The Mexican sun blazes. DON ELADIO sits in a shaded lounge chair, wearing an unbuttoned silk shirt and sunglasses. He holds a cigar in one hand and a glass of tequila in the other.
JUAN BOLSA stands nearby, looking over a ledger. Two heavily armed CARTEL GUARDS patrol the perimeter. Suddenly, a violent crack of thunder tears through the clear blue sky. A shimmering, chaotic tear in reality—a portal—snaps open five feet above the concrete deck. The guards draw their weapons instantly. Bolsa steps back, dropping his ledger.
With a heavy, wet thud, SCP-173 drops through the portal. The tear snaps shut behind it. The entity stands perfectly still.
It is a grotesque, concrete-and-rebar sculpture, crudely painted with a face, stained with traces of blood and feces at its base. Silence falls over the hacienda, save for the hum of the pool filter. Eladio slowly lowers his sunglasses. He doesn't look afraid; he looks deeply annoyed and amused.
DON ELADIO: (Laughs softly, shaking his head) "Juan... what is this? Is this a joke from the Salamancas? Hector sent me a statue?" JUAN BOLSA: (Staring intently, cautious) "I do not think so, Eladio. Look at it. It is... hideous. It smells like an open sewer." Eladio stands up, cigar between his teeth. He walks toward SCP-173, swirling his tequila. He stops three feet away from it, staring directly into its spray-painted eyes.
DON ELADIO: (To the statue) "You are a very ugly boy, aren't you? Who made you? Some artist in Juarez?" Eladio turns his back completely to SCP-173, walking back toward his lounge chair to grab the tequila bottle. DON ELADIO: (To Bolsa) "If this is Hector's idea of a gift, his mind is truly gone. Tell the boys to throw it in the truck. It ruins the view."
CRACK-SCRAPE. In a microsecond, the sound of concrete grinding on concrete echoes. Eladio spins back around. SCP-173 is now standing directly behind Juan Bolsa. It has moved ten feet instantly. It is millimeters away from Bolsa's shoulder. Bolsa freezes, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
He is staring right at it. JUAN BOLSA: (Voice trembling) "Eladio... don't look away. Do not blink." DON ELADIO: (Chuckles, though his smile fades) "Como? What did you do, Juan? Are you playing tricks on me?" JUAN BOLSA: "It moved. The moment you turned your back, it moved. Look at its face. Look at its hands. Do not take your eyes off it!" Eladio narrows his eyes. He signals to the guards.
DON ELADIO: "Mátalo. Put some holes in this piece of garbage."
The two guards step forward, aiming their M4 rifles directly at the concrete head of SCP-173. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! A volley of gunfire hits the statue. Chips of concrete fly off its shoulder, but it doesn't flinch. It remains completely immobile under Eladio's direct stare. DON ELADIO: (Shouting over the gunfire) "Stop! Stop wasting ammunition!" The guards lower their weapons. The smoke clears.
SCP-173 hasn't moved an inch because everyone is staring at it. Eladio takes a slow sip of his tequila, his brain finally processing that this is not normal. His survival instincts, honed from decades of cartel warfare, kick in. DON ELADIO: (Calmly, maliciously) "It only moves when we don't look. Like a coward. A piece of rock that wants to play games in my house."
JUAN BOLSA: "Eladio, my eyes are burning. I need to blink." DON ELADIO: "Gaff! Take over for Juan. Keep your eyes on the ugly doll." The guard, GAFF, steps up, locking his eyes onto the statue. Bolsa takes a step back, frantically blinking and wiping sweat from his forehead. JUAN BOLSA: "What do we do with it? We cannot look at it forever." DON ELADIO: (Walking in a slow circle around SCP-173, keeping his eyes glued to it) "We treat it like any other rat that enters my plaza. We dismantle it." Eladio looks at the second guard.
DON ELADIO: "Go get the heavy chains from the garage. And the bulldozer. We are going to drag this thing into the desert, crush it into dust, and mix it into the concrete of my next warehouse. Let's see it move when it is part of a floor." The second guard nods and turns around, running toward the garage.
At that exact moment, a sweat droplet runs down Gaff’s forehead and into his left eye. He winces and instinctively blinks both eyes shut for a fraction of a second. SNAP. The sound is like a dry branch breaking under a boot, amplified ten times over. Gaff drops to the pool deck, his neck twisted at a horrific, unnatural 180-degree angle.
SCP-173 is now standing over his body, its concrete arms slightly raised, face inches from Eladio's. Bolsa screams. Eladio doesn't scream. His eyes widen to dinner plates. His cigar drops from his mouth, landing on the concrete. He forces his eyes to stay wide open, ignoring the sting of the midday sun. DON ELADIO: (Whispering, voice cold) "Juan. Keep your eyes on it. Do. Not. Blink." JUAN BOLSA: (Panicking, gun drawn but shaking) "Eladio, we need to back away! Step back slowly!"
DON ELADIO: (Staring directly into the painted face, a dark smile returning) "No... I want to see what it does. You think you are a monster? I have melted men in acid, my friend. I have put heads on tortoises. You are just a stone." Eladio takes a slow step backward, never breaking eye contact. SCP-173 remains perfectly, deathly still.
DON ELADIO: (Shouting to the house) "Bring the sledgehammers!"
Last edited:
