 Email message from Lyle Naismith to Overseer Council. Subject, Isaiah Henderson. My colleague and friend, Dr. Henderson, has been exposed to a FAAF NIR type Info Hazard 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. Other than the standard protocol, he is 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 3D 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. 05-11. 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 4D class behind Naismith rolled their eyes. Just one question, said Naismith, indicating the cardboard box. Why those? It's something I've always wondered, Lyle. The answer seems obvious, but scientists don't deal in seems-obviouses. The 5th D-Class, D-42749 next to Henderson, just barely stifled and, it's been 50 minutes, jerk a**, 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, maintained direct eye contact with the object at all times, a buzzer sounded, and the locking mechanisms of the bulkhead clicked, and word. F***ing 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 am 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 ol' 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 dine peace, said Henderson, closing his eyes. The last thing he felt was a slab of concrete bitch slapping him, 27 times. End of file. To learn more about the SCP Foundation, subscribe to SCP Orientation today and turn the notification bell on so you don't miss any of our videos.