Now watch and learn, here's the deal...

From: Lisle Naismith [pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl#pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl]

To: Overseer Council

Subject: Isaiah Henderson My colleague (and friend) Dr. Henderson has been exposed to a FAFNIR-type infohazard at Site-59. The effects will be dormant for the next 72 hours, but their severity warrants his termination prior to the "rage state" event. Rather than the standard protocol, he has requested to be killed by SCP-173. Consider this my request for permission. I can say with certainty that he always had a particular fascination with 173. - Dr. Naismith

Permission granted. This is an unusual request, but after 37 years of his loyal service, it's only fair. Take at least three D-class with you to maintain the line of sight, internally or externally, as you see fit. Please understand that the Overseer Council will hold you personally accountable for any breach incidents that may come of this. - O5-11

Just outside SCP-173's bulkhead, Dr. Henderson held a cardboard box in his sweaty hands.

"Are you sure you're ready?" said Dr. Naismith.

"No," said Henderson with a chuckle. "But no one is ready for this type of thing. Like when I was going to the dentist as a kid. My mom had a saying for it."

"What's that?"

"She told me that I had to let my brain do the worrying, while the feet did something else entirely."

Naismith grinned. "Sounds like courage in a nutshell."

The four D-class behind Naismith rolled their eyes.

"Just one question," said Naismith, indicating the cardboard box. "Why those?"

"It's something I've always wondered, Lisle. The answer seems obvious, but scientists don't deal in seems-obviouses."

The fifth D-class, D-42749 next to Henderson, just barely stifled an "It's been 15 minutes, jerkass, just let him in or marry him already!"

Naismith patted Henderson on the shoulder. "Godspeed, Isaiah."

"You too. Now, if you would be so kind…"

Naismith threw a switch at the side of the room. "Opening the bulkhead. Maintain direct eye contact with the object at all times." A buzzer sounded, and the locking mechanisms of the bulkhead clicked and whirred.

"Fucking finally," said D-42749.

Once the door was locked behind them, D-42749 and Dr. Henderson found themselves face-to-face with the good ol' concrete-and-rebar god of destruction itself. Due to a recent cleaning operation, the floor was mercifully white for a change.

Dr. Henderson sighed, and tightened his grip on the box. "Excuse me, 42749, would you do me a quick favor?"

D-42749 grunted.

"Close your eyes. Give your eyelids a rest."

"Dr. Naismith said to—"

"Only one person has to do it, and I'm a seasoned staring contest professional. Are they closed?"

"Yeah."

Taking in a long, deep breath, Henderson decided to get it over with. He blinked…

…just after he overturned a box of old banana peels at 173's feet.

CLANG!

In a fraction of a second, Henderson's eyes opened, and SCP-173 was face-down on the floor on the other side of the cell. D-42749 let out a scream. He never stopped screaming.

"Now I can die in peace," said Henderson, closing his eyes.

The last thing he felt was a slab of concrete bitch-slapping him 27 times.