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Gabriel's heart belonged to the pipe organ. What ecstasy, to command such power and versatility - a tempest of emotion flowing through singing pipes or uplifting a vast, otherwise empty room. The organ spoke with majesty and tenderness in one moment only to unleash deafening bellows the next. Its many keys and stops demanded that all limbs engaged with the music with the fullest attention and Gabriel would give his body, mind, and heart that such divine timbre would take flight. Indeed, it was the king of instruments. Something regal, angelic, divine.
The mighty organ was how Gabriel's soul was given voice, how it sought to connect, to communicate the truth of his existence. It was curious, then, how in his first encounter with the machine, he again stood by an organ - one of a different kind. Blood. Meat. Decay. Red.
In Hell, the mighty were revered. The weak were purged. Enmity among the filth was the norm. Blood was naught more than fuel. He had come closer to the profane than he ever foresought in pursuit of the machine. Perhaps, Gabriel was prepared to get his hands soiled in search of what he truly desired.
Yet, those who acted as enemies must be treated as no less than enemies - certainly not allies. Shame wound deep into the angel's heart for wanting this - to take his revenge on this "lesser" opponent - but even so, the same desire assuaged its burn. Gabriel knew it not, saw it not, but sensed that it was approaching. The singing of coins falling, the ricochet of bullets against reverberating walls, all music underlining his own. A murderous symphony. A reeking of blood and gore. Against his conviction, emotion overrode his hands, and his body, and he played with all of his soul - all of the hate and admiration in it at once. A contradiction played out in confusing notes and tones. What did he want? Perhaps a small part of him longed to find that out in this battle of blood.
It stepped into his domain, and Gabriel was quick to stand and slam his fists down onto his instrument. The echo underlined his emotion - anger, hatred, confusion.
But, through his internal dialogue, Gabriel relished the fight. Like clockwork, he and the machine were akin to a densely woven fugue. Daresay, he harboured a brutal, muted sort of affection for it. Like learning to play an instrument, he learned to play the machine - and this time, he was faster, stronger, and more ruthless. Like clockwork, he learned with keys to push. Like music, their "souls" - if the machine had one - were bound by emotion.
Their conductor was blood. V1 required this to persevere, and Gabriel wanted, needed, to see V1 shed it. It was proof of something, that anything mattered - that he even mattered at this point. He was strong and capable and could take his existence into his own hands. He took control over the machine, akin to control over his hands flying over the keys of his organ. Moving far away, where their battle echoed in the towering hall, prompted the machine to move closer. Moving in close, where their exchanges became deafening, encouraged the machine away. A dance of blood and gore and... something else.
Gabriel's restraint would falter. Its connection to the machine, as unusual and unlikely as it was, as blood-bound as it might be, aroused his own latent want of disclosure. Had he not dared deny the familiarity of rending his enemies apart, what length and severity of misery would he have endured? He tasted blood, and the bellowing of the organ in his soul quietened to a strange kind of tenderness. No, this was not hate. It was passion. There were things that he still craved, and he would take them back in his hands. Perhaps, the orchestra of his own soul took too much reliance on what others could give him. Perhaps he had to look within and turn a page.
This made sense. A strange but welcome peace washed over the angel adorned in gold, red long gone.
The halls were quiet, then. V1 watched, poignantly quiet, as Gabriel deferred to it. The humming of its internal fans, the drip drip drip of blood a steady rhythm onto the hard floor, were the backdrop to the angel's revelation.
V1 was left in objective silence. Its music came from within.