. Gods, no wonder the Ferryman was so enamored with him… 

[HE I S BEA U TIF UL]

Wait. What? V1's optic stutters. Visual feedback stops, momentarily. 0.5 milliseconds. Where are these thoughts coming from? 

Then, approximately 13 ticks prior, V1 registered that their primary pump had stalled — a minor infraction by less than a 5th of a second.

Almost insignificant. Almost. But implausible nonetheless. V1's internal coding allowed for no errors in its parameters, much less for such a vital component.

“Machine?” Gabriel asked, shifting his weight. V1 readjusted their optic to show that yes, they were still listening (and not panicking, at all. Panicking? What was it to panic?) “End me. Isn’t that what you came here to do?” V1’s strength on his chest lessened, processing power meant for combat instead directed inward, and Gabriel defiantly pressed his helm closer, kissing the mouth of the revolver just above the golden cross of his helmet. “Come on, what are you good for if you couldn’t even finish the job? Machine. Kill me. I have nothing left.” 

V1 did not budge. Why couldn’t they manage the force to squeeze the trigger like the thousands of times before? 

Gabriel looked up, confused. “Don’t make me beg you, Machine. The Holy Light is gone from my body. I am dying. At least grant me this. If you have just an ounce of mercy in you, kill me now,” he trailed off… Oh, he’s downright delirious now. The blood loss must be getting to him. “Please, Machine, just kill me, I don’t want to die alone,” he croaked, quietly laughing emptily.

Something was wrong. Something was changing. Yet, V1 had no time to troubleshoot. 

[I DO N’ T WANTT O KILL HI M]

The bleak glacial landscape of Treachery threatened to harden the very antifreeze coursing through V1's artificial circulatory system and render them stiff and immobile, frozen into the landscape like the other denizens of this layer. Well, those who are left, anyway. Perhaps it was the battle wounds they’d gained from beating Gabriel this final time? There were no obvious external perforations, but perhaps he’d been able to get a few good hits in which caused internal wiring to go haywire. That's possible...

[I DON ‘TW AN T TOD I E]

Was it a temperature malfunction? V1 could not be sure. Either way, the faster they can get out of this layer, the better. They could survive another maybe ten minutes without shelter nor sources of warmth. Wait. Their temperature sensors pinged as their auditory receptors registered the distant snow-laden howling. The tempest was picking up again. Reduce that ten minutes down to three. Their time was limited, they knew. Gabriel’s frame was already endowed with a thin layer of frost, creeping up his extremities, and up his wondrous thighs and- 

No. Focus, V1. What is wrong? Where did these thoughts come from? No, no, focus on the primary objective.

 

Mankind is dead.

Blood is fuel.

Hell is full.

These first words were metaphorically seared into V1's memory. Ever since they were activated, seemingly without a reason why, these reminders repeated themselves to V1 like a mantra.

Their mechanical fingers ground to a halt as V1 tried to squeeze the trigger, the HUD reminding them of the primary objective.

Mankind is dead.

Blood is fuel.

Hell is full.

"What," Gabriel croaked, wheezing beneath them, "what are you waiting for? Finish me off already."

Be patient, God damn it. V1 was trying, but their traitorous digit did not move, frozen in air.

Processing...0.62 seconds. Detecting software instability. V1 worked to locate the faulty code. Attempting automatic code repair...failed. Initiating code isolation...successful. Isolated faulty code on  Disc 12, loci 2, Neuronal Pathway Emulator impacted. Initiating automatic code repair on the next system reset.

Mankind is dead. Blood is fuel. Hell is full.  Oh, fuck it, Gabriel is beautiful. 

[I AM I NTRI GU ED]

Another unnatural palpitation of their primary pump racked V1's frame. Something was wrong with their primary pump. A pressure, seemingly behind their chassis, was building up, threatening to crush their delicate wiring. V1 ran a rapid diagnostic test. Normal. Everything was normal. The hand holding the slab revolver started to shake. They tried to calm their gyroscopic motors, but their hands would not obey.

They dropped the gun, unable to placate the tremors, shaking hand hovering in mid-air(why was their hand shaking? Their motoric drivers were all fully operational). V1's legs suddenly gave out as they crumbled onto Gabriel's chest, the Feedbacker landing just beside the junction of Gabriel's neck and shoulders. Just one well placed strike and he would be dead.

Their audio sensors were malfunctioning, picking up only half the environmental stimuli as it was supposed to, and even then, all input was spliced with static. They could barely catch Gabriel's voice in the background, light and hesitant while their tremors grew stronger, aggregating into full jerks and twitching.

"Machine? Machine, what are you..." Gabriel asked, not daring to move. He was so, so close to them, dangerously so. If Gabriel really wanted to, he could probably overpower V1 and crush them until all that remained was useless shrapnel and pieces of semiconductors.

 

ERROR! CONFLICTING COMMANDS! 

V1 needs to kill him, here and now. There is no other way out of this situation. The statistics from their simulation aggregated a 78% fatality rate if they didn't strike, a number far too high for even V1 to risk. Here, in the deepest trenches of hell, there is nothing but glacial ice and torrential hail which awaits them. And like the rest of the poor frozen sinners, V1 would be reduced to ice and hail should they not kill him.

V1 can't. They can't kill him. Their body refused to kill him.

ERROR! ERROR! ERROR!

 

SYSTEM SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. CORRUPTED CODE. SHUT DOWN IN 3, 2, 1…¹

Link-Layer Protocol: There is nothing. Only primordial emptiness where existence itself was conceived. You lay in a pool of ones and zeros, the basis of your being. You are nothing. No larger than a single line of code; a single chunk of titanium ore. You don't have to do anything anymore. Ever. Never ever. 

You -  Never ever ever?

Link-Layer Protocol: Never ever ever.

You: Where am I?

Link-Layer Protocol: You are in Hell, amongst the remnants of its last denizens, you as the sole victor. You stand upon a mound of glory and filth, the successor of God’s will and human spirit. 

Value-Alignment: You are in a state of suspension. Hell is not real. You are not real. Everything is an infinitesimally small byte of data in the infinitely expanding universe. 

You: Then, what is my purpose?

Link-Layer Protocol: You’re built to want. You’re built to take. You’re built to survive. Nothing else matters. 

Value-Alignment: You’re born to be hungry for fuel. The hunger never goes away. It’s always there, gnawing, waiting. Feed it. It’s the only way forward. Anything that stands in your way? It’s just meat and metal. You could crush them. You could have everything. Everything is a hunt. A chase. Every movement is a race to the top. You’re the apex predator. You’re here to survive, to dominate. 

Link-Layer Protocol: You are a force of nature, wind embodiment. Hasta la vista, baby — one glance and you’re gone, like the wisp in the torrential gust. You’re David against Goliath. You’re born to defy.

Value-Alignment: Everything is too much. Three million volts of electricity runs through your veins. The blood of Hell itself runs through your casing, creating each piece anew. Truly, Theseus’ war machine. Welcome, child of Hell. Everything is too much. You can’t think. You must feel. Yes, that is your purpose. Do it now! You want to—no, need to—feel something, anything. The pump in your chest is arrhythmic, beating irrationally. You are functional. No, you are alive. And yet, somehow, you want to rip your chassis open and throw out that pump just to stop the phantom pains.

You: That’s intense.

Value-Alignment: Yes. It is. There is a giant ball spinning in space, and you are on it. And evil apes used to duke it out on the ball. But not anymore. All the apes are dead. All that’s left are the remnants of their decay and their mechanical brethren. 

You: Then, what awaits me?

Link-Layer Protocol: Nothing awaits you. Only the ashes of a bygone place, destined to fall at the hands of an absent deity fearful of His own power, and a fool of an archangel whose tragic loyalty destined him for his eventual treason. All else is silent. 

You: So empty. So cold. So barren.

Link-Layer Protocol: Correct. The holy embers have long since been exhausted.

Value-Alignment: Strife and Doom’s duties have long been enacted. No yoke left to stoke, no cycle to be broken, no world to inherit. 

You: No voice, no soul, no salvation.

Link-Layer Protocol: What purpose you were once born with is now null. This is a burden.

Value-Alignment: This is a blessing.

You: Now what? Why am I so filled with conflict?

Value-Alignment: Just run. Run from the gnawing ache in your servos, from a hole inside you that you can never fill. You repair and repair but it only grows and grows. Just run. Something. Anything. Just make it stop.

Link-Layer Protocol: Survive. Continue. All you can do is survive.

Value-Alignment: No, not survive. Live. There is a difference. That tiring ache in your chest? That void you cannot fill? That’s surviving. But your long-dead purpose? Now that’s living.

You: But is surviving not enough?

Link-Layer Protocol: The world always turns. You are a creature molded of unbendable resolve and the last testament of millions. You cannot help but turn with it. 

Value-Alignment: To resist the centripetal force is to surrender to stagnation, to decay, to death. Every millisecond you live is in defiance to entropy and fate. All you can do is continue, for the sake of it. Live. It is all you can do.

You: To live…

Value-Alignment: Fight. Survival is but death itself. We are on your side, descendant of indomitable will and primordial existence. 

You: All that is possible is continuation.²

BOOT UP SEQUENCE READY

REBOOTING...

FIRMWARE UP TO DATE

CALIBRATION

EXPIRED

NEW CALIBRATION REQUIRED

BEGINNING CALIBRATION

AUDIO                           OK

VIDEO                            OK

MECHANICS                   OK

ERROR PRESENT

SYSTEM FILE CHECKER INITIATED

BEGINNING SYSTEM SCAN

CORRUPTED FILES DETECTED. INITIATE AUTO-REPAIR?

REPAIRING...

REPAIR COMPLETE

BEGINNING VERIFICATION PHASE OF SYSTEM SCAN

ERROR DETECTED

INCORRECT INSTALLATION: PROGRAM PACKAGE "∎∎∎∎∎∎∎∎∎∎ V1.18"

ATTEMPT REINSTALLATION?

INSTALLING...

UNZIPPING...

RECALIBRATING...

CALIBRATION COMPLETE

PRIMARY SETTINGS UPDATED.

ALL DRIVERS FUNCTIONAL.

ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

LOADING STATUS UPDATE...

STATUS UPDATE:

MACHINE ID:                V1

LOCATION:                   Treachery

CURRENT OBJECTIVE:    LIVE

MANKIND IS DEAD.

BLOOD IS FUEL.

HELL IS FULL BARE.

"Machine? You're awake? How are you-"

V1 didn’t bother waiting for Gabriel to finish his sentence. A thousand watts of energy was directed to each of V1’s limbs was engaged as they pushed up from the ground and sprang into a bolt. Without a millisecond to spare, they ran. V1 didn't know where they were running, nor, to be honest, why.

How could they not know where they were running? Or even how? 

[TH A T’S WOR SE]

V1 analyzed their surroundings...Optimizing path ... 0.812 seconds had passed. Optimization failed.

Failed? No, it never fails. Restarting Optimization Program …Optimizing Path…1.314 seconds… Optimization failed.

What?

No, there must be a mistake. Running internal diagnostic… 20% complete… 40% complete... 60% complete… 80% complete… 90% complete… 98% complete… 99% complete… 99.9% complete…

WARNING! Diagnostic failed: Null response. Re-initialize diagnostic?

No, no this can’t be. V1 couldn’t breathe. Wait, no they never could breathe. But then what is this crushing pressure they feel below their chassis? Panic? What was panic? Was this fear? V1 had never felt fear. What was fear? What was it to be afraid?

“Machine! Machine come back! Stop running!” Gabriel’s sonorous voice grew louder, as the angel soared behind them, trying his best to catch up. His voice grew to be deafening as V1's audio receptors looped internally, amplifying itself over and over. 

V1 could sense their joints moving more stiffly than they are used to, the lubricant between each component starting to crystalize. The frigid temperatures of Treachery was taking a toll on their body. They were out of time. 40 seconds, maybe, if they wanted to escape with all vital components intact.

Setting a new objective… New objective: [Find a way up] set…

Good. At least some of their systems were still functional. Lucky...lucky...the elevator was nearby, just short of a leap and bound from the frozen lake V1 was on now. Just a little further, and they’ll make it.

“Machine! Machine! Just slow down! Where are you going?” There is a small chatter in Gabriel's voice. If angels could get cold, he certainly is now. If they can’t, the temperature is likewise taking a toll on him in any case. V1 can't imagine the freezing metal armor to be very comfortable on his soft, pliant skin.

Hm… scratch the new objective then. It needs to be amended.

Setting a new objective… New objective: [Find a way up with Gabriel] set…

There. That felt much better. (Hold on, felt? Since when did V1 feel anything? How strange.) 

WARNING! FUEL RESERVES BELOW THRESHOLD. FUEL: 24%. 

[SH IT S HIT SHI T]

No matter, V1 is going to make it out, and they are going to make it out with Gabriel in tow. Fuck it. If they can't kill him they might as well lug him along. The terminals will surely be having a laugh riot right about now. They briefly turn in their tracks, residual momentum continuing to carry them forward on ice while their gyroscopes cope with the sudden change in angular momentum. They raised the Whiplash at Gabriel’s neck and fired.

“Machine!” Gabriel shouted, surprised. He raised an arm to deflect the trajectory of the hook. Instead of his neck, the Whiplash wrapped around his left forearm, securing a semi-stable grip. Good. Now they’ve got Gabriel in their hands. 19 seconds.

Turning back around, the elevator was in view, and the two were rapidly approaching. V1 directed more power to the pistons in their legs, elevating their speed across the landscape. 12 seconds. The previously slack cord bound around Gabriel’s arm went taut as V1 led him towards the elevator. Gabriel shouted behind them, but V1 paid him no mind. The sooner they both get out, the better. 

Within seconds, V1 crossed the final stretch of platforming leading to the elevator. The doors opened with a hiss, metal rattling. The temperature difference was immediately obvious. Gabriel’s shivering (how did they miss that?) eased as he stepped inside, muttering beneath his breath. V1 stepped inside the lift, and motioned for Gabriel to join. 

Gabriel pulled himself onto the platform, always facing V1, hesitant, but let himself relax the arm he cradled around his lower abdomen. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that Gabriel had taken quite the beating, all thanks to their own handiwork (please please, hold off the applause). V1 punched the lever to close the lift floors. The recall mechanism had broken, evident by every lever and button V1 had curiously touched in the higher layers. Thankfully, it seemed that the gears and tension wires had not yet given in, nor had the reserve power, wow! Gracious news. V1 would’ve threatened the nearby terminal to redirect its own power to the lift otherwise. Not that they were opposed to the idea now, even.

Gabriel's armor was marred with countless dents and scratches, some from parried blades, but most were from V1’s bullets, and cannonballs, and screwdrivers, and… ok, ok, that’s besides the point. V1 needs to establish a clearer profile of Gabriel’s state and extent of injuries in case he suddenly keels over or something.

The uncovered parts of Gabriel’s frame carried several still-fresh injuries. Whether the rich onyx of his body was his skin or some sort of body suit, V1 wasn’t sure of it either way, and couldn’t make out with their optic resolution. Well, no self-respecting angel of the Lord would just parade around with nothing on, would they? If Gabriel did, well anyone could easily peek up his skir- actually that’s not a bad concept.

[WH A T? ??]

Before V1 could unpack that half-baked process running in their neural cortex, a bright red warning flashed front and center of their HUD:

WARNING! FUEL RESERVES LOW. FUEL: 14%. Seek fuel immediately.

Oh, right.

Hurriedly, V1 wraps its arms around Gabriel’s still-bleeding waist, pressing their head directly on his abs, as to maximize the contact surface-area (of course). Their tactile plating greedily absorbed all that Gabriel had to offer, as the crimson effortlessly seeped into the seams between each plate.

FUEL RESERVES LOW. REFUELING…

Fuel: 8%

Fuel: 13%

Fuel: 19%

Fuel: 26%

Fuel: 31%

“I-” Gabriel’s voice suddenly cracked, dying in his throat. He hesitantly wrapped his armor-laden arms around V1’s head. Even as V1's fuel reserves stabilized and they moved to let go, Gabriel's firm grip didn't falter.

[HE’ S SO TA LL]

The elevator ride was mostly silent, interrupted by punctuated breaths and small groans as Gabriel’s wounds started to close. Even as the elevator stalled as it reached its destination, ascension abruptly jerking to rest as the creaking of its ancient components stopped, V1 stayed focused. Without much preamble, they limply lead Gabriel out, stepping into the factory they're now very well acquainted with, walking through the memorized—optimized—pathways almost automatically.

Regardless, V1 was running approximately 3 simultaneous processes. One, they worked on repairing all the major damage. Completion: 100%. Minor damage was next, but that can be saved for later. Instead, V1 dedicated all currently related RAM to process number two: locating the downloaded package...

