“First of all, stamina. See this?” Vincenti pointed at dark red mass 
surrounded by wires and banded in metal. “This is a griffin heart, 
with a few minor variations. Give it a shock and that baby will run 
unimpeded for a thousand years. I’ve got it strapped in here to these 
little capacitors, see, so it'll never run out of juice. Then, strength.” 
He opened a hatch on the side of the machine, and thick cables 
were visible within, wound around pulleys and stretched tight. “The 
strength of fifteen men, if pushed to capacity. This thing could 
wrestle a bear and the bear would look silly.” 


Merlo peered inside. “That flywheel there. Is that made of the lid of a 
tin can?” 


Vincenti grunted. “Andersopolis Automatronics has suffered 
financially in the not-so-distant past and a shortage of quality 
materials has been an issue. However, | think both annoying 
gnomes and our customers will see no diminished capabilities as a 
result of one lackluster flywheel. It’s only in there to balance that 
actuator anyway, and if that actuator is being stressed enough to 
bend the flywheel then the larger issue is that our subject is at the 
bottom of the ocean, or under a mountain.” He slammed the side 
panel closed. 


Navarro nodded sagely and stroked his beard. “It’s impressive. 
Looks expensive, though. | assume we'll be compensated for this?” 


Vincenti closed his eyes and smiled. “Substantially.” 


“Cool,” Merlo said, finishing the core of her apple in a single bite. “So 
what’s it supposed to do again? Other than be a robot, | guess.” 


“This is no ordinary robot, my vertically challenged friends.” Vincenti 
stretched out his arms, clapping them both across the shoulders. 
“This... is a football-playing robot!” 


Navarro and Merlo blinked in unison. 


“What.” 


Third and goal from the seventeen, five minutes and 
change to go. Apostolou lines up in the shotgun, now 
he’s checking the defense... here’s the snap, and here 
comes the pressure! Apostolou dodges a thunderbolt, 
and then another, and then- oh my god! Ail Hercule has 
run into the Yale meteorologimancer, he’s stopped 
channeling the incantation! The rain has stopped, but 
we've got three linemen barreling down on Cron. He 
steps left, throws off one, shakes another, and another, 
and another my god he’s broken free! Cron Apostalou at 
the ten! Cron Apostalou at the five! He’s got one man to- 
he’s in! Cron Apostalou scores! Alexylva is back in this 
thing! 38-30, with the kick to come! 


Cron jogged off to the sideline and was met by his cheering 
teammates. Yuri and his offensive line came up shortly afterwards, 
knocking against his helmet and congratulating him on the 
spectacular play. Behind him he could hear the cheers of the crowd 
as Kery Achilles booted it through the uprights, bringing the score to 
38-31. There was a sudden hush on the sideline as the air near 
them crackled and Coach Panagakos appeared in a rush of smoke 
and ozone. He peered around through dark glasses at his team, 
before cracking a crusty, broken smile. 


“Fucking good, Cron. Makes me wonder why | even pay an 
offensive coordinator.” He glared at Coach Demopolous, who was 
cowering at the end of the bench, fearfully clutching his clipboard. 
“Regardless, we still have work to do. Defense, go pull your 
coordinator down off that cross and get ready. We’re running short 
on time, and | don’t want to burn timeouts if | can avoid it.” He 
pointed across the field with a crooked, clawed finger. “I want you to 
tell Coach Zhange that she can take her offense and kindly fuck 
back off to the nightmare dimension she came from. If you need to 
turn those boys inside out | suggest you do it, before | get the 
inclination to do it to you.” 


The team quickly scuttled off and dispersed, preparing for the 
kickoff. As he was about to walk away to join his receivers, he felt 
the Coach’s cold grasp against his arm. 


“Listen kid, the theatrics are great, but they’re going to buckle down 
when we get you back out there. | had Balaban cook up something 
spicy, and we’re going to catch these fuckers sleeping and shit in 
their eyes. Look out there,” he gestured towards the field. “See how 
they’ve been skipping leg day? Weak knees, Cron. You’re going to 
use this,” he slammed an amulet into Cron’s hand, “and you’re going 
to blast them in the dick with it. One good wave of force and their 
ancestors will feel the ACL tears. You got it?” 


Cron gripped the medallion tightly and said nothing. The Head Ball 
Coach didn’t know, of course, but there wasn’t anything Cron could 
do to make that magic work. He had carefully managed to avoid 
anyone who might look too closely at his class schedule and see 
that he hadn’t ever taken anything in arcana, but attempting to cast 
a spell he was not designed to cast would blow the lid well off of 
that. 


“Coach, I-” 


“Good,” Coach Panagakos said as he slapped Cron on the shoulder. 
“Don’t fuck this up, kid. I’ve got money on this game and I’m not 
about to pay out anything to that little eldritch minx who thinks she’s 
a football coach.” 


With that, the air wrinkled and cracked again, and the coach was 


gone. A horn sounded on the field, and Alexylva kicked off. 


