Per 
He kept trying to reach the end of the hallway, but alas, to no avail. Everything kept getting weirder the farther he went. He had seen floating bodies before, but they didn't talk to him like thee ones around him. He wasn't even sure how they were talking. They didn't have heads, and yet somehow had faces. Images of people he had never met burned into his mind. He tried to recall names, personalities, anything. The only thing he remembered was the disembodied faces, the mangled corpses of those he chose to forget. The memories came back now. Was this the hallway's effect? Or maybe something else…
It was easy reaching the beginning, because the entrance was there every time he turned around. But the exit never showed. The same room repeating, but it was impossible. Every room was different. Different corpses were brought back to his memory. "That's right," he told himself. "They aren't people. They are corpses. Mangled masses of blood. You didn't know them, so don't feel grief for them." He noticed other changed as he went. Why was there black slime slowly protruding from the floor, and why did the Foundation logos disappear from the walls? Was he even in the Site anymore? He wasn't sure if he existed right now, either. He would be forgotten, just like those corpses he tossed aside.
He had lost count of how many rooms he had been through a few hours ago. His glasses had vanished from his face too, and yet his vision was perfect. He looked up and saw the sun. The burning light seared his eyes, and when he looked away, back towards infinite darkness, his glasses were back on his face. He looked up again and only saw the roof of the building. He had had enough of this room, and turned to leave. But the entrance was gone. The only way was forward. Had he a little more sanity left, he would have panicked. But this room had deteriorated his senses and mind so severely all he wanted to do was keep walking. Another room, an unrecognizable body. Another room, a table with a sandwich made of sawdust. Another room, a TV playing scenes of his childhood, from a person recording in the shadows. Another room, and another room. He kept walking
After the entrance disappeared, the rooms stopped repeating. Some were long, some were wide, some stretched hundreds of feet up, some had holes in the walls. The holes had eyes. The eyes looked past him, as if watching something behind him. He turned around over and over, but the eyes never looked away. By now he was convinced he had spent his entire life in these halls. His childhood memories were replaying on the dark walls. While his younger self cried in the corner, he continued. The faces hadn't come back for a while, but the eyes hadn't left. They still followed the demon behind him.
He came upon SCP-173's containment cell. There was no door. He had destroyed SCP-173 3 years from now, hadn't he? So why was the containment cell here? He knew they said the future is now, but this made no sense. A radio went off, saying that SCP-173 was just outside the cell. Where was it? He looked down at his hands, stained with the blood of inanimate objects. Rebar and ink were dripping from his hair and hands. When he looked up, SCP-173 was standing in front of him, head and one arm dismembered, dripping molten asphalt from the wounds.
It spoke in his mind, like the faces from before. You must be the one to free the black sun. Remember 1981. Now there you go again! And with that, 173 crumbled into the void. He could hear the demon behind him crying for him. He moved into the next room, but the demon did not follow. Why did the eyes continue to avoid him? Another room, more eyes. The eyes were bleeding this time. No pupils, but he could tell they still looked away. Why? Why won't they look at him? Why won't they look at me? All I want is to be noticed. Someone look at me. Someone tell me I exist. Someone tell me I'm real. Someone tell me what happened in there. Except I'm not real. He's not real. The eyes are the only real thing. The faces are the only real thing.
Then the eyes looked at me.
There was nothing but blood in them. The eyes consumed everything about me. It was terrifying. Horrifying. The eyes burned my vision. I couldn't see. I could only scream. I didn't want to exist if this was how I had to. I couldn't take it. I ripped the eyes out of the wall and smashed it. Something was wrong with me. I couldn't stop burning, crying. Why does it hurt? It still hurts. I'm still here, and it still hurts. I want to die. I want to forget. It happened again. The eyes came back. I had to kill them so they wouldn't look at me. The eyes got bigger, and more came. The eyes hurt more than anything in the world. It was too painful. I collapsed. Now I see no eyes. I see nothing. I am nothing.
But I hear something. I hear many things. "Don't look at him. Don't even imagine him." I know they're talking about me. I don't want to see the eyes anymore.