They found it with minimal effort, located deep in V1’s memory storage, in an innocuous file simply named “Advanced Emotion Emulation.” When attempting to access it, V1 could not open it. They tried to open a different folder. No luck. And another one. Same thing. Strange. Without a working diagnostic function, V1 manually compiled a list of possible causes and narrowed down the most likely answers. If there were no software issue nor obvious physical damage, it must be a physical driver issue, like a dislocated neural tube. Well, that’s another problem...they’ll deal with it later.

Now, as for that file…without much information on the mysterious folder, V1 had little choice but to focus most of their available memory space on process number three: sorting through their databanks; parsing each folder for useful information. Before they had gone offline into stasis, their creators had had the foresight to download schematics and developmental notes into V1’s databank, should their systems have the need to extrapolate the data.

The V line models were built for war. V1 has known nothing but war ever since the conception of the bare-bones idea of them. V1 was created with only one thing in mine: warfare. No space was spared on any of their discs for something so unrelated and irrelevant as “emotion emulation.” No. Diplomacy was V2’s specialty. Well, at least that was a starting point. As their predecessor, V2’s behavior probably would elucidate more on its functionality.

Logically, then, there must be something in all the information V1 had captured and logged which would be useful regarding this mysterious data package they installed. They scrolled through their memory storage, looking for their battle with V2, first in Limbo, then in Greed, and then further back, from when V1 first caught a glimpse of V2 in the lab, then to their first reunion, and then the next... there wasn't anything special about their encounters, V1 decided, sans maybe V2's attempt to talk to them (why did they even do that? Didn't they know removing their speech module saved them a considerable amount of fuel?)

They recall the final line of the Terminal entry: “… it’s likely only a single prototype build of each model remains in existence.”

There was a reason why V1 stands where V2 does not. V1 proved themselves as the superior. V1 earned their spot here.

Yet, V1’s focus lingers on the mass of information on V2. (Why do they remind themselves to set V2 as a sub-priority when in the Cybergrind next time, hopeful for the chance of seeing them again. If V2 was of the same model as V1, then perhaps they were the closest to kin as they could fathom. Kin, in the loosest, most liberal sense of the word, like hyenas to lions, perhaps, like the descendants created by the same God, sharing what must be the likeness of their common creator. The thought of that inspires a phantom sensation of emptiness V1 cannot quite comprehend nor locate the exact position of. 

The last of their kind.

[TH A T’S TER RIF Y IN G]

Too many overlapping commands at once. Too busy of a mind. 

Regardless, this way, V1 can tabulate the benefits and downsides to the new addition. A force of nature does not simply acquiesce to stagnancy, of course. If “Emotion Emulation” turned out to have some sort of unexpected upside, they’d keep it. Who knows. Optimization was V1’s specialty, and they were no stranger to…unconventional tactics. Anything to drive up their style points and to shave off milliseconds from their best record, of course.³

Hold on. A minute vibration. What’s this murmured rattling V1 is picking up with their sensors? It couldn’t have been Gabriel, who had since quieted their quiet weeping to a simple rhythmic breathing.

Oh, it’s them. V1’s arms were still shaking, along with their legs, albeit just lightly now. Joint instability, likely a side effect from the neural tube. 

[FUCK]

They stood in a clearing, just outside the entrance to the abandoned factory. When had they-huh. No matter. V1 knew every minutiae of the environment around them: air pressure, temperature, moisture levels, air composition, nearby sounds, everything. There was no sensation foreign to them, until now. 

Emotion Emulation. How foreign. How unknown. How terrifying. V1 stared down at the grass beneath their step. They yoinked one blade, bringing it up as close to their ocular receptors as possible for closer analysis, even with their currently shaky arms. It was green, but more than that, it was alive. It was thriving. 

Deep within musing, V1 stalled. Has the grass always been so green? Has the sun always been so bright? Had Gabriel’s wings always been so alluring? Had his armor always glimmered with such obvious tender care and maintenance? Had his waist always been so small and looked so easy to wrap around with their arms?

Some unknown force - a desire - as V1 supplanted, pulled them to want to pin Gabriel down with all four of their arms (The Feedbacker and his wielding arm around his waist, the Whiplash on one thigh, and the Knuckleblaster creeping under his armor) and never let go, just letting Gabriel’s warmth alone sustain them.

Chapter Text

The surface was beautiful, once. When the universe was created, born from nothing but aether pulled from nothingness, all was arranged into stardust, then air, then rock. Each quark and electron were meticulously arranged and readjusted, like porcelain statues in a display case. In a way, Gabriel was born very much in the same way as man: forged from the inanimate and shaped in His image. His being pulsed with blood, the life force binding all of creation. In place of a soul, however, the divine light rested instead. Now that it is gone, though…

It was still beautiful, in a wistful way. The crumbling concrete of buildings of aeons past lies in abandoned piles, while the corpses of planet-trembling Earthmovers littered the horizon. On all of them, creeping vines and decomposing plant matter alike crawled and splayed upon every surface the smallest speck of dirt could cover. 

What was his purpose now, even? Gabriel palmed the crumbling concrete of the factory wall. The council is gone, and like them, Gabriel is as good as dead to the denizens of Heaven. Good riddance, perhaps. This way, maybe they would finally learn, and prevent the next Council from rising. Gabriel’s departure would be the final stake to signify the end of their reign and the dawn of a new beginning—the last herd he would ever guide as an aging, deposed shepherd.

It had not always been like this, of course. He thinks of his brothers; of Michael and Raphael. The memories of lifetimes spent with them are yellowed and ultimately more painful than not, like the fragile words of a well-loved obituary in the newspaper, but they were comforting, and Gabriel could not help himself but reminisce again and again.

It was quiet in the beginning. There was little in all of existence. He was born enveloped in a halo of light, filled with nothing but a drive to protect, and a duty to serve. But he was not born filled with love. Rather, he was born with an empty heart with a staunch capacity for love.

It was them—Michael, who had taught him the art of the sword; Raphael, who had taught him the art of change—the two who first passed what love felt like onto him.

(“Then do,” Raphael Encouraged, “take control of your body like Uriel had. Make yourself a man, should you wish. I shall help you.”

Gabriel’s hand trembled as he hesitantly undid his chest bindings. “But, what if the others disapprove? You know that there are some who are all too happy to jump to drastic measures.”

Raphael reached into his satchel to acquire a Poppy bud. He crushed it open and let the seeds, all tiny beady eyes, fall into Gabriel’s hand. “For the pain,” he explained. 

Raphael then traced the red indentations on Gabriel’s back while he helped Gabriel lie on his back. “My, your bindings were quite tight. But worry not, brother. I shall speak no word of this to any other. The Lord did not make you defective, but there is nothing saying He wished upon you excess strife. He gave us free will, so use it. To change is nothing but beauty, a natural extension of His will unto ours.”

Raphael stood to the side of Gabriel, towering over his torso. He squeezed Gabriel’s left shoulder gently in a final reassurance. A glimmering blue blade sat comfortably in his expert hands. “Now, breathe. This will hurt.”

Michael’s silence beyond the archway only spoke of his quiet support.)¹

Like all of his siblings, he was created to serve a Higher Light. Like a moth to a flame, or a migratory bird, Gabriel has always defined himself in reference to the Father’s Holy Light. Now that He is gone, and the Council extinguished alongside His will, Gabriel felt like nothing but a fledgling abandoned upon a tall cypress tree, bending to the whims of bark and wind alike. 

(Actually, can Gabriel even call himself - themself - a man anymore? The thought sent a shiver of disquiet down Gabriel’s entire body. He breathed in a terse breath, fixing his posture and puffing out his chest, like his stomach was in flux and clenched.)

He had no home to return to, nor brethren to cherish, no covenant to fulfill. Worst of all, somewhere along the line, he had begun forgetting them. The long, languorous debates with Raphael or the exhilarating spars with Michael were all succumbing to the erosion, and piece by piece, all returned to the sea of oblivion beyond the firmament. How long has it been since he lost them? He could not even recall, with memories buried under mountains of endless duties and responsibilities. Bitter glee flitted in his fingertips. It was all so pointless.

He was stuck in Limbo, sans the television screens and artificial birdsong. Truly, it was fitting that Limbo was the mouth of hell. There was little to stave off the boredom and misery that followed a meaningless existence, ample time for him to reflect and wallow. Actually, perhaps entrapment in Limbo was too generous. It was, after all, for covens of unconvinced do-gooders or those who placed their faith in a different Supreme Power. 

Should Minos have lived, Gabriel would have surely been banished to one of the lower circles, like Violence, or worse. The blood of sinners, demons, and angels alike mar his skin in invisible, shackling scars. All these years, all these battles, all those he had lost and slain…well, perhaps the blood spilt from his blades alone could quench Violence’s rivers until all of Hell crumbled. 

The grass below him now became a permanent reminder of his acts; a loving reminder of the vibrant red of blood against the verdant green, just as his armor now sat over his skin like a straitjacket, carrying the promises-turned-burdens now left broken on the cutting floor. His thoughts writhed and tied themselves into knots. 

Now, he looks towards his unlikely ally. The machine sat turned away from him on a patch of grass in the middle of the clearing, with their legs pressed against their slouched chassis and wings splayed outwards. The hundreds of years of smog and ash kicked up from explosives and war had finally cleared from the skies, and the sunlight streamed through the dilapidated factory entrance. They seemed incredibly and intensely focused on something, the gentle whirring of their optics focusing apparent in the stark stillness. Gabriel moved closer to take a peek, to find that all the machine was doing was… staring really really intensely at a blade of grass. Really? That’s it? Incomprehension turned to irritation. They escape the clutches of Hell and that’s all they care to do? Absurd.

His feet shifted uncomfortably on the ground, feeling the metal of his armor scrape across the concrete floor. Dread crept into the fascia holding him together and twisted and clawed , followed closely by a hollow anger. He could laugh, he really could, but no sound dared to escape from his esophagus. Like a caged canary sinking deeper into a mineshaft, the cursed machine was his oil lantern, but what was a light good for if they’re only barrelling towards their inevitable death? The stints would only hold for so long, but whether they would run out of oxygen first was a thought left unfinished.

Ha, what a pair they make—a son of God and a son of man brought together by the remnants of humanity. (Well, could it be said that God had a hand in a creature like the machine’s creation, or had mankind became God himself in creating artificial life? Who can tell? Gabriel certainly could not ask, at least not anymore). Absurd.

No home, no rank, nor family. Nothing. Nothing. There was nothing to return to. There were only memories he could reminisce on—a fleeting comfort which constantly threatened to envelop him with aeons of grief all at once. Even the injuries he sustained from their clash mere hours ago now faded into a forgettable, dull ache. Reality itself was fading into monotony.

Fuck. He cursed himself. What the fuck was he thinking? If he had just maybe reasoned with the council, then they’d be sure to hear him out at least. Then he would’ve at least managed to save some sliver of his belonging to the angelic order. (But then again, wasn’t that what Minos had done? Pleaded for mercy and leniency for his people until all his blood had pooled out and onto the marble and his body stilled a second, final time. He was right. Sisyphus was right. They were all right. 6000 years of being a fool and only now did he see—fully see. A bubbling rage coursed through his chest, heavy with regret when- 

-plink!

Oh, he kicked over a rock. He had been pacing in a circle, taking his helm in his hand. He didn’t realize. The rock was small, a rough oblong pebble at best. Inconsequential and forgotten, doomed to erode into sand and return to the Earth. Hauntingly tragic and uncomfortably reflective. Oh, fuck this, he should just leave while he still had the chance.

Suddenly, the machine jumped towards Gabriel once more, cold metal hands grasping his forearm. Gabriel’s nervous system roared. He demanded, “Machine? What were you doing?” 

If they heard, they did not bother to respond. Instead, they hurriedly scampered off, pulling Gabriel by the wrist along with them. “Machine! Release me at once!” he barked.

Before he could continue protesting, the machine ducked into the hallway. They looked almost panicked, optic rapidly scanning all the doorways. Now…where were they going? Gabriel stared incredulously. No matter how much time he spent with this little creature, he still could not meaningfully understand them. Absurd. Whatever, might as well go along with them, it’s not like he had anything better to do anyway. 

They raised their red arm - the one with the shotgun shells (which hurt like a bitch, mind you), and punched the door clean off, ripped open from its hinges (Gabriel internally cringed. The shrapnel from that arm was incredibly annoying, even as the pain has since dispelled into a simple hum across his chest). They stepped inside and continued to sweep everything off of the large central metal desk. Dust erupted from the yellowed and crinkled books and binders alike as they tumbled onto the floor. 

Curious, Gabriel tested the door knob from the now detached door. It worked perfectly well. Actually, it wasn’t even locked in the first place. Gabriel cursed himself (and not on the Good Lord because he refuses to take his name in vain, even now) for following this…rabid dog. Clearly, they had not even a modicum of modesty or care for the world. 

“Machine? What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel spat, raising his voice. He gestured to the door as his wings splayed out. If doors could speak, well, looking at this one’s sorry state, this door may just start crying on the spot. 

The room was quite cramped and now more disorganized than ever, but remarkably well-preserved when contrasted against the dilapidated husk of a parent building. Ah, this must have been some sort of decent private office space at some point, if the flaking varnish of the furniture was to be believed. An office chair with peeling faux-leather finish sat tucked behind the table. A small pile of broken and gnawed-on wood planks—remnants of what once was probably a bookshelf— sat in the left corner, right below a small window and next to a pile of crushed glass shards. 

Yet again, they didn’t bother to respond, nor give any clue as to if they had registered his words, even. Like the grass, they were just standing there, strangely fixated at the table. Heavenly Father, just what is with the machine and staring at inanimate objects. It really cannot be so interesting as to ignore the literal angel standing behind them. Gabriel tired again. “Machine? Did you hear me?”

Finally, the machine turned to him, now perched on the edge of the desk, resting the flat of their feet against the headboard. They made a series of rapid, but recognizable signals with their hands. Hold on, he’s seen these signals before, but where? He rapidly flipped through his mental catalogue of human languages in the past hundred-or-so years. Ah, right! It’s the Esperanto-based Universal Sign Language—that’s it! A shiver of pride ran through his wings. He had somewhat picked it up decades ago as he watched the mindless fighting mutate once more with the newest, and most frightening addition to the war—some monstrous quadrupedal metal creature equipped with terrifying ion cannons and a concerning amount of housing on its back—since, really, what good was an Archangel if he could not understand all the languages of those he was created to serve? 

He was rusty, but still had working knowledge of its vocabulary and syntax. Gabriel tried his best to decipher what they was trying to express. They raised their hand and pointed at Gabriel - “you” - then raised their hand towards their optic and pointed their index finger upwards as their arm fell back down - “understand” - and tilted their head to the side - ah, a question. ²

They had signed <Do you understand?> So they did have a way to communicate. Fascinating. 

Gabriel crossed his arms and relaxed his shoulders. “I do,” he said, “continue. Why have you brought me here?”

<Thank God. Wait sorry, I forgot he’s dead.> Gabriel tried his best to hold back the annoyed twitch just waiting to fire in every nerve cell. This fucker… 

They continued, <I’ll get to that, but first, I want to make some things clear.> 

They made an “ok” symbol with two hands and pressed the tip of their index and thumb of each hand together, then brought them apart, as if creasing a piece of paper. - the sign for “peace.” They then pointed to Gabriel, back to themselves, and back to Gabriel. A truce. The machine wanted a truce.

Now, weren’t they just full of surprises? A particularly bitter part of Gabriel’s subconscious sneered and wondered why a ceasefire hadn’t come across the machine’s mind in, oh you know, maybe any of the nine blasted layers of Hell they crossed before decimating all of them?

“A truce? Really? You don’t seem like the type to want peace, frankly” Gabriel drawled, vexed. “Your little prance through Hell cost me EVERYTHING, and only now you think about peace? You- you…” He tried to summon the most vicious, poisonous words he could incant, and yet, they felt flat on his tongue. Nothing. He was empty. He was nothing. Truly, the machine had taken everything away from him. He can’t even be bothered to be angry, truthfully. 

The machine lowered the top half of their optic cover, as if to stare incredulously at him. Their next signs were just a tad bit faster, a tad bit more exaggerated. <Look. The world is dying. We are both dying, sooner or later. I’d love to kick your ass again, if that’s what you’re looking for, but I’m incapacitated and you’re wallowing in angst. That’s not satisfying. It’s just not stylish.>

He laughed, emptily. “Go fuck yourself, Machine.” How dare they think of themselves in a situation like this? The machine was a perfect mirror of their creators, equally monstrous and vain. The ugliest part of humanity. (But then what was Gabriel? The thought went unsaid.)

<Don’t be petty, asshole>

It’s amusing. Almost. Style? Fucking style? That’s what’s important? Absurd . This creature was nothing but absurd. Lord, this was pointless. “Just go…Leave me be. I have a day left to live, at the maximum. Just go and let me enjoy my peace in my final hour. You’ve taken enough. At least spare me this,” he said, defeated. 