A man was sitting naked on a table, his eyes fluttering quickly. In 
front of him sat two gnomes, both staring nervously at another man, 
standing behind the naked man, who was turning a crank on a large 
tool sticking out of the back of the naked man’s head. 


“That any better?” Vincenti said. 
Merlo shook her head. “Give it a little more.” 


Vincenti grabbed the handle on his crank, and gave it two more solid 
turns. After a brief moment, the fluttering dissipated and the man sat 
staring at the two gnomes. He blinked once, then twice. 


“Aight,” Merlo said. “You're good.” 


Vincenti closed up the hatch on the back of the man’s head and 
scuttled around towards the front. Booting Merlo and Navarro off of 
his stool, he perched himself across from the naked man and locked 
eyes with him. 


“Alright,” Vincenti said, “let’s try again. What’s your name?” 


The man moved as if to speak, and then caught himself. “I don’t 
know.” 


Vincenti nodded. “Of course you don’t. That’s fine. Do you know 
what you are?” 


The man looked down at his hands and flexed them slightly. There 
was the slightest hint of a squeak as metal and wood rubbed up 
against each other. “I’m a human?” 


“Ehhhh something like that.” Vincenti pulled out a stack of cards with 
pictures on them. “I’m going to show you some images, and | want 
you to tell me what you think they are. Sound good?” 


The naked man nodded. Vincenti flashed the first card. 


“That’s a fox,” the man said. 


“That’s a boat,” after the second card. 


“That's a read-option with a halfback draw to the strong side anda 
weak side drop to cover,” after the third. 


Vincenti smiled. “Young man, my name is Vincenti Andersopolis, 
and while | doubt we’ll see too much of each other in the next few 
years, | want you to know that I’m very excited to meet you.” 


The man looked puzzled. “Why?” 


Vincenti stood, gesturing dramatically. “For all these years I, the 
great Vincenti Andersopolis, have strived to create a better world, a 
more advanced world, at great financial and emotional cost. After 
selling both my family’s farm, and my family, in order to keep this lab 
open and staffed,” he glared down at the two gnomes, “there were 
many days | wondered if the sacrifices were worth it. But with you... 
everything changes. With you, they'll no longer call me ‘The 
Madman of Portlandis’, or ‘The Crazy Man of the Pacific Northwest’. 
No, they'll call me what | have deserved to be called all these long 
years: Vincenti Andersopolis, The Once and Future King of 
Machines.” 


He gazed wistfully into the middle distance. “Imagine it. One of my 
Andersopolis Automatronics man-bots on every street corner! 
Working for law enforcement, fighting wars. Loving, living, 
dreaming.” He sighed. “It’s a dream come true.” 


He motioned to the next room. “Piko, Popo, go get this nice young 
man some clothes.” He paused. “And get him one of my good penis 
sleeves. Can’t have a man walking around out there in a tunic 
without a penis sleeve. Might catch the penis pneumonia.” 


The Yale Coach Zhange was furious. Instead of kicking a field goal 
at the twenty-nine yard line and nearly putting the game out of 
reach, her quarterback had decided to stay on the field and lob a 
pass towards the end-zone in order to seal the deal. A well timed 
diversion led to an Alexylva interception return to the Yale forty-five 
yard line, and Coach Zhange had come unhinged. In her rage, she 
tore her quarterback in half and banished both halves to different 


nightmare dimensions, and threatened to do the same again. The 
rain began in earnest as the Yale defense took the field, with only 
2:15 left on the clock. 


JaMarcus Aurelius followed Cron back onto the turf, slapping him on 
the ass as he passed him by. “Come on, wonder kid,” JaMarcus 
said, smiling. “Let’s go shit in their eyes.” 


Cron smiled, but anxiety cut through his systems as he felt the 
medallion in his pocket begin to grow hot. All he had to do was 
activate the incantation and it would release its energy all at once, 
but even that was beyond Cron’s abilities. He glanced to the sideline 
where Coach Panagakos, Eldest and Most Revered, hovered 
menacingly near the student section. 


The Alexylva crowd was deafening, and fires had begun to break out 
in the crowd. The university police, utilizing trebuchets loaded with 
stun salts set up in the empty lot outside of the field, began heaving 
casks of the noxious mixture into the stadium to quell the riots. 


They started quickly. A short pass to Nereus for three, followed by a 
run from JaMarcus and another from Cron to get the first down. 
They were past midfield, but they needed a touchdown. The clock 
hit 1:30 as Cron handed off to his star back and JaMarcus 
disappeared in a flash through the Yale defensive line. He appeared 
downfield, at the twenty-three yard line, before being swarmed by 
defenders. 1:12. 


On the next play Cron caught a javelin in his non-throwing shoulder, 
and he could feel his blood dispersion system activating. As he 
moved to step back into his huddle after a pass thrown into the 
stands, he felt a sudden weakness on his left side. Looking down, 
he realized the javelin had nicked a hydraulic line, and he was now 
leaking fluid. Alarms sounded in his head as he realized he was only 
minutes from total hydraulic lock. As he hobbled back towards his 
team, Yuri moved to pull the javelin out of his shoulder. 


