“—hbut th- there was a fire drill in the dormitories earlier this 
afternoon, which held up class for ten minutes. We assembled as 
early as we could after classes dismissed.” 


Coach Panagakos could have glared a hole through his skull. 
“Gods, fine. | didn’t want to win this weekend anyway.” He swept his 
gaze towards the players, who huddled together in terror. “Alright, 
chucklefucks. We looked like hot asshole on Saturday, and Yale is a 
whole goddamn tier above Macedonia State, and we needed some 
last second heroics from Plucky the Wonderkid over here to beat 
them,” he nodded towards Cron, who grinned sheepishly. “We’ve 
had a few good practices this week, and we’re looking sharp. But if 
you dick masseuses think that you'll be able to relax like you did last 
week, you're in for an abrupt and brutal throat fucking.” 


He gestured with his left hand, and conjured a blackboard. “Yale is 
bigger than us, stronger than us, and has a better spellcasting unit 
than us,” he paused, “despite the tireless efforts of our highly 
compensated magic training staff.” His eyes fell on the Magics 
Coordinator, Coach Balaban, who withered under the Head Ball 
Coach's gaze. 


“What that means is that we'll have to play faster than they do, and 
force them to keep up. Cron, we’re going to be running a lot of 
option sets, keep them on their toes. Devin,” he looked at the 
offensive coordinator, “if we see an opportunity to do so, please do 
not hesitate to use our talented young running back to fuck them 
with the ball. 'm sure you think 150 yards is commendable, but 
JaMarcus could’ve had three times that number with how little effort 
they were putting into playing at the line. We could've at least tickled 
them with the fucking tip.” 


The team waited with bated breath for the next word, but the coach 
only sighed. “Look, we've still got work to do tonight. Our conference 
is a goddamn bloodbath, and if we want a shot at a championship 
berth we’re going to need to find ways to win against bigger teams. 
That starts tomorrow, with the goddamn Yale Bulldogs. Get your 
asses out of your asses, and your heads out of those asses, and 
let’s go break some fucking bones.” 


The team roared their approval, and scurried away to the practice 
field. The last person to leave the room was Coach Christakos, who 
was caught in the Head Coach’s paralyzing gaze. Coach Panagakos 
hovered across the room to him, stopping just short of the fearful 
coordinator’s face. 


“| win 300 championships with this team over a millennia and a half,” 
Coach Panagakos said, his words a knife, “and the best you can do 
is ‘Bringer of Touchdowns’?” He shook his head and floated away. 
“Goddamn pathetic, Kevin. Get your shit together.” 


-A- 


Postgame - Hub - The Unforgiving Gridiron 


The Unforgiving Gridiron 


Welcome back, sports fans, to Alexylva University Nike 
Stadium for tonight’s matchup between the #3 ranked 
Yale Bulldogs and your Alexylva Visigoths! | am Hermes 
Evaristas, and with me as always is Eupraxia 
Kassandros, and boy oh boy do we have a barn burner 
for you here tonight... 


In the darkness below the world, something stirred. 


Anantashesha, the great guardian of the nothingness eternal, 
whipped around at the sound. His domain was a quiet domain, and 
he was unaccustomed to any kind of noise. He peered into the black 
around him, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 


“Hey,” he said, calling out into the dark. “Who’s out there?” 


The eel floated around towards where he had heard the sound, his 
immensity trailing behind him like a streamer. Squinting his eyes, he 
stared even harder at the nothing. 


“Come on, this isn’t funny,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be 
fucking around down here. Members only, capiche? Who’s out 
there?” 


Suddenly, he found himself looking down at the tiny form of a human 
man, dressed in a tight-fitting leather uniform, with a glass bowl on 
his head connected to a long tube. Anantashesha followed the tube 
up and away from the man it was connected to until it disappeared 
in the emptiness above them. 


“Hello there!” the man said. 


Anantashesha brought his face back down until he was level with 
the man. “Say there,” the eel said, “what do you think you’re on 


about? Don’t you know the rules? Nothing is allowed down here.” It 
paused for a second, considering the man. “Who are you, anyway?” 


“Me?” the man said cheerfully. “Why, I’m Vincenti Andersopolis, at 
your service.” 


“Vincenti Andersopolis, eh?” Anantashesha nodded slowly. “I’ve 
never heard of you. What do you do?” 


The man made a grand gesture akin to a bow. “Il am purveyor of fine 
automatronics, my good eel. Watches, gizmos, windups, the works. 
I’m known far and wide as the master of the machine, as it were. 
Never was there a finer engineer than me, Vincenti Andersopolis!” 


“Hmmm, | see.” The eel glanced behind him. “You’re here alone?” 
“lam, yes.” 
“What are you doing down here?” 


Vincenti raised a finger. “A fine question, eel fellow. See, I’m working 
on avery special project right now, something really spectacular. 
The brunt of the work is done, see, but I’m finding myself at a bit of a 
loss for the last piece. | was hoping | might be able to find it down 
here.” 