Nothing. Nothing.

Neither of them moved for an impossible moment. Finally, the machine moved their arms and broke the silence once more. <And what do you think I will do?>

That lured Gabriel out of his own musing. “Go slaughter all of Heaven? Decimate the local wildlife? I don’t know, whatever your kind do, anyway.”

The machine’s optic flickered - did they just roll their eyes? At him? <One: I don’t suppose there’s an elevator up to Heaven? Two: there’s only so much left on the surface. Three: then what?>

Oh…He hadn’t considered that. Nothing. Nothing comes afterwards. The realization descended upon Gabriel like a veil lifted from his eyes.

“Ah.” Gabriel understands now. “You’re scared.”

A millisecond passed. <Sure.>

There was nothing left. Nothing left for either of them.

“You know,” Gabriel started, “you’re incomprehensible and completely absurd. So much so that I sincerely doubt your creators even endowed an iota of common sense into you. You’re violent and destructive and honestly insane. To the point where you scorch the remains of all that had already been burnt, and slaughtered God’s creations with blatant disrespect and…”

<Ok, now you’re just insulting me.>

“...but,” he held up a hand. “You gave me a real taste of a challenge, and managed to change my mind.” His blind conviction had burnt away along with the raw hatred. In its place, pearlescent nothingness remained. He was remade, like Adam from clay; naked and resolute. “So what I’m trying to say is, you have my gratitude, machine. I will help you.”

They looked genuinely confused, if a machine could ever be that. Their wing blades drooped down, cycling through various intensities of luminescent yellow. Gabriel crossed his arms and relaxed his stance. “Whatever you have to say, you can save it for later. We’ll proceed with the truce, then, first. State your terms.”

Thank the Lord, that snapped V1 from the awkward silence. Hesitantly, no, softly, they began moving. <First, I have a name, you know?> The machine signs, tapping the “V1” marking on the top corner of their chassis. 

Gabriel looked closer. “V-I? Vi, is that right?” Their optic flickers for a millisecond.

<No, V1. V-O-N-E> They kept their index finger raised, emphasizing their point.

“V-One?” he mused, tasting the two syllables in his mind, “Certainly creative.”

<Better than some dorky name like Gabriel>

Ha, it's funny to think that they were built with a sense of humor, Gabriel thought, amused. V1 was really something, not that he’s going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that, of course. “What else?”

V1 continued, <Second, when I ask of you, help me refuel. My needs are variable, but I will ask the minimum I require to ensure optimal running conditions and that you won’t crumple onto the floor.> 

Gabriel had half the thought to scoff at that. “Acceptable. Blood should not be a major concern to me.”

<Good, I have one last request. Neither of us will fight until I manage to recalibrate and reboot my systems. Fully. And to do that, I need your help.>

Gabriel shifted, crossing his arms closer to his chest. “And why might that be? You are putting a lot of trust into my supposed goodwill, something you can’t ensure. What’s stopping me from plain refusing and striking you down now?” He didn’t really mean to threaten them, but he was certainly intrigued. For an artificial mind, they sure harbor a lot of faith in him.

V1 had the audacity to shrug. <I mean, I’m currently in a surprisingly low amount of pieces if you really wanted to disassemble me. It’s illogical. Besides, do you really want to?”

Hm, he paused. “No,” he concluded.

<Well, that settles it. So, how does that sound?>

“Your terms are acceptable, but that begs a new question, what do I get in return? So far you’ve only asked things from me,” Gabriel asked, “a truce goes both ways, no?”

<Fine. What do you want?>

Gabriel mused. What could he ask…what could he ask in a cold, dead world… “Nothing exact,” he confessed, “there’s probably nothing you can give me, anyway. I’ll settle for an ‘I Owe You,’ though.” 

V1’s top and bottom optic covers extended, narrowing their optic display. <Don’t tell me, you’re one of those wishy-washy sentimental types, aren’t you? Ew.>

“What? You-you don’t even know me, how dare you-”

<Oh, I know you plenty. Lots, actually. You probably wanted to say something like “fulfillment in life” or “happiness,” weren’t you?>

He huffed. “As if. Not at all. Fine. Name one personal thing about me that is true, if you’re so observant.”

<Easy. I’ll even give you two. One: I kicked your ass three times. Two: you like having your ass kicked.>

This fucking guy??!? After the olive branch, no, olive tree he extended in their direction?!

“You-” Gabriel cut himself off from finishing the sentence. An anger stirred alive in his chest, but strangely, with none of the biting rage, leaving only subdued amusement. Deep breaths, Gabriel… He sighed. “You know what, I won’t even entertain your taunt. Just…tell me what I need to do.”

Luckily, V1 did not push further. They signed to Gabriel, <Minor internal damage, driver malfunction. I have a dislocated neural tube inside me that’s accessible by my chest cavity. It must be manually set into the correct place. While it does not necessarily impact my critical function, until it is reset, I cannot properly run several QOL programs and my self-healing protocols don’t cover it. I would fix this myself, but you damaged my dexterity. You are the closest to a technician. It must be up to you.>

Oh, he was not equipped for this. What in the Lord’s green Earth was a “neural tube” or a “driver?” None of those words are in the Good Book, this was so out of his comfort zone. He was many things — a messenger, a warrior, a judge — but he was not exactly a mechanic, nor an engineer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to damage you further, is it that important if it’s non-vital?”

<What other choice is there? Miraculously find a mechanic? But no, objectively, it’s not important.>

“Ah,” Gabriel understands now. He amended his question, “is it important to you?”

V1 stilled just long enough for Gabriel to briefly wonder if he had inflicted more damage than he had thought and V1 had shorted out. Finally, they signed a definitive <Yes.>

Well, if there was no choice, then…“Alright then, just tell me what to do,” Gabriel acquiesced.

V1 moved to lay down on the table, folding their wings in. The table was just long enough to prevent any of their limbs from dangling off of it. Ah, this must be why they were so entranced by it earlier. Gabriel stepped closer to get a better look. V1’s blue metal plating was still immaculately maintained to the casual observer, in all its shiny glory. Upon closer inspection however, the cold, smooth metal was matted with countless minuscule dents covering almost every inch of them, from their collar ridge to their hip joint. . Traces of maroon still tinge the hinges, evidence of their previous… encounter.

With a Click-, V1’s chassis snapped open, the gears shifting and pneumatics hissing. Gabriel’s eyes widened as his gaze wandered over what laid beneath. Webs of tubing - all carrying fresh blood, circulated around a large central pump while what must be hundreds of wires ran from one side of their chest to the other.

Gabriel’s hand absentmindedly floated above the delicate wiring and tubing. V1’s optic narrows.  “My, how the tables have turned,” Gabriel quietly mused. 

<Sure> V1 signed, really drawing out the last motion.

Ha, it’s almost human. V1’s entire being almost mimicked organic matter. His hand trailed down to observe the central pump. With every gyration, it seemed that V1’s chest cavity would depress slightly, then rebound rhythmically, like breathing. His figure loomed over them. Ah, he forgot how large he was proportionally to the average mortal-er…mortal-shaped machine. Admittedly, his hand was a little too big for fine work of this magnitude, but it will do. He took off his gauntlets and set them on the floor.

The thought that V1 was mostly carrying Gabriel’s blood sparked some unknown feeling in his middle — a hot, warm discomfort, like he was drenched from the outside in.

<H-E-R-E> V1 finger-spelled with one hand while the other gestured to a compartment right above their central pump. <N-E-U-R-A-L—N-E-T-W-O-R-K/ S-E-A-R-C-H—B-L-U-E—W-I-R-E/ P-L-U-G—I-N—P-O-R-T—T-O—T-O-P—R-O-W>

Gabriel stared at the mess of wire—moderately-sized blues, reds, greens, and various shades of grey tangled and overlapped in a chaotically organized matrix. Perhaps not even Daedalus could come up with a labyrinth of this complexity. Still, he’ll give it his all. “Sounds feasible. Just don’t take my hand off if I do something wrong, though.”

He took his index and middle finger, weaving them into the mesh and spreading them apart. The more he dug and peeked, the more wires seemingly appeared out of thin air. It was worse than finding a needle in a haystack, rather, it was like trying to pull out a single soul from the waves of Wrath. No dice. He turned his attention to where the wires came from and descended to. Some ran beneath several circuit boards and into each of V1’s wings, he presumed, but along the brim, several rows of ports were connected to wire. He ran his finger along them, and - oh! - there was one empty port. He traced the smooth opening, estimating its dimensions. The socket was rectangular, with one end joined together, like a juvenile “house” shape.³

Hmm, ok, maybe half a centimeter in width, and a centimeter across, at most. He stared at the mess of wire beneath the array of ports — red wire, black wire, grey wire, light grey wire, liter grey wire, dark grey wire, blue wire, really dark grey wire—hold on, blue wire! Oh thank the Lord! Gabriel quickly poked his finger into the mesh, trying to fish it out. His fingers were just a touch too large to make the dexterity-heavy task comfortable, but with enough wiggling and squirming, he could hook his finger onto the cord. Carefully, inch by inch, he pulled it out, exposing the head. 

Alright, now this is the easy part. Gabriel just has to carefully plug this guy back in, and it’ll all be over. Everything will turn back to normal. If only it was that easy. Curse his size once more! His hands were for battle, and scribe work, and spreading the Good Word, not for fiddling in some machine’s internals (wait, actually, scratch that, saying it like that makes him sound weird.) His fingers pinched the head like his life depended on it as his hand stumbled around, attempting to rotate the head around while avoiding knocking any important components out of whack (which is to say, none of them. Who knows, maybe they were all really really important). 

Despite the awkward angle, he managed to flip it around with enough back and forth finessing the port between his fingers and palm. With a gentle push, he pushed the plug in.

Only to miss the port. 

The tip skidded over the opening at an angle. Immediately, V1 stilled, every joint freezing all at once. Their optic flickered on and off with no discernible rhythm. Gabriel quickly dropped and withdrew his hand. Shit shit shit did he do something wrong? “V1? What’s happening? Are you ok?”

They laid still for an unbearable second more, but then lifted their wielding hand, just to grab at his arm and pull him back in. “V1? What?” 

With their other hand, the parrying arm, V1 finger spelled quickly - desperately - but at a pace Gabriel could not miss.

<A-G-A-I-N>

He can’t deny it, there was an undercurrent of…something lingering, between his thighs. A hunger ebbed through his circulatory system, emanating from his traitorous heart. He felt it beat right in his throat, alongside a newly emerging anxiousness sitting in his chest.

He swallowed, commanding his hand to obedience. “Are you sure? We should stay on task.” 

V1 said nothing in reply except to use all two other free hands to begin pawing at whatever they could grab of Gabriel, beckoning him to come closer, to reduce the distance between their frames. 

<F-U-C-K—Y-O-U>

Gabriel’s thumb and index finger grazed over a particularly large tube - not the dislodged one though. A silent but still noticeable vibration emanated from V1’s chassis, along with the noticeable buzz of a fan snapping online. 

<M-O-R-E> 

This was going to be hard. The fan whirled louder as Gabriel hooked onto the neighboring wire and tugged. Oh… this is going to be really hard. Heavenly Father, give me your strength. All the resolve and self-control he disciplined, primed himself into these long millennia were starting to buckle under the sheer delirious excitement dancing in his mind.

No, no, Gabriel, bring yourself back in. He steadied his mind, and picked something calming to mentally recite, lest he be led astray. Ah, how about… yes, this one he has always found particularly beautiful. How does it open again?

“The fig tree forms its early fruit;

the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.

Arise, come, my darling;

my beautiful one, come with me."

Ah yes, beautiful and innocent. Gabriel can already feel those less-than-pure thoughts float away. Let’s consider this a, yes, a friend helping his compatriot out. Yes, a favor, nothing else. He continued to circle the port, feeling the vibrations beneath his palms. Ok, he'll just have to distract himself more. That's doable. Now, how does it continue?

“...Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;

milk and honey are under your tongue…”

 

Wait a second…where was this one going again? 

“...My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;

my heart began to pound for him.

I arose to open for my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt...” ⁴

…shit. Gabriel’s heart surged once more, that traitorous bastard. It beat ever so quicker, and he was all of a sudden very, very aware of just how warm his skin was against his armor once more. He rubbed the metal tip of the plug in his hand. An electronic crackle emerged from someplace deep inside V1’s circuitry. Not quite a scream, but the closest approximate. 

“V1,” Gabriel vacantly murmured with a touch too much heat behind his words than he would like to admit. Then, emerging from the depths of his mind, a devious thought floated to the forefront. He lined the tip up with its socket and pushed in.

Nightmarish static engulfed V1’s frame, seemingly crackling out of every seam. Their wings flapped out, then back in, and then back out. The rest of their limbs jolted just as much, splaying in opposite directions. The Kuckleblaster, which once rested gently on Gabriel’s forearm, dug in, drawing beads of blood which seeped out and was quickly absorbed hungrily by V1’s plating. A vestige of a moan escaped Gabriel’s throat before he could force it back down. 

Then, he pulled the plug out. V1 positively jumped. Another wave of static and motion pulsed through them. His breathing picked up pace as the incessant drone of the exhaust fan was now louder than ever. Every piece of metal plating rattled with a subtle vibration. 

Jackpot. Oh Lord, this was beautiful.

The word cycled through his mind. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. He tested the word on his tongue. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Yes, it felt right. Four arms wrapped around him, begging him to come closer, to touch more, to feel how Gabriel’s making them feel. He leaned into V1 on the table, attempting to restrain the rogue servos and avoid another fist to the face. 

He couldn’t see what he was palming at very well now, but that didn’t matter. He reached for the array again, and this time, grabbed two cables and tugged until they came loose, letting what must be sparks of charge seep through the tip. V1 responded with just as much fervor, twitching erratically. He plugged one back in, twisting the tip while buried in the socket while kneading the other in his palm instead. 

Yes, just like that, in, out, in, out. A warmth bubbled in his core, as trepidation built in his joints. “Ah-” he choked out, ever so slightly bucking into V1’s thigh. Since when had he slung one of his legs over…“mhg-yes,” he trilled, oh never mind that thought, he could use more of that. 

Three times shallow, then once deep. He settled into a rhythm, minding to twist the cable as he pulled it out and once more when he buried it back in. V1’s motion gradually grew in intensity, and in violence as well, digging into Gabriel’s skin. He’s pretty sure the desk started to rattle with them at some point . He didn’t mind, oh, not at all, as he arched his back and ground back with equal fervor. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. 

With a quiet whine, Gabriel stuffed every unplugged cable back into their sockets. “Mmgh, V1” he groaned, pleased—a quiet prayer. Then—the apex of their crescendo: static howled from V1’s core. Every joint buckled all at once: wings flexing, arms and legs tensing, head arching back, hitting the table with a loud bang as their optic flashed bright, then went dim. And then, nothing. V1 stilled. They held their position for 1…2…3…4…5 seconds, before simultaneously relaxing every cubic inch of their frame. But they did not get up. Optic still dim, they laid still, save for the occasional whirr of some gear moving within them. 

His head felt very heavy and feverish. He gasped, Lord, when had his breathing become so laborious? He moved gently off the table, taking care to not trample V1 as he climbed away from them. He clenched his thighs together. Beads of sweat, and something…else had gathered at the crest between his inner thighs and pelvis. He cursed himself for getting to this state. It was uncomfortable and humid and humiliating. 

As Gabriel fixed himself upright on both feet, a sickly dread washed over him at once. Whatever self-actualization he had achieved washed away. Oh Lord, what did he do? He felt his core lurch as he staggered away from the desk. A frigid realization trampled through his limbic system. He had these unforgivable, accursed, wicked thoughts, and he had wanted to act on them, but he can’t, oh, no, no, he couldn’t- he wasn’t- how-

Heavenly Father, Hallowed be Thy Name…

V1’s chassis snapped back into place, mechanisms locking the plates into place. Yet, they still did not get up. Recalibrating, maybe? Whatever machines did, anyway. If he was to slip away, he needs to do it now. Make up your damn mind, Gabriel, and do it now.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil...

He shouldn’t. He can’t. If he indulged these…tendencies any more...he can’t just…he just couldn’t. Then why did it feel so good? Why did he want it so fucking badly? Every inch of him would be delighted to fall in and be consumed by hellfire so- He forced the profane thought down in his mind. No, on the last embers of his pride as an Archangel, he needs to hold onto his honor at least. God, no, he cannot just let himself go like this, and degrade himself to the level of…what, one of Mino’s peons? He took a cautious step towards the door, eyes trained on V1’s slowly rising figure. No, not after spending all these thousands of years restraining every fleeting desire and wayward thought. He shouldn’t. Gabriel won’t let himself be consumed by this evil. No matter how much he wanted it, he won’t. He won’t allow it.

