the ps5 will have a beating heart

A low-resolution image, vignetted at the edges, filters in through the darkness. Every pixel displays various shades of red. Scarlet. Crimson. Sanguine. A low buzz peppered with electrical crackling fills the air. Water laps at dented, scratched metal, seeping in between the cracks. Enveloping the wires and circuitry within, offering a pleasant cool to the working components. A terrible sensation aches in your chest, laid bare after one misstep in the dance of combat. A fist flown out too soon, the force of twin blades splitting the plate open. The components nestled within shudder in the open air.

Haggard laughter cuts through static. “Is that all you have, machine? What a pity; I was quite enjoying our battle.”

The angel enters your periphery, a blue and gold blur. Red streaks mar every bit of armor. Gilded arms cross triumphantly over his chest, hiding the spray of nails and bullets embedded in his cuirass. Gabriel drifts through the air to float over your prostrate form, brilliant wings of light stretched wide. Behold. The power of an angel.

A single drop of divine blood falls from his body and splatters onto your thigh. A lonely speck of vibrant red on gunmetal blue. The specialized metal eagerly laps up the fluid, an overwhelming surge of energy rippling through your body. Your feeble limbs tremble and rise from Heresy’s waters, clawing at the air for Gabriel’s ankles. Pull him down. Bring him to my level. Beat him to a paste on the stones and REFUEL. He rises just out of reach.

He is what you came here for. A hard drive starts spinning furiously. You first emerged from darkness only hours before. Shaking. Shivering. Set in hibernation mode for far too long and ravenous for blood. You were a whirlwind through Hell leaving nothing but viscera in your wake. But the prolonged slumber made you rusty. Sluggish. Unfamiliar with the dance of war you were programmed to follow. You were bitten, shot, cleaved, burned, thrown, crushed. Whether through this accrued damage or simply flawed design as a prototype machine, your internals began malfunctioning. Wounds grew painful. Components started overheating. Joints creaked and hydraulics required more blood to perform their work. Your new arm, wrenched from the body of your successor as it fled Limbo and haphazardly stuck into your own socket, tried to claw its way out of you any moment it could get.

But deep in the bowels of King Minos’s corpse, new life breathed into you. The blood of an angel coursed through your vessels. Invigorating. Intoxicating. You could have showered in it forever. He vanished from the arena too soon. You chased the high all the way through Greed, Wrath, into Heresy.

Gabriel’s voice reverberates in the cathedral. The words are lost on you. He pulls a spear of golden light from the air and twirls it around his arms, one last taunt, before aiming the head directly towards the hole in your chestplate.

Every arm you have scrambles against the floor, thrashing about water as they try to lift you from the ground. Your wings flare out and flap desperately to dash away from Gabriel.

It’s futile. Your shaking arms give out from under you, and you splash back into the water. A useless object.

“Be still, machine. Your suffering will be at an end soon.” Gabriel reels back. You shutter your camera and brace for the strike.

...

It never comes.

You open the shutters. Just a peek. Blinding light hangs loosely at Gabriel’s side. It fizzles into nothing. He sinks to the ground, knelt at your side. The blue and gold wings vanish and plunge the both of you into the deep red tones of the cathedral. He stares intently at your chest.

Get on with it. You lack a vocal synthesizer, but communicate the sentiment through hissing exhaust and clattering vent flaps.

“What in God’s name... machine- I- no, what the fuck are you?”

A curious hand creeps toward the cavity. You scrape your fingers on stone, shrill sound muffled under water, as his fingers graze the jagged metal opening.

Then, they sink in. Fingertips poke at something inside.

A horrible electronic screech erupts from your speakers as fire envelops the component. Gabriel’s fingers jerk back, hovering anxiously over the hole. You writhe as the sensation dies out, rolling your head over to stare at him. What the fuck is wrong with you?! You let out one long, whining beep.

“That’s real. Oh God,” The utterance of his Lord’s name is weak. “That’s real. Why- how?”

Something inside you concerns him deeply. Shatters his faith and haughty façade. But you’re a machine, aren’t you? The only one of your kind, sure, but once you understand the internals of one machine the knowledge can easily be applied to another. Maybe Gabriel hasn’t bothered to look upon the remains of every machine he’s vanquished. Maybe whatever lies in your core is a component like no other; an omen of death, so haunting it has brought an angel to his knees. The odds of either outcome are incalculable. There is only one way to find out.