Anantashesha looked around. “Not much to speak of down here, I’m 
afraid.” 


Vincenti nodded vigorously. “Yes, well, they wouldn't exactly call it 
the nothingness eternal if it was chock full of things required by great 
inventors, would they?” He pulled out a large cloth bag and held it 
out in front of himself. “No, Mr. Eel, | find myself needing a soul.” 


Anantashesha did a double take. “A soul? What in the world do you 
need a soul for?” 


“Ah, trade secret, I’m afraid! Too much riding on the success of this 
one, see! Can’t give away too much. | am willing to negotiate, 
however, SO name your price.” 


The eel frowned. “How do you even know whether or not I’ve got 


SCP-646 is constantly producing unrelated, infant organisms. For 
the purposes of this document, SCP-646 is in a state of "giving 
birth". When one infant creature has been born, another will appear 
within SCP-646 and the birthing process will begin again. Births do 
not seem to cause it any discomfort, and all offspring are completely 
unremarkable apart from their anomalous origin. Interestingly, 
oviparous animals such as birds and fish are born whole, outside of 
an egg. There is no logical order behind what species of animal will 
be born next; it seems that absolutely any multicellular animal that 
has ever existed on Earth can be birthed by SCP-646. 


It is unknown how SCP-646 is producing these infants at this time, 
as there is no gestation period between births. The current intake of 
material by SCP-646 cannot account for the mass of the infant 
animals or its constant slime discharge. Research is pending. 


SCP-646 shows no signs of sapience, and is mostly docile unless 
actively provoked. 


Sample SCP-646 Birth Log 5122b / /19 


Time Species Common Notes 
Name 

11:43 Crotalus atroxW. None 
diamondback 
rattlesnake 

12:04 Canis lupus| grey wolf None 

12:11 Tyto alba common batn None 
owl 

12:20 Boa Boa None 

constrictor | constrictor 
12:23 unknown unknown No match to 


species of | any species 
anglerfish, | on record 


female 
12:33 unknown unknown retained for 
animal; study; 


10cm? body, deceased 
legs ~4m (internal 


souls down here, anyway?” 


Vincenti smiled knowingly. “Come now, eel ole boy. We both know 
the game here. Things die, you filter out the good bits. That’s what 
you’re doing down here, isn’t it? Can’t imagine you’re just here for 
the company.” 


Anantashesha shrugged admittingly. “Well, you got me there. So 
say | do have a soul | could give you. What are you going to give me 
in return?” 


Vincenti reached into the bag and quickly produced a large, spider- 
like animatron. 


“This,” he said triumphantly, “is the newest in my line of eldritch-eel 
comfort devices! | call it, the Andersopolis Automatronics Eel- 
Scratch 2000!” 


Anantashesha peered at the strange device. “What does it do?” 


Vincenti floated over towards the eel, and slammed the spider 
against its side. He pushed a big button on the top of the spider, 
which began to move its legs around in a skittering pattern, digging 
deep into the eel flesh. Anantashesha writhed and coiled under its 
touch. 


“Ohhhhhhhh god,” the eel said. “I never realized how much | itched 
until just this moment. What a feeling.” He unwrapped himself from 
himself and turned towards Vincenti. “You get me a few hundred of 
these bad boys, and you can have your soul.” 


“Deal,” said Vincenti. 


“One thing, though,” the eel said. “These souls aren’t exactly what 
I'd describe as... all there. They've had a bit of a rough go of it 
getting down here, and most of them are fairly piecemeal.” 


Vincenti waved dismissively. “No problem there, eel chum. What 
nature cannot provide, Andersopolis Automatronics will produce!” 


The eel whipped around its long tail and extended it towards 
Vincenti. The man took the tail in his hand, and they shook on it. As 


they did, Anantashesha opened its gaping maw, and from the void 
within a single, shimmering, tattered light emerged. Vincenti beamed 
in the light it produced, and quickly gathered it into the bag. He 
reached up, pulled twice on the cord connecting him to the world 
above, and began to ascend. 


As he did, the eel looked up at him quizzically. "Seriously, though. 
You came all the way down here just for one kind of shitty soul? 
What in the world would be worth going through all that trouble?" 


Vincenti grinned fiendishly as he pulled away. "Have you ever heard 
of the high-stakes world of first century collegiate athletics?" 


Cron rubbed his shoulder empathetically. He knew it was supposed 
to hurt, but mimicking discomfort was tricky, and everybody was 
watching. He popped up off the field, right into the face of a Yale 
defensive back. 


“Thou shouldst stay down upon the earth,” the man said, glaring at 
Cron through his visor, “lest ye fragile bones be broken.” 


The towering Yuri Pato, one of Cron’s offensive linemen, stepped 
between them and snarled at the other man. The defensive back 
leered at them both, and rejoined his side of the field. 