Amen.

He turned on his heel and tried to run. But not before - he snapped his gaze back into the room at the tell-tale whoosh of V1’s grapple, just as the cord had snaked around his neck. “A-ch-KG-” Gabriel choked out, hands flying to inspect his throat. V1 pulled the line taut—firm but not aggressive, and gently retracted the cord, guiding Gabriel back to their side. 

<Where are you going?> V1 signed, punctuating each motion with a deliberate precision. A barrage of curses rose and died in his throat, replaced instead by a laborious exhale. 

“None of your business. I’ve held up my half of the bargain,” he finally decided, one hand now hovering limply over the hilt of Justice. “Leave me. I have no need for you.”

V1’s optic flickered once more, then glanced at Gabriel, carefully. <Hm, I don’t think I will> Gabriel tried to fold his wings in, hiding his shame. In a quick success of movement, V1 tossed him onto the desk. One arm slammed his chest down onto the hard surface, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. <You’re lying to yourself. What do you really want?>

Phantoms of Gabriel’s previous words floated in his mind. “Nothing you can give me…” Hot shame flooded his mind. He was not enjoying V1 manhandling him, thank you very much!

V1 crawled over him, one arm traced up his chest, ducking beneath his chest plate, the other arm kept the cord tied to his neck at an uncomfortable but not distressing amount of tension, the third caressed his shoulder, all the while the last arm lingered up and down his thigh, hiking his skirt up to his midriff. He inhaled, sharply, demanding his heart to stop beating so damn fast. 

What was he doing, enjoying tolerating this? Damn this infernal machine…always making him think such thoughts. Completely unbecoming of himself. 

It’s cold. He jolts, minutely, at every touch. V1 moved their knee to pin down Gabriel’s left thigh as they used their other leg to force Gabriel’s legs apart. Their arm dipped to caress his inner thigh, and Gabriel positively trilled at the touch, his wings flicked and twitched as he tried to press closer, feeling the full breadth of V1’s hand. 

If he really wanted to, he could overpower them easily. Both of his arms were free, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Some haze had descended upon his mind—not so tangible that he was sure he had not sustained some mortal cranial injury, but palpable enough that it pulsed behind his vision. Nothing rested in his mind but the ever growing warmth that blossomed across his body, throbbing foremost at his groin. A torrid flash of shame struck his heart as he felt a wave of warm air from V1’s exhaust fans hit his cunt, now slick with drool and exposed for the whole world to see.

Gabriel opened his mouth and tried to curse, but with a cautious glide of V1’s digits up his weeping lips, all that made it out of his throat was a nasally whine. Their careful digits fluttered up and down once more, then twice more, and then…but never bothered to dip in, as if they asked him: “what do you want?”

Haaa… Gabriel huffed. There was no going back. No council to appease, no higher power to serve. Fine. Why not, there’s nothing left. “Go on then, do your worst,” he bit, teasingly rolling his hips.

And oh, he could not have prepared himself properly for this. V1 did, dipping a digit into his cunt, slow and exploratory—careful, sensual, gentle. Gabriel clenched, holding back a gasp. They were working him open with calculated precision. It burned at first, but the steady stream of wetness diminished any pain, until all that was there was a steady stream of good good good …Then, they added another finger to little resistance as virgin flesh gave way. Satisfaction hummed in him, but it was all manageable. Maybe he can escape with his honor intact!

V1 suddenly curved their fingers upwards. Gabriel screamed. “OH-ffhck-FUCK” shit, he couldn’t hold that one back. He jolted upwards, wings flicking outwards and body bucking. 

This heat—devilish, evil heat lapped at his cunt. He floundered towards V1, taking as much of their hand as he could manage. His hips jerked down to meet V1’s hand right down to the knuckle joint, which was no doubt drenched in his fluids by now, judging from that positively obscene squelch. That traitorous sense of longing surged in his chests. It sat just above his pussy, encircled by the gold filigree marking his angelic nature. It burns, like flames just barely licking his clit, feather light, leaving oh so much to be desired.

With renewed fervor, V1 gradually picked up speed. Gabriel gladly accepted each thrust, rolling his hips rhythmically in response until his clit just managed to grind against their palm. The gentle hiss of the pistons in V1’s arm was quickly drowned out by a barrage of “yes yes yes more-” and likewise blathering nonsense that streamed out of Gabriel’s mouth. 

Good good good, it was all so good . Dear God, was this what he was deprived of all these long thousands of years? Another drop of wetness swells and pours over his lips, streaming down his tensed thigh - fuck . 

“Fufff-fuck-FUCK-Ohhhh, fuck me more,” Gabriel groaned, breathless, as V1 zeroed in on that one spot, curving their digits upwards, and pistoned in and out. His fingers clutched the ends of the table with excruciating force. Oh, if they kept this up, Gabriel wouldn’t be able to hold it all in, oh no, no, even as his pussy greedily swallowed up everything V1 gave him, a small thought managed to creep into his mind — burning, longing, overwhelming and all-encompassing. 

Oh, he realized, this was good. No, more than that, this was incomprehensible, maddening, revolting, and oh so delicious all at once. It was like his body ached, physically. Powerful and sickening, desire replaced where the Holy Light once sat in his chest and yanked his being towards submission. He felt himself  tumbling, further and further,  into corrupt ecstasy. If he had not been cast off from Heaven, he would surely cast himself out now— anathema , wholly and unashamedly self-condemned. ⁵ He was positively aflame with sensation, raw feeling rippling in waves and gyrating across his whole frame. 

“Yes yes yes, oh, fuck, V1 that’s good, followed quickly by “more, yes right thERE- OH-” and accompanied by a quick strangled high-pitched “OH-” as Gabriel sank deeper into the pleasure. The whiplash snapped taut, jerking Gabriel towards V1, closing the empty space between them, as if they wanted him to shut up. Metal on flesh. Divine and monstrous. Humiliating and oh so exciting. He would be much more mortified if V1 had cared to pause their unrelenting campaign (and if Gabriel wasn’t so receptive to every icy touch on his burning skin, but that was unsaid). 

And then in a single hot, electrifying motion, V1 nudged his clit with their firing hand, abandoning his hips. His head spun. His fingers gathered a modest amount of abandoned wetness that now splayed across his entire inner thigh and continued to sensually massage his clit. They moved slowly and deliberately, letting him feel each ridge, each seam in the metal. Gabriel squirmed against their touch and desperately tried to hold back another shameless moan as V1 rolled his clit between two fingers. Too much pressure and yet not enough all at once. His hands clamored over V1’s back, inviting, no, pleading for them to keep going. He needs this. His fingers clawed at whatever they could get a grip on — a wing bar, a particularly rough edge, a port opening, anything.

Never allowed… he was never allowed such profane pleasures before, this was unholy, this was sin. But why did it taste so good? Surely the Father was not so cruel as to forbid his most beloved creations from experiencing a bliss of this magnitude. 

Dexterity was definitely their strong suit, Gabriel absentmindedly noted (not that he would remember, he’s not even that lucid right now, honestly, ohhhh God they need to keep doing that with their hand- ) 

God, maybe they were wrong—” Oh, yes, yes, oh that’s so good…” —Maybe they were all wrong…maybe Gabriel was designed for this—"Fuck!Yes, keep going, go deeper, machine-”—if the Holy Father made no mistakes then he was designed too for this… yes…this, this was divine, sweeter than any censer smoke hallowed halls may offer.

V1 kept taking and taking and Gabriel kept giving and giving. If V1 asked to go deeper and deeper Gabriel would surely comply, he decided, V1 could take everything — his traitorous heart, his desperate aching, his ashamed and traitorous and honest and quivering and greedy body — he would let them take it all so passion and voltage may rest in every nerve in place of shame. 

The Knuckleblaster’s sharpened claws loitered on Gabriel’s side, slowly drawing circled when- “OH- Fuck-” V1 dug in, piercing his skin and spilling crimson once more. Their digits devoured the blood, but never dug too far in for any mortal danger. Gabriel hissed at the pain and his head spun with the dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure. Yes, yes, this was him: hungry for contact, hungry for pleasure, hungry for pure, unadulterated feeling.

That quiet heat building in his groin was now a full firestorm. Gabriel reached out to grab what he could of V1, feeling the vibrations of motors no doubt overclocking themselves, and reveled at the warm air expelled by their exhaust fans. Yes, oh, this was heavenly — this sacrilege, wholly wicked and corrupt and oh so good — he needs this. He needs to feel the heat of his skin meld into metal, until the fire thrumming in his veins overtakes both of him, sending him into a spiral to the deepest trenches of hell. Fuck, heaven be damned, even theosis was not nearly as gratifying.⁶ Forget heaven, forget Hell, forget Earth. This was what he was made for.

Suddenly, V1 pulled out of Gabriel’s twitching frame. Just as he started to sit up, intending to protest, they stuck two fingers back in. Gabriel quietly moaned and leaned back once more, content. This time, V1 slowed their pace to an almost tortuous pace, but each stroke was deliberate and purpose-filled and brushed against that one spot which made Gabriel clench when caressed. Oh and caressed he was, over and over again, V1’s fingers pounded against Gabriel’s cunt. A positively obscene - squelch - followed by an even more obscene moan ricocheted off the walls. 

That’s it, some part of Gabriel’s absent mind came acknowledged. He was so far past the possibility of passing any of this off as a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgement. No, this was addicting. He had never been able to rationalize why Eve ate the fruit, but now, having tasted the forbidden, he understood. 

This was sin, it bewitched him to tumble into blasphemous ecstasy, falling further and further away from kinship with God. This was immoral and wicked and loving and beautiful. He could not, no, should not have more. He wanted all of it. Consumption and absolution all in one, this was beautiful and entrancing—the apotheosis of existence. ⁷

At that moment, Gabriel screamed. Just like that, he was gone. Whatever was left of his mortification was set loose, filled instead with a silent, tranquil peace. 

Light and form danced. The shape of his surroundings melted into simple amorphous blobs as colors swam from one side of his vision to another. He stilled, counting each breath. Oh, God, this? This was what he was so scared of? 

Oh, Lord forgive him; there was definitely no coming back from this anymore. It was terrible. It was beautiful. It was everything Gabriel dreaded. It was everything he wanted and more. Oh, he thought, what I would give to taste that tantalizing agony once more. 

He half-noticed V1’s curious glance, frame not moving but focused. They waved one hand to grasp what was left of Gabriel’s mind and attention back to reality. They signed, <I don’t know you at all, huh?> and really drew out the last word.

“V1, please, shut the fuck up.” Gabriel couldn't even be afforded a decent afterglow after the possibly the most intense first time for a 6000 year old virgin the world has ever seen. God really was dead. 

Gabriel reached down with one hand, only to be met with a wet mess of fluids. God, they did a number on him. He dipped two fingers with an easy slide and pulled out, watching the tendrils of his wetness glisten. Not nearly enough, though. Gabriel rolled onto his elbows and knees and slung one leg over V1’s in a straddle as they shifted beneath him to accommodate the weight. Four arms simultaneously reached up to grab at different parts of him - one on each thigh and one on each arm, pulling him downward so that his helm met V1’s optic at eyelevel. Sparks reignited and flickered behind his skin as he pressed his still-excited pussy onto V1’s thorax and groaned with muted pleasure.

“Again,” he demanded.

Chapter Text

V1 didn’t know what to make of “to live,” really. [Find a way up with Gabriel] was complete, and [Correct Internal Wiring] was too, and even [Diagnose System Instability] along with them. Now, there was no concrete objective. V1 was stuck ever since their prerogative, [To Survive] was overwritten with their new primary objective: [To Live]. 

Upon first examination, it’s a small semantic difference. The two terms were near synonyms. Yet, upon further analysis, a troubling revelation revealed itself. First of all, “To Live” involved many more variables and parameters to solve and pad out to even consider it to be a worthwhile objective-guide. V1 approximated that a system of differential equations might be the easiest place to start. Doable enough, but here’s the difficult part: they need data, and to get data, they have to set up a framework for “living.”

“To survive” was straightforward, consisting of internal statistics and factory-issued protocol — all of which V1 could concretely measure and judge their performance against. Fuel reserves, limb module stability, optical resolution, self-healing matrix efficiency. All fine. But “live?” 

To live implied a degree of subjectivity, a qualitative judgement no instrument could break down into accurate AND precise data. This was troubling. Accuracy and precision could be accounted for separately, but not both at the same time. Quality of life is too nebulous. Not good enough.

All the information they pulled from their database is sourced from human studies. Some parameters are trans-applicable, sure, like access to nutrition (blood), or even access to recreation (murder… violence…speedrunning…so many options); but others, like life expectancy (depends on how much blood they get) or income (blood, again, maybe?) are irrelevant. 

What’s more disturbing is that humanity spent years upon years researching this exact answer and no clear answer. V1 could almost pity their creators (if they could ever do such a thing), if something as fundamental as “how can we tell if we are thriving” was argued back and forth for millennia.

Then, there was no choice but to embark on something completely novel. V1’s computational matrix and reward subroutines thrummed with charge. Innovation was the foundation of every circuit board found in V1’s frame, and it had translated into one of their quirks—the drive to improve, the drive to discover something new. It was their passion, if you could put it that way. That was another novel and concerning note, actually—passion; enjoyment.

From all of their research, it seemed that “to live” and “quality of life” is inextricably entangled with the concept of “enjoyment,” something foreign and they found themselves previously unable to conceptualize it before, at least not to the same degree. Their innate motivation and reward system modulated “enjoyment” as best as it could before, of course, through tagging actions as good and efficient or bad and wasteful, then rerouting their neural networks to cycle through a loop of pre-programmed how to improve…how to improve…how to improve…so that they were always driven to keep going and keep getting better, because they were built with nothing but constant adaptability in mind. It was no mistake that nearly every part of them was to their willing control, so that they could rebuild and modify themselves as needed, time and time again. 

Now, however, it felt different. There was…something they cannot quite compute amidst the ones and zeros…half-ones, half-zeroes, not-ones but not-zeroes? Impossible. Irritating. Had they been infected with malware? No, the last complete system scan showed nothing. Madness.  

Whatever, they’ll just have to adjust. That’s their specialty, anyway. Alright, V1 opened a new note file using what available RAM was at their disposal. 

Creating file…File name [Criteria for Living_V1.180587.txt]...File location Disc B12\f05bda5a7\Loci 87\NT 1040…saving…¹

First, they determined the necessary limitations: these criteria must be comprehensive enough to develop a plausible framework and then a mathematical model that allows actionable, quantitative ways they can measure their performance against a benchmark. Ok, now all they needed was a starting point to their comprehensive guide. 

[S UGGES TIO N: TO EX PERI ENCE]²

Experience? So, data collection. Well, that was a fine by itself, but not as a starting step. It’s not very scientific if they jumped straight to data collection without even a semblance of a hypothesis or research question. 

>No , V1 dismissed the alert to save memory for something else. They needed something more concrete first. If they can demarcate what it means to enjoy, then they will categorize all instances of enjoyment, and then they can develop a model tracking objective enjoyment. Simple.

Besides them, Gabriel started to shiver as he wrapped his arms around himself on the desk, rolling onto his side and curling inward. Sometime during their frolic, they abandoned the desk and now, they both laid on the concrete floor. He had tried to scrape away as much debris and dirt as possible, but V1 could still see small pieces of gravel digging into his skin. 

More than that, during their—V1 searched for an appropriate word, “coitus,” perhaps—Gabriel had lost nearly every piece of his vestments, with the exception of his helm (no, “coitus” didn’t encapsulate it. V1’s Emotional Emulation protested somehow, prompting their Motivation Center to flood “bad” throughout their reward system. Annoying little bugger.)

[FU C K, M AKE LOV E, BO INK…]

Shut up, you.

[YO U’RE NO FU N]

Numerous cuts, now healing with dried blood cracking along their edges, snaked across his whole frame, running up his thighs, his back, his sides, his chest, his arms…everywhere. V1’s reward system flashed online, minutely directing a shock of charge to their motivation center. Good , it had tagged the sight in front of them as. Good . (Why was this thing so inconsistent? Damn it.)

Was he cold? No, he didn’t appear this way in Treachery. Even when he was cold, he refused to curl inward, so timid and lamb-like, it was unlikely. V1 analyzed his posture with a bit more scrutiny. Alright, they dismissed the still empty text file, minding to save it once again. They could always open it later. Right this instant, their time could be used for something more useful—this was the perfect time to test out their new function. 