“No no no, don’t worry about that,” he said, waving him off. “I'll be 
fine, trust me.” That javelin is the only thing holding you together 
right now. You lose that and you lose pressure on the line, and that’s 
the ballgame. Suck it up, wonder kid. 


12:49 


13:34 


13:57 


14:14 


14:20 


14:27 
14:33 


14:56 


15:21 


15:24 


15:36 


15:42 


15:43 


long. 
Mammuthus Woolly 
primigenius; Mammoth 


Pan common 
troglodytes | chimpanzee 
Iguanodon | dinosaur 


Meles meles European 
badger 

unknown unknown 
aquatic 
invertebrate 


Panthera leo lion, maié 


Trilobita Trilobite, 
unknown 
Nasua narica white-nosed 
Coati 
Eubalaena | North Pacific 
japonica right whaie 
unknown unidentified 
purple 
gelatinous 
mass 
Giraffa giraffe 
camelopardalis 
Corvus corax Common 
Raven 


collapse) 
Retained for 
study. 
Genetic 
material 
collected for 
SCP-2082 
research. 
None 


retained for 
study - since 
deceased 
(iliness) 
stillborn 


terminated 
immediately 
by present 
personnel 
None 
retained for 
study - since 
deceased 
(unknown) 
None 


None 


No match to 
any species 
on record 


None 


Taken for use 
in ongoing 
SCP-1505 
research. 


Cyprinus common catp None 


They lined up on the twenty-three, and Cron handed off to 
JaMarcus. The back tried to cut left and then back around the right, 
but a Yale precog sleuthed him out and hit him at the line of 
scrimmage. The clock continued to wind down, and while Alexylva 
managed to pick up a first down on the next play (an eleven yard 
pass to the right for the tight end) it was at the cost of precious time. 
The clock slipped beneath thirty seconds before the team got lined 
up again. A missed pass stopped the clock, but with only twenty-six 
seconds remaining the situation was not great. 


“Alright,” Cron heard a voice in his head, “the time is ripe. Let’s blow 
out the asses of these pompous dick shits. Use the spell, Cron. Let’s 
open this up.” The voice of Coach Panagakos lingered in his ear for 

a moment more. 


They snapped the ball. Cron rolled right, then left, then back right, 
pursued by Yale defenders. Twenty seconds. “Use the goddamn 
spell, Cron,” the voice said. “What in the everloving fuck are you 
doing?” Nineteen seconds. 


Then he spotted JaMarcus streaking into the endzone, the winged 
defender hot on his tail. A pass here would result in an interception. 
89% chance of failure. An attempt to run into the endzone would 
result in a sack. 93% chance of failure. As the world seemed to slow 
around him and his probability engine began to accelerate to 
compensate for the influx of new information, he cast his eyes up 
into the stands. Amid the teeming mass of fans in Alexylva crimson 
and Yale blue, a man stood alone near the top of the stadium. He 
wore a long black coat with gold buttons and large, round black 
glasses. His silver hair tied into a tight bun behind his head, and on 
his chest Cron could make out the letter A emblazoned on a gold 


pin. 


The curiosity of this didn’t hold him for long, because as his 
probability engine began to wind down (having finished its 
calculations), the world around him began to speed up. The closing 
defenders grew ever closer, their eyes fixed on his like a wolf on its 
hapless press. In the distance, he could see JaMarcus’ hand, 
waving in the end zone, his other trying to fight off the defender. And 
in his head he still heard the voice of Coach Panagakos, screaming 
at him to use the fucking amulet already. Sixteen seconds. 


With a sickening crunch, Cron used his free left hand to pull the 
javelin free from his shoulder. He steadied himself, lined up his shot, 
and flung the spear across the field and into the unsuspecting side 
of the winged Yale safety, who screamed and crumpled to the 
ground. With his other hand, he flung the ball to JaMarcus, who 
stood alone in the end zone with both hands outstretched. As the 
ball left his hand, Cron glanced back to the stands. The man in the 
black coat was gone. 


The next thing Cron saw was the blue of three Yale defenders 
coming down on him as he collapsed to the ground, and the next 
thing he heard was the roar of the crowd. For us? For them? As his 
body slipped into hydraulic lock, he closed his eyes and took in the 
sounds around him. His body seized, and the world went dark. 


-A- 


Coach Panagakos, Eldest and Most Revered - Hub - Anima Ex 
Machina 


Anima Ex Machina 


In the darkness of his unmoving mind, a servo stirred in Cron 
Apostolou's head. 


Just the one, though, and just enough to keep the basic functions 
working. He saw nothing - not since the moment his body had 
succumbed to hydraulic lock and he had collapsed to the ground. 
But his consciousness grasped at sounds, distant as they were. In 
the moments afterwards he had heard the roar of a crowd, as if 
through water, though that had faded. The hushed voices afterwards 
had faded as well, and then another jubilant eruption from the 
crowd, only this time further away. More hushed voices. An angry 
snarl. Pacing feet. Nothing.