Sinclair's heart sinks to his stomach when, faster than he can process it, his feet are no longer touching the floor. He lets go of the bandages, but the plasmid keeps him securely in the air and his sense of balance is all sorts of thrown off.
"Alright, it works," he laughs nervously. Really nervously. "You mind putting me down now?"
no subject
"Alright, it works," he laughs nervously. Really nervously. "You mind putting me down now?"