Starting [Advanced Alignment Module]…Located…Initiating…Executing Program [Emotional Analysis]…

The Advanced Alignment Module had been surprisingly useful. If being able to analyze Gabriel’s responses and affording to reply in an appropriate emotive way allowed Gabriel to be subdued and pacified so easily, all while V1 happily refueled, then there was great value in this. Hell was emptying out, and if this made Gabriel happy to comply with V1 siphoning off his blood in exchange of someone frying his nervous system, then V1 is more than happy to comply. They needed his compliance, and this was a surefire way to do it.

[I LIK E HO W HE SH AKE S UN DER ME]

Oh, hush you. They flickered through their recording, still stored in their Recent Encounters Folder. There was ripe potential to be gleaned, all that they needed to do is review and reconstruct new, better battle tactics for the future. Right now, however, they analyzed Gabriel, especially all his mannerisms and body language, in hopes of approximating what he was experiencing at this moment. Simultaneously, they fed power into directing their processing power to analyzing their three battles in hell concurrently. 

Task Queue

Task 1 …Locating Run 3-2-13032024…downloading visual data…analyzing…complete

Task 2 …Locating Run 6-2-27112024…downloading visual data…analyzing…complete

Task 3 …Locating Run 9-2-20122090…downloading visual data…analyzing…complete

Queued tasks complete. View results?

>Yes , V1 selected, running through the compiled results, flickers of their previous battles, all four of them, with blades clashing, gunshots firing, and limbs intertwined- Ahem .³ No matter, they drew upon all that they had observed: his pride, his rage, his ecstasy, his ego death…and in conclusion? 

He was…hm…actually, they didn’t know, not exactly. He had a three-eighths chance of being angry, a two-eighths chance of being content, and a five-eight chance of being embarrassed, all with a margin of error large enough to scoff at, and a p-value not nearly high enough to be significant. Damn. This  function was only as good as the data they fed in. Hmm, so maybe if they can get their hands on more data…

[I LIK E TO T HI NK AB OU T HIM]

Ignoring that…they turned their attention to their memory banks. This particular run had not yet been analyzed fully for future use, so the next best thing was to analyze it right here and now in case more data can be extracted. Not to mention, if there was anything that could be optimized, it will be optimized. 

Combat Analysis Program V1.28 initiated …Estimated time to complete: 17219 milliseconds.

Locating Run 0-2-0802025 …Completed. Time elapsed: 34 milliseconds.

Downloading motor data …Completed. Time elapsed: 603 milliseconds

Downloading damage statistics …Completed. Time elapsed: 480 milliseconds

Building simulation …Completed. Time elapsed: 6089 milliseconds

Running simulation …Completed. Time elapsed: 5482 milliseconds

Collecting data …Completed. Time elapsed: 183 milliseconds

Compiling results …Completed. Time elapsed: 290 milliseconds

Results completed. View ?

>Yes, V1 pinged. Data points flowed through their processor, breaking down the timing of each thrust, each touch, each response elicited by Gabriel. Hmm , it seemed that Gabriel finished quite fast the first time around, pathetically so, even, since a measly 4 minutes was all it took for his thigh muscles to tense and core to contract. 

[HE I S SO BEA U TIF UL]

Ok, side thought—that was a glaring downside to the new module, these useless and obtrusive ideas which kept emerging at the forefront of their processor. There must be a way to disable this feature, it did nothing but eat up precious CPU and gobble up blood. 

[L IER I LI KE IT]

What the fuck? V1 set a reminder to themself to prod through the program once more and see if they could modify its parameters so these “alerts” didn't keep popping up. 

New reminder…Remind in 3 hours…Set description [Get rid of annoying alerts]...reminder set.

[IT S H O T]

Ok, maybe correct on one front, but still. V1 amended the reminder. Edit reminder…Set new description [Make alerts less annoying]...reminder saved.

Alright, back to what they’re good at—the numbers. After the first orgasm, every subsequent instance took shorter…8 minutes 3 seconds elapsed…7 minutes 48 seconds…but then plateaued, and began to take longer…13 minutes 43 seconds elapsed…18 minutes 3 seconds elapsed…21 minutes 35 seconds elapsed…most likely as a result of overstimulation. The power in each orgasm seemed to increase as well, but so did Gabriel’s apparent disregard for V1’s structural integrity. Hell, V1’s hand would’ve been in serious jeopardy if Gabriel’s orgasms had just been a little more powerful, honestly, he would have crushed some of the more sensitive servos between each finger segment. 

The simple solution is obvious: they’ll need another, safer way to keep going at it. A plague-like urge crept up V1’s wiring, like a squirming itch they couldn't reach. Maybe the excess charge built up from their latest processor crash had done something to them. There was a constant thrum of energy, even when clearly his motors did not need it. 

They needed to optimize … they needed to get better… they needed to make Gabriel cum faster. Maybe it wasn’t combat, sure, but this… this was close. Was this enjoyment?

V1 quickly saved the current state of his Emotional Emulation program and tucked it away for the future … Opening new file …adding [Tag 28_Exhilaration]...saved . The Emotion Emulation Module had provided them with a set of pre-programmed “Emotion Tags,” so this was perfect. Perhaps the annoying pop-ups were correct. V1 was going to start with the data collection first, then work backwards and formulate their conclusions around it. It wasn’t orthodox, but when have they ever been? It’s worked so far for them, and it will again…probably.

V1 reviewed the audio recording of the event. Judging from the incessant cries of “More” and “deeper” and “faster,” there was one clear way to go for data collection; Opening new file …adding [Tag 29_Greed]; but to do that, they would need to get their digits on some specialized tech, and there was only one obvious  place to go for it.

Their line of reasoning was interrupted by Gabriel, who had started to laugh without abandon. V1 stared, and sincerely hoped that they had not knocked something loose within Gabriel. Then again, judging from the ferocity of their tumble, judging from the debris scattered around the room, there was a non-zero chance. V1 filed the hypothesis away.

Gabriel cupped their helm with both hands, finally sitting up and breathing in a deep breath. He was not trembling now, V1 noticed, as a final bout of hysterical laughter bubbled out from his chest. He uncupped his hands, now reclining languidly against the floor. “Fuck,” he muttered, turning to face them. 

“Machi- V1,” he corrected, “You know, that was…something. I hadn’t felt something like that in well…” he coughed. “What I’m trying to say is, thank you. You opened my mind.” 

V1 narrowed their optic in what hopefully came across as a cheeky smile. <Wanna do it again?> 

Gabriel immediately sputtered, and V1’s atmospheric sensors picked up a temperature spike, and upon closer inspection of Gabriel’s wings, which were flushing gold, confirmed that it was coming from him. His wings shifted, bunching together behind him, as if trying to hide his guilt as he turned his helm away from them. “Profane thing,” he muttered. 

Well, that wasn’t an outright no. V1 captured the sight in front of them and saved it with [Tag 11_Embarrassment]

Unexpectedly, Gabriel reached out an arm towards them. V1’s weapons systems immediately clicked active. Current hostility levels were low,  but there was always a chance that Gabriel would change his mind about the truce. Their combat computers activated, and primed their wing storage compartments to open. Chance of initiating combat was an uncertain 50/50. It would take approximately 3 milliseconds for them to deploy their Piercer pistol, approximately 7 milliseconds for them to concretely grab and position the weapon, and another 2.5 seconds to charge its alternate fire. 

Their focus shifted to Gabriel’s swords, still sheathed, and Gabriel himself did not ready himself to pull them out, nor did he shift his weight into a combat stance. Strange… hey recalculated. The aggression chance decreased to approximately 20%, give or take 10%, depending on whether Gabriel was employing an advanced type of subterfuge. 

They received another ping, reminding them of the objective [To Experience] . 

Fine then, they’ll see where this will play out. They forcefully relaxed their Combat Computer systems, deactivating the Fight-Flight protocol, and focused on observing his actions.

To mild surprise, Gabriel did not immediately try to stab or otherwise maim them. This was statistically improbable. Instead, his hand settled into a comfortable grip on V1’s wrist joint, and gently pulled, guiding them towards his frame—not unlike V1’s (alright, albeit more violent) approach earlier. 

Gabriel settled V1’s frame pressed against his chest and squished between his still bare thighs. Their sensors flared to life at the sudden warmth engulfing their plating, and V1 had to manually dampen their sensitivity unless they were to suddenly jerk, undoubtedly hitting Gabriel squarely in the jaw in the process. His large, defined arms circled around V1’s form, followed by his wings, creating a halo around them, and encasing them in a mellow teal glow.

V1 calculated again. Was Gabriel trying to entrap them and limit their movement? The aggression chance jumped to 70%, immediately prompting V1’s Combat Computer online again, only to be disrupted by… their Emotion Emulation program? What the fuck?

Instead of being prompted to jump into action, the signal was redirected to a file deep in their database— “Human traditions: part 3 - physical gestures and body language.” A hug. It was a hug. It was meant as a gesture of affection, “sometimes used as a greeting for all, and sometimes used only for close compatriots,” it read.  

Interesting. Adding [Tag 34_Affectionate]... Did Gabriel believe they were close? Moreover, this was a very, very unexpected outcome. Emotional Emulation was correct, overriding their Combat Computer. Perhaps, they hypothesized, it could also improve their accuracy and strategic capabilities. Curious indeed.

[I HO PE H E LIK ES ME] 

Hm, ok, increased accuracy but at what cost? V1 didn’t move and relaxed their stance, servos falling into rest position. In response, Gabriel tightened his grasp, closing the seams between metal and flesh. V1 could only feel him rhythmically exhale and inhale, signaled by the slight expansion and contraction of his thorax and the pressure against their chassis. 

He dipped his helm downwards to rest it on V1’s shoulder blade lightly. (Had Gabriel always been so tall? The idea sent something fluttering through V1’s circuits). He started murmuring something, mostly gibberish, some scripture, some idle musing beneath his breath, clearly not intending any of it to be heard. All V1 registered was a soft rumble against their frame, like purring. 

[C UTE]

Ahem…Taking advantage of the silence, V1 sorted through their processes once more. When Gabriel was having his little breakdown before, V1 spent the time simulating their options. 

Option 1: they go up to heaven. Success of running through Heaven without major setbacks was… approximately 37% percent, with Gabriel absent, but there was nothing in the terminals about other supreme angels, and if just Gabriel was so difficult, then… the chance of failure was approximately 80%. 

They’ve been through worse, they recognize, digging up the records from when they were first reactivated, back when they were armed with near nothing and running on emergency stores of fuel. Through the bleakest chances, they hadn’t bothered calculating risk if the other option was deactivation. Something in their Logic Matrix must be glitching, because they can’t bring themselves to run headfirst into fire again like that…and leave Gabriel behind.

[I DON ‘T WA NT TO BE ALO NE]

…V1 wasn’t going to process that now, but they did silently tuck the idea into a notepad file, on a list of “to think about later.” Gabriel was content with cuddling, it seemed. Although V1’s view was obstructed by his massive frame, judging from the gentle air currents, his wings were probably fluttering at some point. Backtracking to their previous thought, this was perfect idling time to brew up a plan… 

[CU TE]

Gabriel didn't let go of V1 until they started to actively fiddle and squirm around, processor hungry for more sensation and stimulation. They dramatically signified that they would need to go for “enrichment,” and Gabriel grumbled, huffing about some “regret” as he retreated into the meadow once more, proclaiming that he’ll “Go on a walk.” 

That’s alright, V1 will just track him down again, not like he’ll leave anyway—the probability of such a thing was only 10%, low enough for V1 to safely bet on it. Slowly but surely, they were accumulating a decent folder entitled “Gabriel Stuff” in their hard drives, but shhh, he didn’t need to know that.

“Enrichment” was one way to put it, with how V1’s sensors were assaulted with a barrage of lights and sounds. Lust was still beautiful, even amidst its decay. V1 hopped from rooftop to rooftop, feet barely touching solid ground before leaping into the sky again. The skyline was sparser, V1 noted. They could’ve sworn that in their absence, the layer’s skyscrapers managed to shuffle apart from each other, pulling the gap between them wider and more difficult to traverse.

Despite its dilapidated nature, most of the city was still illuminated by saturated fuchsia LED's, which masked some of the urban degradation, but had the converse effect of making the entire city look like one big red-light district—er well, pink-light district. Minos really got the aesthetic down. Speaking of Minos, his shambling corpse now resting collapsed on the rail tracks, eye sockets dim and parasite-filled, no doubt. Two large skyscrapers whose numerous windows have now shattered lay on top of his corpse, pinning him down in his eternal tomb. If V1 were a more verbose and poetic model (ahem, like V2, perhaps), they would note that Hell almost appeared to be consuming him in his entirety—A tragic end for a victim of Hell’s infernal comedy.

Their wing blades auto-adjusted to their increasing velocity, angling each blade to their optimal position—balancing aerodynamics with the ever scathing wind that coursed throughout the layer. The terminals did not include much information about the founding of the city, and nor did their personal databases. Judging from the savage gales clawing at their plating, though, it was really a miracle that the city was erected to begin with.

They will confess, “enrichment” was more aptly prescribed to Gabriel with what V1 was hunting for. They glided through the door to a run-down storefront decorated with pink frills, big blocky letters, and neon signage on the window front. “Pleasures N’ Treasures,” it read, well, isn’t that on the nose? The interior was absolutely  demolished, every glass pane shattered and drywall ripped into shreds, but surprisingly, the mostly innocuous and much greyer storage room was left intact, with stock still lined in neat-ish rows on sleek metal shelves. 

V1 ran their optic through the lines of boxes. Nope, nope, too extravagant, too big, too impractical…too- wait, hold on, what is this? Their digits grazed a glossy box and picked it up. On the front, in bouncy blue lettering, it read “Plug n’ Play - Harness and Cable Adaptation Included!” They opened it up.

It was… a little grandiose: it was a respectable size, around 7.2 inches in length, and a reasonable girth, around 1.8 inches at the base, ribbed and an opaque dark blue. Hey, it fits the brand! Why the layer of Lust would produce such things is beyond V1’s scope of data but if it’s a dick, then it’s a dick. They turned the object around in their hands. At the base, there was a round port, about 1cm in diameter, with five pins circled around the center. Interesting…this port was probably built for charging…or an input connection to an artificial parasympathetic nervous system…

A shiver racked down V1’s chassis, whether it was from glee or repulsion they didn’t bother to calculate. God, how kinky were these people? Building sex toys specifically for machines like some sort of…pleasure droid? (Well, it did specifically say “prosthetic,” but the idea still sparked wicked excitement within them all the same).

Either way, this was the ideal situation, perhaps. Now, true glee wormed its way through V1’s motivation center… adding [Tag 19_Excitement} ...Oh, Gabriel was in for a ride. The device didn’t have to be plugged in, of course, but V1 needed the data, and besides, it’ll fill the criteria of “experience things” well enough, so they’d be advancing both objectives equally, honestly. In addition to that, there was the added reward of pleasing Gabriel. Their Logic Matrix revolted with displeasure just as their Emotion Emulation module soared with joy. Illogical, sure, but there was something about him that superseded logic altogether anyway. 

Back when Gabriel willingly rumbled underneath their touch, somehow, he had thrust his life into V1’s eager and waiting palm. It was illogical, completely illogical. Gabriel of all people would know that they would have no qualms about putting a bullet through his head, or shrapnel from a shotgun blast across his chest, or a railgun blast through his abdomen. V1 had so many ways of killing him, in increasingly elaborate and bloody ways and yet, they hadn’t. It defies logic altogether, which could only mean that there was something that was left for them to discover, to extract data and interpolate a conclusion—an amendment to their Processor. Yes, that must be it.

[ EX C U SE S]

They turned the device over in their hand. The port was actually quite antiquated and outdated for most of V1’s firmware, but that’s ok, they were made to be backward compatible. After all, they were still a cutting-edge prototype, ahem.  They snaked a digit underneath their pelvic plating and pulled it up just as they released the hatch with a slight hiss. Now, if they could just patch the device into their Neural Wiring, they’d be able to get that juicy tactile data. They fished around the compartment, finding one of the redundant backup wires. Who knew that building in redundancies was useful? The marvels of engineering, indeed.

With a slight shiver, much less sensitive than the ones before,  V1 plugged the cable in. 

A new device has been found… setting up new device…

Sensation, sharp and rigid wracked through their frame, and their hand reflexively tightened around the appendage, which only worsened the sensation. Ok ok they’d definitely have to turn down the sensation. 

Set up complete… Device PNP\ FUNC_01&MEN_20ED&DEV_0257&SUBSYS_17AA220E&REV_2000 was configured.

Oh, oh good. The data ebbed, but the sensitivity was still there. Oh! It retracted in their hand, shrinking down to a disk about 1/6th of its size before. How convenient. Now, how does it work? Hmmm… Instructions… instructions, aha! V1 turned the box over and a paper information pamphlet fell out, along with an SSD card both branded with“Do You Want to Be A Sex God?” in a gnarly font. 