The Alexylva offense assembled. Yuri, the left tackle, and then 
Borges, Hawkins, Meiner and Ut on the rest of the offensive line. 
Nereus, Quin, and lliov were the receivers, and JaMarcus Aurelius 
the tailback. Ail Hercule stood in as the tight end, and Cron 
commanded as their quarterback. They all looked to him for 
guidance. Cron nodded sagely as they stepped into their huddle, 
and as all eyes fell upon him he delivered his wisdom. 


“We're fucked, lads.” 


The scoreboard read 38-24 with 8:23 remaining in the fourth. It had 
been a miserable game; Yale had opened with a meteorologimancer 
that had quickly summoned a typhoon, and the rain had yet to let up. 
The Alexylva defense was exhausted, the offense couldn’t keep up, 
and Coach Panagakos, Eldest and Most Revered, had publicly 


crucified the defensive coordinator at halftime. The situation was 
dire. 


“How’s your shoulder?” Borges said, cautiously eyeing his 
quarterback. 


Cron started to speak, but hesitated. /t hurts. “It hurts,” he said, “but 
I'll be alright. I’m not worried about that as much as | am about 
flyboy over there.” He nodded towards the Yale backfield, where a 
winged free safety flapped furiously in the torrential rain. “He’s been 
a step ahead of me all game, and if he snags one we’re definitely 
fucked.” 


“So what’s the plan?” Hercule said. 


Cron furrowed his brow. He could hear the barely audible spinning 
of servos in his own head, and could feel his probability calculator 
kicking in. A passing attack will get you killed, or worse, they'll pick it 
off and you'll lose. Chance of success in the air is 5.45%. Running 
the ball has been unsuccessful, but you could pull the freshman off 
the bench and get JaMarcus some rest. All you need are two 
touchdowns. “All we need are two touchdowns. | can get us close 
enough for one, but JaMarcus will need to get the other.” He side- 
eyed his star back. “Can you do that?” 


JaMarcus grimaced. He’d been hit earlier and the defender had torn 
his leg off. They had managed to patch him up on the sideline, but 
he was still gimpy. “Yeah, | can do it.” 


Cron nodded. “Good. Go back to the bench, send Hollister out. Get 
some rest during this drive, and come back on the next.” 


The running back moved to argue, but realized the truth in Cron’s 
words. He nodded, and jogged off the field. The freshman back 
scrambled out to join the huddle. Cron clapped a hand across his 
back and leaned in. 


“Alright,” he said, “here’s how this is going to play out.” 


The interior of Andersopolis Automatronics was a busy place. 


Machines whizzed and whirred along the walls, pumps in the back of 
the building cranked over and pushed thick fluids through long 
pipes, and in the center of it all the company’s eccentric namesake 
was perched furiously over a long table, his eyes darting hither and 
yon over the project in front of him. He threw a hand out into the air, 
waving it eagerly. 


“Popo!” he shouted across the din. “Socket! 5mm! Come come!” 


From underneath a large pile of various machine parts and other 
refuse, a gnome appeared. She scratched a scraggly beard and 
grunted before hobbling across the shop towards a large tool chest 
and diving headfirst into it. After a moment’s digging, she emerged 
with a socket. She lined up her shot, and then flung it across the 
room into the waiting hand of Vincenti, who effortlessly snagged it 
without even looking. As he returned to his work, another gnome 
sidled up beside him, peering down on the subject on the table. 


“You think this will work?” the gnome said, scratching at the side of 
its red pointy hat. 


“Navarro, my dear friend,” Vincenti said, “of course it will work. I’m 
Vincenti Andersopolis. What have | ever worked on that hasn’t 
worked ?” 


As Navarro glanced around the room, Vincenti shot him a look. 
“Learning experiences, Navarro. Not failures. Everything works 
exactly as planned, or as some variation of planned.” 


The first gnome waddled over towards the table as well. “Why does 
Piko get the honourific of his last name, and I’m just Popo? | think 
Merlo is a fine name.” 


Vincenti paused and sighed. “Because Popo is a fun name, and it’s 
part of your contract. If you want to be called Ms. Popo Merlo, bring 
it up during negotiations.” 


Navarro grinned at Merlo and stuck his tongue out at her. Merlo 
glared at him. 


“Anyway, yes, it’s going to work,” Vincenti continued. “What you’re 


seeing take place before you is nothing short of a miracle of science 
and arcana. They’re going to be talking about this one for centuries 
to come. ‘Vincenti Andersopolis, the Man Who Made a Man’. Or 
something thereof.” 


“Not really a man though, is it,” Merlo said, snatching a half-rotted 
apple from her pocket and taking a bite. “Just a fancier clock, seems 
like.” 


It was her turn to earn a slicing look from Vincenti. “All people are 
just fancier clocks if you want to get technical. Gnomes too. Just 
moving parts with preprogrammed instructions that follow their 
design until they run out of juice and shut down. This,” he said, 
extending his arms over the subject, “is just a better version of what 
we've already got.” 


“How do you figure?” Navarro said, squinting at the exposed 
contraptions.