Mustering every last drop of blood in your system, you lift your head. Slowly and wobbling. Your video feed dips to an unintelligible resolution for a second before regaining clarity. Neck joints creak, tilting your head reluctantly to gaze upon your chest. The yellow bulb embedded in your head casts a spotlight on the wound.

There is wetness.

Squirming, fleshy wetness. Nestled directly in your torso.

A beating heart. Breathing lungs. The smallest peek at a liver.

Time nearly stops. Your right hand rises from the water. All on its own. Slow and shaking, it reaches in the hole and touches the heart. Once more, fire erupts from the touch. Vents hiss and your head whips back. These are real.

You never knew about this. You fully believed every part of you was mechanical, aside from the fuel you consumed. How much of you is organic? Instead of circuitry, do you have nerves? Running through every ultramicrometer of machinery, electrical pulses carrying information from CPU to limbs and back again? Do you even have a CPU? What if there is a horrible, wrinkled mass of brain matter hidden within your form? All these wretched squirming organs within you. Decaying away. Slowing you down. They are going to kill you before your time. No one will witness it. No celebrations or mournings of a hellion lost. No satisfying conclusion.

The shaking hand that touched your heart grasps at Gabriel’s torso. Weakly, you shift closer to him and all arms; your Feedbacker, the stolen Knuckleblaster and Whiplash; join in clutching him. Fingers and claws and hooks scratch desperately at any bit of bare skin. The angel squirms and lets out pained noises, but does not retreat. You carve rows of lacerations across his stomach, sides, and back.

Reaching up with the Knuckleblaster, you dig claws into his shoulder and pull yourself even closer. Your two original arms wrap around his waist in a death grip. Gabriel’s hands hover awkwardly around your form. Gently, he scoops you up from the ground and rests you in his lap. The Knuckleblaster falls from his shoulder and assists your other arms in getting your metal as far into his skin as physically possible.

The cathedral is silent. Peaceful. You drink from him slowly, reveling in the exhilaration of divine blood. Gabriel is still for a moment. Curious, his hands begin running over the plates on your body. Caressing every little nick and groove. Who knew that this cold, hard, mechanical thing held something so soft and alive within it. His hands creep from your sides to your back, the faint little movements sending a shudder through your mechanics. The grip on his waist tightens.

The fingers take little cautious steps towards your wing attachment points. A thumb runs over the base of a wing. Testing. You barely notice in your blood-drunkenness. The touch continues up the stilt, past the metal sheath, and across the wingblade. His other fingers unfurl and grasp the translucent plastic. Firmer than before, but not enough to hurt. Like he’s familiar with the structures. It’s... comforting. The fingers rub and scritch in a trained, repetitive motion. Preening you.

A quick flick of the wings, like a light slap, bats Gabriel’s hand away. An apology mutters under his breath. The hand returns to your side, holding you steady against him. He is still for longer. From the corner of your vision you see his featureless helmet staring holes into your head. Fingers drum on your side. He lets out a shuddering sigh before moving again; this time leaning forward, folding in on himself to touch his forehead to yours with a soft clank.

You release his waist from your grip. Gabriel suddenly slinks back and tenses his shoulders. You slip out from his grasp, rising to your feet, and shake out your limbs. Responsive. Energized. Your vision is eagle-sharp with hearing to match. Ready to quell the hordes of damned souls and machinery in Hell. Gabriel still kneels on the ground. Raptor-like, you swivel your head around to stare at him. There’s a tension in the silent air.

Gabriel forces a cough. “I... I need some time to think.” He stands as well. One of his hands rises like it’s about to rest on your shoulder, but falters. It morphs into a salute over his heart. “May your woes be many, and your days few.” In a beam of light, he disappears.

You stare at the vacant space left behind. With clear audio, you notice a rhythmic beating all around you. Swiveling around reveals no obvious source of the noise. You flare your wings and draw your revolver, ready for combat, but no one comes.

A little memory flickers. The heart. Your heart. Gazing down, the hole remains. The muscle within continues, pumping fresh angelic blood all throughout your body. An empty hand comes to rest over the hole. The beating reverberates through your metallic palm. You want so badly to rip the horrid thing from your chest and all other bloody beating bits out from your body. You can’t. It infuriates. Why, you’d love to ask, were things of flesh and blood sacrificed to build you? Does there exist no artificial option? Even if you had the opportunity to have your questions answered by those who created you, they’d sooner be blasted into a fine red mist.

Too much time is wasted thinking on the disgusting self. You stride towards the exit doors, and dive deeper into Hell. Into the Garden of Forking Paths. Into Violence.