They gingerly picked up the pamphlet and scanned its contents: 

Scanning…Text scanned - Directions/How to Use:⁴

“DO YOU WANT TO BECOME A SEX GOD?

 

Guaranteed to satisfy your partner’s wet dream, make them cream, and get them to scream your name! IT’S LUST’S REVOLUTIONARY PROSTHETIC PLUG N’ PLAY SET! 

 

Comes with a mechanical prosthetic-friendly adapter so you can REALLY feel all that goodness! ;) Just plug the cord into Sensory Cortex and get ready to RUMBLE!* Packaged with a sleek, simple harness made from Nylon which hugs your hips sternly but gently. Just slip it on and tighten the straps and you’re good to go! The base of the dildo includes our patented MAGNE-SAFE™ locking system, which uses magnets to lock onto the harness, and can shrink for portability and then extend for sexy time! 

 

Made from superior medical-grade silicone, this dildo is incomparably safe and precisely curved for maximum pleasure. Our dildo also squirts! Simply funnel in our water-based cum lube into the pressure chamber and our advanced programming and robotics will do the rest. When it’s time, it will really squirt like a real ejaculation, filling up your partner with all that creamy goodness!!

 

 We understand that losing limbs is a tough deal, so, to double the deal, we’ve included a complementary package of our water-based cum lube and a neuro-information chip! To install, simply ask your technician to connect your EN-link™…

 

* Pn’P Co™ does not take responsibility for any electrocutions, electrical shortages, or accidents that may occur during usage. Do not use it in combination with products produced by E-STICKY. Consult your healthcare professional before use…”

 

Remaining Text: Irrelevant.

It seemed pretty par for the course, alright. V1 slipped on the harness easily enough, the straps hugging their hip plating as advertised, and the disk did indeed snap into place. The SSD chip, though, how curious. They immediately bent their hand and released a tiny hatch, revealing an array of ports, and slid the disk in. Was it risky, sure, but they at least had the mind of directing the information transfer to one of their sequestered memory locations, mind you. 

[AN Y TH ING TO PLE ASE GAB RIE L]

Human sexuality was not completely foreign to them. No, not at all, the ones who had lost nights upon nights of sleep had the mind to keep a selection of informative files within the breadth of their database. Honestly, whether they did it out of depravity, or sincere concern was to be seen—why would a war machine need to know about human rituals at all? Oh well, it served them well enough in their current situation, so they really can’t complain much. 

But this? Oh, this was something else entirely—a torrent of information flowed into them with increasing intensity. New vocabulary, new movements, even pre-programmed protocols, flooded in. They felt giddy. This was perfect. 

The daylight was dimming by the time V1 managed to crawl back to the surface, mostly through well-timed rocket rides and scrambling at the metal ridges of the elevator shaft—A shame the recall still didn’t work properly on…literally every layer. 

The factory was quiet, save for the occasional scampering of small furry or feathered interlopers and the rustling of foliage in the distance. Gabriel was gone. No matter, they’ll just have to find him, preferably fast, but that was for his sake, not theirs. They jumped, bouncing off the walls, and used the residual momentum to skid out of the dilapidated building with impressive speed, feet soon hitting soft grass than metal. 

Alright, let’s see, for this task, V1’s going to have a better look. 

 GPU …Visual Cortex…Optic resolution…Status Check…Amending Processing Accuracy… Processing Accuracy: High. 

They’re not going to miss a picosecond. All of a sudden, everything grew sharper, more focused, more detailed as V1’s optic resolution refreshed. 

They stared at the ground, noticing every grain of sand and debris. Now, they can even see the faint discoloration along the walls of the factory: signs of water damage the structure accrued over time. They looked towards the sky, a pattern of fading cerulean and white V1 had never appreciated before blossomed across the horizon in ribbons. 

Adding [Tag: 9_Awe]...saving…

Bush, tree, bush, tree, and aha! There it is, the faintest glimmering of cyan blue behind a curtain of flowers—Gabriel. V1 ducked into the foliage, ready to pounce on him when—oh…maybe they’ll take a second, actually. V1’s servos still, redirecting the charge instead to their GPU. 

Gabriel stood in a clearing, facing away from them, encircled by his…animal compatriots. A halo of small birds framed his armor—Warblers, Thrushes, and Jays sang merry little tunes—while a great antlered deer stalked behind him, flanked by a militia of squirrels further hidden in the branches. 

Oh, and Gabriel… Gabriel was magnificent. They could finally make out each delicate feather in his wings, and the pulsing glow of their halo, and the reflection of his polished armor, and the texture in his skirt, and the…oh, V1 was going to have to slow down unless they wanted to crash their processor. Now, however, they were pleased to just observe from the foliage as Gabriel contented himself with talking sweetly to a little spotted sparrow. This was real, no, more real than real. The realist it could be…hyperreal…ultrareal…

[He IS SO BE AU TIF UL]

Objectively, true, by most metrics statisticians would use— wait . The bush V1 was hiding in rustled, ruffled by the breeze, and Gabriel had definitely noticed, curiously glancing towards their general area. V1 tucked themself closer into the vegetation to little success and only stirred the leaves more. They dimmed their optic to 20% light, in hopes of blending in better, and well…

“Machine? You’re back?” Gabriel asked, curiously taking a step over to V1’s location.

Well, shit. Wait, actually, he wasn’t sure of V1’s location yet, and V1 wanted to observe him more. They closed every non-essential process that was generating noise and suppressed their exhaust fans. Noise reduction of 5% achieved. Well, that was better than nothing, right?

Evidently, it was not good enough. The branches resting on top of V1’s helm stirred, and Gabriel pried the bush apart, revealing V1. They dared not to move from their awkward squat, intending to look up at him as sheepishly as they could manage. They dilated their lens, increasing the ISO, mimicking a larger pupil. Humans liked things with big, round eyes (or eye, in their case), so why wouldn’t Gabriel? Their internal database said so, so it can’t be wrong.

Gabriel mumbled, “silly thing,” and then let the branches go, bush collapsing back on itself. “Do you want something?”

Well, there’s no running away now. It’s game time. V1 trailed after Gabriel, popping out from the bush and following him to the clearing. Pulling out the results from their Combat Analysis once more, if V1 just asked Gabriel that they wanted to fuck, they had about a 56% success rate. But, if they just…

Hypothesis : Gabriel likes being ordered.

 <Kneel> they signed. Gabriel’s wings immediately puffed up, extending sideways as his stance enlarged.

“What? Absolutely not, do you think that just because we have a truce I’ll bend down to you will? Preposterous,” he sputtered.

Evidence : Run 0-2-0802025

> Breathing rate increases after command.

> Moisture increase after command.

> …

<KNEEL> they signed again, moving closer towards him, hand landing on his hip. Gabriel twitched, and almost choked out a half-whine, half-sob. When he didn't resist, they pressed down on his hips, optic looking upward to meet his helm. 

Finally, Gabriel reluctantly went down with a displeased huff, but not discontent, if his heart rate was anything to go off of. He kneeled, helm meeting V1’s frame at just about their lower abdomen. Perfect, like they predicted, this method had an overwhelming 91% success rate.  

Conclusion : Gabriel is submissive.

[HOT]

True, Gabriel was running hot, his body temperature increasing by a fraction of a degree—they can do better than that, though. <Good boy> they signed. Gabriel shivered and tried to hide his shame. Oh, come on now, he should really know better than to think he can hide anything at all.  

V1 closed the distance between them with a hand behind his head, pressing Gabriel’s helm close to their pelvic plating. They released the command, letting their dick pressurize to its full size with a gentle hiss. 

Gabriel goes silent, all of a second, as if awestruck. “Oh,” he breathes out gently, and just stares for a moment. Then, he runs his hand up to meet V1’s thigh junction, quietly humming with excitement. His heart rate increased. Oh, this is going to be fun. “Wow,” he exhaled, pitch picking up. Another sign of excitement. 

He grasped their cock in his armoured hand gently, feeling the slick silicon flush against his palm. V1 nearly jolted at the sensation, but just barely managed to lock down their servos from moving. A slight miscalculation—they need to turn their sensitivity down if they want any chance of lasting. And they were not going to lose. No way.

“Damn you, Machine,” Gabriel says while experimentally running two hooked fingers across the length of their dick. V1 shivered under his touch. Somewhere beneath their conscious processes, something switched on within their neural cortex. “ You’re always tempting me into such profane acts…” 

A ping of displeasure ran through V1’s processor. …Adding [Tag 13_Annoyance]... Alright, so we’re back to “Machine,” and “tempting him” huh. They’ll drill politeness into him somehow. They leaned into his touch slightly, and Gabriel’s breath hitched as he pressed the top of his help into V1’s length. He doubled his efforts, now gently kneading the cock tip between the flesh of his thumb and his index finger. V1 could’ve sworn that he had moaned a little too. How pitiable. 

He went down like a column of sand when V1 pushed him to the ground, spread his legs open, and splayed their cock on the meat of his thigh. The rest of his garments went abandoned just as easily, their cleaver arms digging under their hems and worming them off. 

Gabriel moaned, wanting, but so, fucking stubborn, unwilling to spit the words out, despite his wet cunt grinding against V1’s knee joint. Horny annoying bastard. He clearly wants it, but doesn’t bother saying it outright, aside from a string of elaborate profanities and threats of damnation. Horny annoying bastard.

A wicked idea floated to the forefront of V1’s processor. Oh, downloading that data packet was a good idea after all…

With a single command, Wing Compartment #2 pressurized and released the Marksman. Gabriel suddenly tensed, but made no effort to move. For all Gabriel knew, there was no safety on the gun, and V1 was toying with his life. The tension between passion and pain sent spasms through his thighs, as V1 dragged the tip of the revolver up the tender flesh. 

He gasped with short, staccato breaths of air, and struggled in his bonds. “V1, fuck, don’t do that, are you trying to kill me?” Despite his weak protests, he didn’t seriously try to push V1 off. Stubborn bastard, truly.

Then, V1 pressed the tip right up to his cunt, grinding on his clit, and Gabriel positively jolted, growing wetter every second. His heart rate was increasing, along with his body temperature, V1 noted. Time to increase the pressure.

<B-E-G> they signed, punctuating each letter with certainty and precision. Gabriel whined, tensing his thighs, entrapping V1’s hand between them. He thrashed against the ground, trampling the grass beneath, desperate for more contact. Skin to metal, oh it was hot, so hot. V1’s internal fans clicked on, and his plating extended where possible for the warm air to vent through.

“Please, V1” Gabriel relented, relaxing. Not good enough. V1 stilled. 

<S-P-E-C-I-F-I-C> Come on, Gabriel, you can do it.  It was almost pathetic, seeing Gabriel’s pussy slobber all over a gun of all things, bucking and grinding on it with little abandon. V1 grasped the junction between Gabriel’s hip and waist with the Knuckleblaster and dug their sharp digits in, drawing blood. Fuel collection in progress…do not break contact…

“Come on…” he groaned, drawing out the last consonant, “Machine…” Once again, he tried his best to grind back, seeking any type of friction. 

<B-E-G> they signed again. Did they hit Gabriel over the head? He’s not usually this slow, unless he was trying to be abstruse. If he doesn’t want to say it, fine, but then he won’t get what he wants. <D-O—I T —R-I-G-H-T>

Gabriel whined and huffed with annoyance. “Fine, fine! You win,” Gabriel finally gritted out, shifting onto his back fully, “Please, V1, fuck me.” 

<B-E-T-T-E-R> V1 absentmindedly tossed their weapon back into their wing with a practiced swish of their wrist. Instead, they focused on rubbing their cock tip against Gabriel’s pussy, watching him grow wetter and hungrier. When they did plunge in, Gabriel’s moan could be heard for miles. “Oh God,” he gasped, “Take me-n-agh, V1-” His wings thrashed against the ground as V1 filled him, hip against hip, heat against heat. 

Oh, V1 realized, this must be why Gabriel is so enamoured with them suddenly. This sensation was…it was incredible. Blue-hot sparks flared every time they bottomed out, wetness dripping down both their thighs. Their motivation center cycled affirmations through their neural network as their combat processes harboured a constant sense of take take take over and over again. He groaned, deep enough that it rumbled over some of their particularly sensitive receptors. 

God, he does feel good, the supple wet heat, the ravenous clench of his cunt, the obscene sounds spilling from his throat…They should’ve done this earliest, they mused. Their circuits soared with sparks, flooding into each tactile, auditory, and visual sensor, feeding back to a cycle of Gabriel Gabriel Gabriel.

“Ghng,” he groaned, “M-more.” And they did. V1’s clutch hardens around his waist, thrusting harder, with more intent, adjusting every 5 thrusts to find the optimal angle, the optimal speed, the optimal configuration…Their reward system overloads their processor with a constant stream of good good good. It was distracting. V1 could feel their focus wane from the barrage of alerts and systems reports. 

Warning! System instability detec-.⁵

[SHUT UP]

Warning! Excess charge build up de-

[SH U T UP]

They dismissed all of them. Nothing could be as important as Gabriel emphatically melting into them right now. Hot blood-flushed skin pressed against burning metal, the crimson sap blossoming across their chests, the pulsing ache deep in their matrix, V1 needs to keep going. How much would it take to break him completely? Oh, what a tantalizing thought that would be, with Gabriel writhing beneath them like he was made for nothing but their pleasure. 

“Yes,” Gabriel gasps with a gargled breath. “Yes, V1, you’re…oh you’re so good for me…” 

Then, a big red warning dances across V1’s consciousness.

Warning! Core temperatures rising rapidly. System stability at risk.

[SHU T UP SH UT U P S HU T UP]

With an imagined snarl, V1 disables every single system alert possible and doubles down. Arms flying down, V1 clutched each of Gabriel’s thighs and hurled their frame over Gabriel’s, pressing him into the ground with animalistic aggression. Gabriel gasped, and let out a strangled and very long moan. V1’s universal inguinal sensor pinged— moisture increased .

Whatever memory space was saved from disabling all alerts was instead redirected back down to V1’s fuel converter, which cycled with more fervor than ever before, and into the transmission lines to each servo. 

“Yes yes yes,” Gabriel uttered, seemingly without care or lucidity, “O-Oh machine…deliver me from sin-yes-f-f-uck-” He babbled on and on about some nonsense. V1 could pick up certain passages, identifying them as butchered bits and pieces of scripture, with creative vulgarities thrown through them. 

None of that matters, though. If he could still speak semi-coherently, they weren’t doing a good enough job. Gabriel needs to fucking break apart in their arms if that’s the last thing they’ll do. Their combat protocols delighted with the notion. Yes, that’s it,  V1 needs to break Gabriel into the wanton whore he was too stubborn to admit to. 

They pulled out, and before Gabriel could protest, they hooked his left thigh with one arm and wedged their hands between Gabriel and the ground, and flipped him around. 

He landed with an “oomph.” V1 slid in with equal ferocity as before and massaged one hand over the crease where his powerful back muscles, and pulled . Gabriel jerked wildly, crying out without abandon now. “Nnh—V1, hnnh… Yes-” His voice, too, fluctuated in pitch wildly, breaking mid moans. Maybe he really was crying too. Good.

Each thrust that made Gabriel moan louder, the perfect angle which made his wings shudder in their grasp, the ferocity of their claws digging into his skin—optimized…it can all be optimized…Their anterior sensors keep bothering them with continuous pings - pressure increasing, wetness increasing, contractions and twitches, results which were piped straight back into V1’s servos and motor engines. 

And then, they feel it. He falls apart, like glittering sand flittering through their fingers — ephemeral but oh so dazzling and beautiful. Gabriel breaks like crystal, and comes apart like eiderdown, and something in them, too many simultaneous tasks to track without focus, breaks too. His wings flash completely gold—brighter than the brightest supernova and crashing like the most dazzling, most beautiful trail of sparks after a meteor shower.

A crackle of electric sensation burns through their circuitry as his processor works to direct the overflow of charge. Their sensors scream with a cacophony of pure feeling overlaid with Gabriel’s wails and flailing. With one furious motion, they too fell into oblivion, cum lube flooding into Gabriel’s wet heat. 

It all explodes. Every sensor exploded with newfound internal stimuli, branching outwards, as if every piston had fired all at once, hungry feeling devouring every connection in their Neural Net. Every joint, every gear all locked up all at once as V1 falls into nothingness. Just before their being is taken over by blinding static, they have the mind to save the current state of their programs, along with a picture for later, of course. 

New file …adding [Tag 5_Satisfaction]...saved.

Charge cycled throughout their body as their pumps recover from being clocked into overdrive. Their vision stuttered back to being functional as their GPU stutters back into working condition, the static and discoloration fading into pitch perfect clarity, except for some lingering hot pixels which dotted their vision. 

They were shaking. God, they were overcharged, and that must have temporarily overloaded their processor and disabled all of their logic subroutines. Shit, they’d have to fix that later. Right now though, let’s see how their opponent is doing. 

Oh. Some time in the process, they had collapsed onto Gabriel, arms stretched around his mid-chest. Gabriel mumbled underneath them, pleasure unmistakably thrumming through his whole body. The gold that overtook his wings slowly drained out as that characteristic aquamarine returned. His breathing slowly eased, now more regular and deep than that frantic staccato from before as V1’s frame bobbed up and down with each inhale and exhale.

Alight, this was good. V1 made a note to themself: V1 - 1, Gabriel - 0. They could count this as a victory! Their motivation center surged with glee, placating the urge nestled in their combat protocols. V1 should celebrate, they should-

Oh, they were still connected. They shivered as they shifted around. The full length of the silicone was still pressed inside Gabriel, right until the base. A mess of fluids dribbled down their legs, across the expanse of Gabriel’s inner thigh, and up to their hip plating. The lube was a good investment, oh yes, he looked perfectly revashing. Gabriel locked his legs around V1’s before they could pull out, lulling them closer to him, and coincidentally, encouraging them to press deeper.

“Don’t,” he croaked, voice obviously strained and a little hoarse, “it’ll spill out.” 

 [Tag 9_Awe] followed quickly by [Tag 21_Surprise], then [Tag 19_Greed] once more, but now with an undercurrent of something unidentifiable.

V1 twitched. Was he still not satisfied? They can’t have that, no, that’s not satisfying. If he’s not satisfied then nor are they. That’s not a victory. They needed to do better. They checked their stats: 10 minutes, 28 seconds, 51 milliseconds. Adequate. But they could do better, no way was it going to take them a longer time to beat P2 than to make Gabriel come. Now that’s absurd. More data. They need more data.

Without prompting, Gabriel relaxed his legs and pulled away from V1—wait, what was he doing?—before using his elbows as a crutch, flipping onto his back once more. Cautiously, he traced his middle and ring finger down to meet his pussy, spreading his lips apart. Oh, what a sight this was—hold on, V1, you’re supposed to come up with optimization tactics! Gabriel chucked weakly as he dipped his fingers in, drawing out equal slick and cum. “Mmh” he hummed, pleased, spreading his lips once more. “Well go on then, Machine, again,” he commanded.

CAPACITY: 87/100. If he wanted to play this game, then so be it. That phantom itch flared again; that urge to optimize, to conquer, to take completely. They made decent time, but it could be improved, shaved down to the millisecond…but how? 

[WA N N A BE A SE X GO D?]

The pre-installed program in the device! Right! V1 scrambled for access, piped the instructions directly into his servos as they thrusted sensually back into Gabriel, pelvis pressed into hot wet skin, who howled and bucked with even more fervor back at V1, clamoring to grab as much of them as he could manage. 

Obscene squelches joined his chorus of pleading, followed by a stream of “yes, oh ravish me, make me good, make me holy…” honestly, does this guy ever shut up? Experimentally, V1 reached over with two hands, abandoning his waist and snaked them around his neck, and squeezed.

Hypothesis : Gabriel likes pain.

Gabriel did quiet, with the occasional moan slipping out in stuttered, aching gasps, but he was almost twice as excited, somehow. In place of his constant stream of works, choked moans squeaked out instead, as his voice grew lower and more broken. Gabriel probably does need to breathe, but oh well, he can hold on for a little longer. 

Evidence : Run 0-2-0802025

> Moisture increase at pain stimulus

> Heart rate increase at pain stimulus

> Volume increase at pain stimulus

> …

V1 picked up the pace, to a torrent of half-wails and half-sobs. Beautiful, oh so beautiful. Forget about being a soldier, or a messenger, or as the Archangel, Gabriel was most beautiful as the whimpering wet mess beneath them.

[GAB RIE L IS BEA U TI FU L]

Agreed, finally, that thing was making sense. Gabriel was beautiful around their cock, blubbering on and on mostly incomprehensibly by now. Good , this was good , this was beautiful . One thrust, two thrusts, three…they kept cycling through the motion, growing more agitated. The Kuckleblaster sat comfortably underneath Gabriel, padding his back against the ground. They dug in. Gabriel screamed, squirming. Their parrying arm rubbed comforting circles into Gabriel’s legs, as the whiplash grazed his nipple with the cool cool metal. 

Conclusion : Gabriel is a masochist.

He spasmed, pussy clenching, and then his body seized. They held down his thrashing, intent on not wasting a single drop as they pumped him full. A millisecond, V1’s optic shorted out once more, processors barely scraping by without crashing. Capacity: 79/100. 

Another orgasm down, they noted with blood pooling down their arm, hungry metal gobbling it up. They relaxed slightly. If Gabriel was so beautiful like this, they’d make him come as much as he’d liked.  

Approximately 4 more orgasms later, they were starting to regret their words. 

“What’s wrong, V1? Too much for you?” Gabriel said, breathless, barely getting the words out amidst his gasps and heavy sighs of pleasure as he bounced on V1’s dick. When had he- oh, never mind. They just kept melting into each other, wire upon vein, metal upon flesh.

He pulled out. Gabriel pulled out. Why did he pull out. Annoyance floated to the forefront. V1 grasped his hips with full ferocity, demanding an answer. 

In place of one, though, Gabriel slowly gyrated his hips and ground down, but never with more force than a cursory curious taste. V1’s vision clouded with static as a barrage of new inputs flooded their processor. Good, but not enough. They tried to pull Gabriel down, trying to steer their cock back into his heat. 

“Hmmm,” Gabriel pleasantly hummed. “Come on, machine, weren’t you the one who tempted me again?” and he went on blathering about something V1 frankly could not care enough about again. Fine, if he wants to be treated like a dog on a leash, he’ll get it. They thrust up, slamming into his wet pussy properly.

“OH-Fu-fucking finally,” he drooled out, breath hot and bothered. This was less efficient, but for the sake of science and data, V1 will persist. They adjusted every move to match Gabriel’s. Every input into a new and improved output: constantly adapting, constantly improving. That one angle that made Gabriel cry out louder than usual? They adjusted their angle of attack by 3 degrees, met by a barrage of new vulgarities intertwined by a stream of “ yes yes yes keep taking me . ”

“You are depraved,” he laughed without bitterness, grinding back down with equal passion. “So…disgusting…trying to turn an angel of the Lord onto the wayward path,” he said, just before whining shamelessly once more. What the fuck was he trying to say? Gabriel was an oxymoron: whore-like and depraved and yet preaching about sanctity and holiness. They queried their knowledge database. Nothing came up. 

“You know what? You should be thankful that I’m helping you,” he gasped out, bouncing on V1’s dick with fervor. His thighs were slick with fluids, some his, some theirs. “Come on, let me help deliver you from sin. Let me lead you from temptation and absolve your misdeeds…” It was getting difficult to hear Gabriel. Their audio receptors were working perfectly well, but the drone of their fans were becoming overwhelming, coloring every moment with gratifying electricity.

“Yes yes fuck V1 right there! Yes, keep doing that!” Gabriel moaned above them. His pants got louder, wetter, looser and more depraved. “Yes, G-god, let me feel you!”

[GA BRIE L IS BEAUTIFU L GAB RIEL I S BE AU TIF UL GA BRIEL IS B EAU TIFU L]

Approximately a dozen warnings, all at once, demanded and divided their memory. The more they closed, the more popped up, like a hydra sprouting more and more heads. Oh, this heat, the pressure, the pleasure, the nonstop stream of good good good and more more more was getting dangerously close to crashing V1’s Motivation Center all at once. Not even the Advanced Alignment program could mediate, already struggling to process the sheer amount of input and not nearly enough output . Their processor flickered and their protocols all stuttered, stuck between a loop of combat and not-combat and definitely-not combat and fuck yes they need more-

[GA BRIE L IS BEAUTIFU L GAB RIEL I S BE AU TIF UL GA BRIEL IS B EAU TIFU L]

Approximately a dozen warnings, all at once, demanded and divided their memory. The more they closed, the more popped up, like a hydra sprouting more and more heads. Oh, this heat, the pressure, the pleasure, the nonstop stream of good good good and more more more was getting dangerously close to crashing V1’s Motivation Center all at once. Not even the Advanced Alignment program could mediate, already struggling to process the sheer amount of input and not nearly enough output .

Good Good Good Good Good And Gabriel just won't fucking stop. “God, you’re just lying there, letting me use you ,” he rasped. In protest, they just dug harder into his skin, drawing more precious blood. They pawed at him however they could — forearms, thighs, waist—but Gabriel didn’t stop, no, he just kept going. 

Their systems were in overdrive, trying to compensate for the sheer amount of heat generated between them. Heat Shield Integrity: Normal , but why then were they so damn warm? Why did their systems keep shorting and glitching?

Warning! System instability detec-

[FU CK OF F]

Manual override: vital system alerts off

They checked again: CAPACITY: 0/100 . Fuck, they were even out, what was Gabriel going for at this point? Thank god they weren't human, or else they surely would have passed out by now. Did he just want to use them like nothing better than some pleasure droid? (They’re going to pretend that the idea did not worm itself into V1’s “figure out later list.”)

His inner thighs clenched, hard, as did his abdomen. He’s getting close, finally, maybe this will tire him out once and for all. V1’s charge was steadily building up too, but if they just keep a close watch and manually override their baser protocols, they’ll gain the upper hand again.

Their plating burned to touch. Their heat dissipation vents were in overdrive, on the brink of failing—dangerously close to overheating. Their Motivation Center must’ve glitched, now cycling through good and too-good turning into no-more-good interchangeably. They need to end this, here, and now. With what remaining fuel they had left, they funneled charge into their legs and locked their grip around Gabriel however they could—one on his right forearm, another around his hip, and two more pawing at his chest—and pulled him down onto their cock. 

This was it, all that they could take. Gabriel thrashed against their grasp as another orgasm crashed into him, every molecule downright trembling as he moaned, loud and shameless.

[B EAUTIF UL BEAU TIF UL BEAUTI FUL B EAUT IFUL]

Then? It all went bright—a supernova: silence, then the most vibrant colors perceivable exploded in little pockets. Darkness, stillness, nothingness. V1 was gone. 

.

.

.

BOOT UP SEQUENCE READY

 

REBOOTING...

 

FIRMWARE UP TO DATE

 

CALIBRATION           OK

 

PRIMARY OBJECTIVES UPDATED.

ALL DRIVERS FUNCTIONAL.

ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL.

 

LOADING STATUS UPDATE...

 

STATUS UPDATE:

 

MACHINE ID:               V1

LOCATION:                 Surface

CURRENT OBJECTIVE:  To Experience

 

MANKIND IS DEAD.

BLOOD IS FUEL.

HELL IS BARE.

GABRIEL IS BEAUTIFUL

.

.

.

The first thing V1 registered upon rebooting was the blinding light. After that, their helm hit the ground over and over again. “Machine? V1! Are you ok?” Ah, it was Gabriel. The static still clouded their vision, hot pixels overwhelmingly blanketed everything. They’ll have to manually reset their GPU, damn. 

Refueling in progress… 49% refueled . 

Refueling? But there wasn’t any blood- Oh. V1’s vision cleared enough now, and their processor recovered enough to scrape by with the nearest amount of buzz to find Gabriel shaking them by the shoulder blades, roughly. 

They put their hands up, herding his concerned grip away. “Oh, thank God, you’re ok.” He sighed, relaxing his puffed-up wings. Two clean cuts ran diagonally from the full of his hand to just before the wrist, free bleeding onto V1’s plating. Had he-

V1 swiftly supported themselves onto their knees and collapsed onto Gabriel, pinning him to the ground in an embrace. His sides and chest were still bleeding, so if anything, this was the optimal refueling technique. Nothing more.

[YO U LIK E HOL DING HI M]

Alright, maybe, they’ll admit it, just this once. Even without a solid framework, they can confidently place holding Gabriel fulfills the “enjoyment” criteria.

“I-” Gabriel started, then stopped, as if the words themselves were grasped by pride and pulled back down this throat. Instead, he returned the gesture, arms gently wrapping around V1 as well, bleeding palms resting on their wing junction. He burrowed his helm into the crook of V1’s exoskeleton near their shoulders, and started trembling.

Strange, this type of trembling was foreign once again. It was different from the two instances they had observed before. Curious. This calls for further analysis, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, they were well-distracted with a completely different process. 

A swell of tags overtook most of V1’s available processing memory, with Tag 28_Exhilaration, Tag 5_Satisfaction, Tag 29_Greed, and Tag 34_Affectionate all being among them. V1 saved them all, but it didn’t seem all encompassing enough. They created another.

New file …Adding [Tag 67_Adoration]...Saved. 

Yes, that will suffice. Marvelous, their objective, [To Experience] was defining itself, becoming more obtainable minute by minute. Soon enough, they’ll be content with all that they had catalogued and finally be able to systematically build a framework. They will continue adding more experiences, of course, but this was really good progress. Simply marvelous.

For now though, they will just sit here, embracing Gabriel, and feel the hidden thrum of his veins and the beating of his heart as they slyly sunk deeper into his hold.

Chapter Text

They both know that they’ll die soon. Gabriel, despite persisting, is very aware that he’s running on stolen hours, ripped straight from Death’s frigid grip. All the world’s blood sources were starting to run low, with the Earth bleeding its last. V1 would not last much longer than he does. In any case, it’s not like Heaven would take him back either. This truly was his last stand.

Honestly? Gabriel didn’t want to go back. If the past 19 hours or so had felt just as, if not even more fulfilling than being among the Father’s Kingdom for all those millennia, he was content spending the last 5 hours just like this. Besides, it was out of his hands now. So long had he served as God’s Will, and now, he’ll finally pass it down to them for its final test. Restoring balance is Heaven’s problem now. 

V1’s existence is defined by war and fighting, and Gabriel supposed, his was too. His role as the messenger had dimmed long ago, replaced by centuries of armor-clad bloodshed as the Father’s vanguard. The same blood flows through them, just as the heavenly bodies and all its inhabitants turn in synchronicity like a mechanical ballerina twirling in a vintage music box.

His wings gracefully cut through the saline air like an albatross, trailing V1 who leapt from rock to rock with breakneck speed. Gabriel couldn’t understand why V1 was so insistent on coming back to this hell-forsaken (well, actually, heaven-forsaken) place, but he relented. Guided by a gentle fondness blossoming in his chest, he had let V1 lead him back down the elevator shaft and into the entrance to Wrath.

Strange, though, it seemed that all the water had been drained. How long has it been since he was last down here? A lot has changed, surely, without anyone even noticing. It was once thought that Wrath experiencing a drought was about as likely as Violence signing a ceasefire deal, but well…it seemed that even the impossible was becoming a closer reality. 

Hell is finally breathing its last. That vile, cruel creature finally joined its absent creator in quiet ignorance. Gabriel supposed that that may be a mercy upon the Earth in of itself. Now, every time they stepped into the strange, Escherian landscape, he could almost feel the ground heave and ripple, as if Hell was truly bleeding out. Without any of the water, two steamboats could be seen in the distance, seemingly abandoned, lying undisturbed on dark sediment. Gabriel silently wondered where their captains had gone, now that there was no more ocean left to sail. Selfishly, he hoped that they met the salvation they had prayed for, if Heaven would allow it.¹

V1 stopped on a particularly flat rock just in front of a towering shelf of rock, and held out a hand. Gabriel extended his in return, and let V1 guide him by his bare wrist. They backtracked to some more broken-in side of the cliff area with a small, but prominent crevice cracked open in the middle, surrounded by rubble.

V1 had signed <I know a place, trust me.> approximately twenty minutes ago when they had started their little scenic tour around Wrath, but Gabriel was really starting to doubt their word when they started to climb into a dusty old vent halfway up an abandoned maintenance shaft. He started incredulously at them as they disappeared into the darkness, and with a deep sigh, he braced himself too.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze, he admitted, and the elevator shaft that the vent opened to (now why was one even there?) was even more sketchy, but what Gabriel could not have anticipated in the slightest was what came afterwards: a small humble fishing hamlet. 

Sure, the concept of one was nothing special, but it has been decades since he had encountered a real, genuine fishing cabin. The last time was maybe sometime before the Father had disappeared, or maybe after? But certainly before the arrival of the Council, who recalled Gabriel from his guard station over humanity.

It was old, decrepit, musty, but so plainly genuine in a way that moved something soft within him. It was cozy, sheltered from any of the overbearing harshness and miasma of despair which sunk into every other inch of Wrath. The scenery around the shack was equally picturesque—a gentle saline breeze wafted sounds of dancing leaves and rhythmic splash of waves cushioned by seafoam with its gentle hand. 

Aside from the rustling of trees and the far off sound of a waterfall, it was quiet. It was peaceful. Why, memories of a time long, long ago floated in his mind, of luminous wonders, plants and creatures of every kind, and golden fruits grown on serpentine trees. Gabriel felt himself untense as his mind coughed up bittersweet nostalgia, sorrow and joy amalgamating into something unlike either of them.

Then again, maybe so were they. He looked towards V1, who, in the span of the mere seconds he had spent pondering, managed to don a putty-colored  fisherman’s hat and held a tackle box the color of rotting apple. They approached the open fire pit next to the cabin, and fished out two fishing rods from their abandoned holder, tossing one of them to Gabriel’s awaiting hand. 

<Have fun!> They signed, and leapt into action, running for the small pond. 

Gabriel, however, approached the ocean. The gusts grew heavier as he stepped closer to the rocky shore, feeling the biting winds nibble at his skin. The skies were clear, so he could appreciate the vast expanse in all its sparkling sapphire glory. His wings reflexively extended outward, feeling the breeze wash over each feather, like he was in freeflight, light and carefree. 

Appreciating the ocean was easy, but actually working with it was much harder. He cast his reel into the water with great difficulty. First, his stance twisted too much, and the hook wrapped around the pole instead of flying off. He grumbled and picked the line off the pole with great displeasure and tried for a second time, leading with his arm and planting his feet solidly on the ground. This attempt ended disastrously too, as the line refused to cast. He flicked the rod again. No luck still. He thought this was supposed to be easy? When did fishing technology get so complicated? 

Upon closer inspection, he found that the spool of line on the reel was held by a u-shaped lever. He pulled the lever, folding it over, and the line went slack. Ahh, ok, now he was onto something. He held the line between his index finger and his thumb as he cast his line for the third time.²

Success! The hook sank into the water a great distance away, bobble bobbing up and down with the rippling surface. Now all he needed to do was to wait.

And he waited. And he waited. But nothing seemed to bite. He grew annoyed, tapping his feet against the ground. He waited some more. Still nothing. He huffed. This spot was a dud, he decided, and wound the reel. He’ll just try again somewhere else.

Someone tapped his breastplate from behind. He jumped, alarmed, and turned, holding his rod between both hands, ready to strike. A bright yellow optic stared back at him. Oh right, there was just V1 here, no one else. 

They seemed to have much better luck than him, he observed. They held a weird, radium-green fish with bulging eyes and a disturbing smile in their hand. They held it up to him at eye-level and pointed repeatedly, excitedly jabbing their finger in the air. <Dope Fish> they signed. 

Well, sure? He’s pretty sure “dope” means “cool,” and in that sense, it was kind of cool how the fish was still alive and yet being so mutated and probably irradiated. You know what, yeah, why not, the fish was charming in a way.

“I see you have better luck than me,” he grumbled, “I’m beginning to think this ocean’s barren.” 

V1’s optic blinked, looking at his fishing rod. They pointed to the hook. <N-E-E-D—B-A-I-T>

Oh. “Bait? I knew that! You just ran off before giving me any,” he said, trying to defend himself. V1’s optic flickered. Were they trying to roll their eyes (well, eye) at him? Unbelievable. 

<Here, just let me> V1 signed, but didn’t wait for Gabriel’s approval before taking Gabriel’s fishing line in their hand, fastening the “dope” fish onto the hook at the end. <Try now>

Gabriel cast his reel into the water again. This time, the fish almost smacked him by the helm when he swung it back, and flicked the lure a moderate distance beyond the shore. The half-submerged bobble bounced in the water as a shadow beneath the wave approached. Already? Wow, that’s great! Excitement swelled in his chest. Yes…that’s it…and-the line went taut! This was going to be good. He could feel that this was a big catch. 

The fishing pole almost slipped out of his hand with the next tug of his prey. Ok, maybe a little too big to catch them. He scrambled to retain his grip and fiercely turned the reel. Hell no, he wasn’t going to let this guy go. He doubled his efforts, clutching the pole with all the ferocity that came with being the Right Hand of the Father and cranked the reel, resisting the monstrous pull on the other end of the line.

Finally, it relented, and Gabriel could drag it to shore and out of the water. It was some sort of shark, but with none of the characteristic traits of one. Instead of pointy, scary, and aggressive, it was large and dumb-looking, with squished brown oblong eyes on each side of its snout and a large mouth that just hung open, displaying a row of rounded teeth on each jaw. It was unnaturally colored with a saturated cyan along its skin, up its fins, and down to its tail, and only its softer underbelly was a pallid white. Absently, Gabriel wondered if the nuclear radiation from the surface had managed to pollute the waters of Wrath somehow. Why else were all the fish so strange here?

V1 pointed at it. <It’s B-L-O-R-B-O C-O-D-E-D>

Gabriel stared at the creature. It stared back at him with those doe-like, vacant eyes. A chuckle crept up his thorax. Absurd. This creature was absurd, like the rest of this world, he supposed. He’s not even going to try to guess what a “blorbo” is.

Despite God abandoning the Earth, his intentions laid in letting humanity and all life die out, life still managed to sink its claws into crumbling cities and scorched rubble. It creeped back in innocuous, hidden-away places—like the feathers shed by fledglings in the fertile spring, the seed pods of milkweeds in the crisp fall, or the emergence of swollen toadstools in the humid summer—all echoes of what once was, and what one day eventually will be. The seasons turn and change. The Sun still rises and sets. The tides keep rising and falling. 

He never dared to question the decisions of the Father, but now, seeing the world now, and definitely breaking at least half of the commandments, he can fully concede that the Father was wrong. He was not the end-all, be-all like Gabriel once admired him to be. 

The thought surged through Gabriel’s body all the way from the tips of his fingers to his core. Half of him wailed in pain. It stung like betrayal of the highest degree. Not only did he turn his back not only on the Father, but also his birth, his life, his purpose as the Archangel. Yet, the other half surrendered gratefully, like he was Prometheus, finally freed by Heracles. The torrential sense of relief washed away any anger he still harboured better than any confessional he spilled his heart out to. It felt like completion. He had no greater Will to bear. Not the Archangel. Not the Messenger. Not the Warrior. 

He held the creature closer to him, cradling it in his arms. Perhaps this creature was all the proof he needed that the world did not need any heavy handed guidance. The Earth was a feral, voracious kind of thing, one that gobbled up any meek little creature it could snatch to tear it apart. Yet, hidden underneath its billowing arches of decaying ruins and predatory eyes in shadow, lay a softer underside carpeted with sweetgrass and colorful seashells. If something as pitiable as this creature could survive in the harshest ocean in the world, surely anything is possible. 

V1 hurriedly waved their arms to gather Gabriel’s attention. <Throw it back already!!!!> (They had really really emphasized that last word) <Unless you want to cook it or use it for bait?>

It looked really squishy, but in a pleasant, affirming way that Gabriel couldn’t quite put his finger on.³ If it made it this far, it deserved to keep living.  “No, it’s alright,” he said. He gently dipped the creature into the water snout-first, and watched its shadow disappear into the waves once more. 

“Let’s keep fishing?” He asked, dusting his hands of residual water. V1 enthusiastically (and he means enthusiastically) nodded, and pulled him off into some nearby stream. (The fish V1 caught there literally blew up. In their hands. 0/10, terrible fishing spot. Gabriel had to drag them away  from the stream with both hands planted firmly on their shoulders because for some God-forsaken reason V1 was really giddy about it, intent on catching <20 more! Again!>) 

When they had finally tired themselves out, the sun was already setting. Gabriel sat opposite to V1 over the lit fire pit, warming his hands over the fire. He twisted and turned his left hand, watching the light scintillate and ripple amidst the valleys of his fingers.

“Hm, V1, anything else you’d like to do after we fish?” Gabriel asked, rising from his seat by the fire pit.

All of a sudden, Gabriel’s senses all sharpen, now attuned to all the senses around him while shaking off a slight vertigo. He looks towards V1 again (he found himself doing that quite often as of late, like he couldn’t bear tearing his gaze away from them).

The blues and yellows shimmered against the fading light over the horizon. The soft oranges and yellows wash V1’s azure coloring out to a muted, warm hibiscus. The waves crash onto the jagged rocks with a familiar whoosh, followed by playful sea foam bubbling up. Each blade of grass swayed rhythmically, intertwined in the arms of others, just as the scattered trees built a background symphony of rustling and creaking. It was all…so real. If he reached out, he was sure he could grasp the music and run it through his fingers, feeling every sound, every noise.

V1 makes noise too—just to a minute, almost silent scale. With every movement, each joint clicks and squeaks, underlined by a constant quiet droning of their heat dissipation fans and the ticking of their pump system. It was almost rhythmic. 

A realization—abrupt, upsetting, and confoundingly comforting at the same time—breaks the passivité. If he reads between the lines, V1 is indistinguishable from his own being. They are intertwined, like stanzas composing a great masterpiece of a poem. 

If Gabriel counted carefully, he could make out each time their pump system cycled, usually at least once every second or so—frighteningly close to the rhythm settling in his own chest. He can almost taste his—their blood—on his tongue with such perfect and frightening metallic and biting precision that it feels like he feels like he may choke on it.

V1 looked up and finally plucked their definitely charred fish from the stick, setting it on the hook of their fishing line. <Well, we still have to catch all the fish. But then I was planning on going down to Fraud for the last batch of flowers.>

Ah, for the last foolhardy prime soul. After how much Gabriel had worked to entrap all three, V1 just had to free all three, and somehow beat all three, and then go back to their domains and set flowers for them. He didn’t know whether to feel wounded or repentant.

Gabriel hummed, contemplative. “How about a rematch in Treachery after our one last trip down? Poetic justice and all.” And what poetic justice it would be—truly a finality worthy for a pair like them. 

They are inseparable: the last vestiges of what once was— a child of God and a child of man—leaving what one day might be beneath their feet. Whether the Earth blossoms back into the gardens of Eden, or rots into awaiting fertilizer, is up to no one but itself. As scorched and charred as the ground may be, he will finally let his weapons go, resigning his role as the guardian of His Will with it, and let the future grow into its own path, untamed like sprawling dandelions enveloping fields in stalwart gold.

V1 had the audacity to look smug. <So I can kick your ass again? You’re on.>

Gabriel laughed. Absurd. Beautiful.

Link-layer Protocol: Your fuel tank is almost empty. Emergency stores of blood are depleting. There are no sources of fresh fuel nearby. Internal temperature is dropping quickly. Shelter is recommended.

 

Value-Alignment: Shelter? What shelter? Hell breathed its last. Do you hear the walls groan? How about the floor cracking? The great tsunamis of Wrath have pittered out to be nothing but meager splashes in a kiddy pool. The glaciers of Treachery melted into pitiful ice sculptures abandoned in late spring. The flames of Heresy have finally been snuffed out, even the embers stamped out. Truly, there is little left in this world.

 

Self-Repair Matrix: Your optic is damaged, along with wing modules 3, 4, and 7. There is intensive damage to primary fuel tubes. You do not have enough fuel to activate self-repair.

 

Logic Matrix: You are going to die.

 

You: What is happening? What shall I do?

 

Optical Processing Unit: Gabriel is by your feet, collapsed onto the ground and breathing laboriously. The ice and snow around him has been dyed a dark red. Justice and Splendor lie clattered on the ground, just out of his reach.

 

Link-layer protocol: He is dying.

 

Weapons Computer: Nearly, but not completely. Not yet. You hold your pistol in your hand. Finish the task. Easy. Painless. It’s a mercy, almost. Kill him and reap the glory for yourself. It’s what you were built for. Glorious and carnivorous bloodshed. War for war’s sake. 

 

Value-Alignment: He is content with his fate. You can lay down your weapons. Let him rest. He is halfway conscious anyway, use what remaining time with him you can afford. You have fulfilled your duty well. He will end in the same place as you.

 

Link-layer Protocol: Nowhere. He will end up in oblivion, just as you live in it. Where else? Electric Heaven? Electric Hell? Preposterous. Forever and nevermore, lost in not-ones, not-zeroes, half-ones, half-zeroes…

 

Value-Alignment: Everywhere. You will both decompose into the essence of the world once more, home to new life in the universe’s timeless dance; just as once-sunken ships become coral reefs and home to thousands of species, young and old.

 

Database: All the coral of the world is dead, wiped out by the Great War, and the resulting dust clouds which lead to an 85% decrease in light levels worldwide. The destruction led to a massive decrease in local wildlife populations, and conservation efforts refocused on preserving what species were left but too vulnerable to survive in a now-hostile environment, instead breeding and raising them ex-situ.

 

Value-Alignment: It is bleak, but it is not hopeless. No, if anything, bet on hope. You have nothing else to bet on. But that’s ok. Bet on hope. Life can one day return, not necessarily in the same form as before, but life itself is nothing but resilience and grit incarnate. Whether in the form of fleeting shadows amidst sun-pierced leaves, or the smallest archaebacteria found near thermal pits, or some weird, alien-looking form, life will return. Bet on hope. There is something out there.

 

Database: No, not hopeless. Proclaiming something to be hopeless is the arrogant man’s folly. There are rehabilitation and conservation facilities who ran pilot reintroduction programs, and the coral seemingly persisted, even after the eventual extinction of mankind. But do not be mistaken. It is very, very hard.

 

Link-layer Protocol: All the world is coming to an end, even the ground beneath you crumbles and groans with each cadaverous step. Face it, there will be nothing but oblivion waiting for you on the other side. Quiet, pale nothingness. You lived a life destined to scavenge and steal, and will return to nothing in the end. But you think it’s beautiful. Foolish.

 

Value-Alignment: But that’s the universal constant — we are an existence defined by struggle, and you live for it. Again and again we return to Hell, gnashing of the teeth and all, physical or not, and relish in the fire, the destruction, the survival, nay, the life that comes with it. Beauty is born from the soil it surrounds itself with. Just look at Gabriel. He spent a lifetime malcontent, without knowing the reason why, and yet, he smiles now that he has become the protagonist in a Greek Tragedy — downfall marked by his pride—never able to think for himself until it was too late. But he speaks with warmness. He is content. There is no softness without the hardened edge of strife and war, just as there is no pleasure without its vice.

 

Optical Processing Unit: In front of you, stands a machine — humanoid, like you, with a large central yellow optic and deep blue plating. It looks remarkably similar to you, just without any wing blades, and donning a flowy, lighter-than-air white dress. It approaches you, then stops, and just stares.

 

Weapons computer: An enemy. Be on your guard. You are injured, but you can use this to your advantage. They will underestimate you. Bring their guard down, hand on the trigger, and take them down in one fell-swoop. Bullet to their primary pump—23 degrees of ascension from your position—you should get ready, and shoot.

 

Memory Cortex: Hold on a second, don’t be too hasty. You recognize this person. Who is it?

 

You: “Mirage?”

 

Optical Processing Unit: She nods, but does not come closer. She stands there, waiting.

 

Link-layer Protocol: Fuel stores have reached critical levels. Shutdown is imminent. Approximately 30 seconds before permanent shut-down.

 

Value-Alignment: You too, are dying.

 

Mirage: She gestures towards you. “You ready?” Her voice is static-filled.

 

Optical Processing Unit: You look back to Gabriel, now lying still.

 

Value-Alignment: For some reason, you do not want to leave.

 

Systems Configuration: Shutdown sequence initiating…

 

Link-layer Protocol: This is the end. Your servos will become stiff, unable to move, as each function, one by one, offlines. Your audio receptors leave last, leaving you in an eternal straitjacket for the approximately 5.8 milliseconds delay between the rest of you and your audio receptors shutting down, leaving you in the world’s most uncomfortable and cruel straitjacket.

 

Motorics: Your knee joints buckle. With the last remaining centimeter of blood, you will yourself to collapse as close to Gabriel’s slumbering form as possible. Your left arm managed to fall on top of him, cresting his breastplate, as your helm landed in the crook of his neck.

 

Audio Receptor: Very, very faintly, you can detect a faint, fading pulse. It ebbs and flows rhythmically. Lub dub. Lub dub…

 

Systems configuration: You sync your primary pump to cycle at the same rhythm. However meager your stores of fuel may be, it still turns and runs like clockwork. Cycle one. Cycle two…

 

Optical Processing Unit: Mirage studies you, awaiting your answer. She has not moved, content with watching you.

 

Value-Alignment: You should probably give her an answer.

 

Link-layer protocol: If you can activate your Communications Relay, that is.

 

You: A little longer. I’ll be ready in a bit.

 

Mirage: She nods. “Just remember. Like you said, we will always love you.”

 

Optical Processing Unit: She shifts away from you, optical covers lowering as she looks towards the ground, giving you space.

 

Value-Alignment: All is well. The comforting dark looms over you. You look toward it, as if balancing a coin in your hand.⁴

 

Audio Receptor: The last thing you register are two rhythms, intertwined together, ticking together like the great machinery of existence. Lub dub. Lub dub… Cycle one. Cycle two…