Lack of a sense of humor and his awful stink aside, Jack is probably the most useful travel companion Sinclair could have hoped for in their situation. After a few surprisingly quiet noises of violence, Sinclair pulls himself through the crawl space and stands in the next room.
Which is less of a room and more of a long hallway. It appears to turn a corner towards the other end of it, so Sinclair supposes that is their destination. All of the open doors along it make him a bit nervous though; anything could be in any one of the rooms they're about to pass. There's graffiti covering the walls and doors, some of it political, some of it sexual, some of it both.
But for all the crude messages, the dripping paint and messy lettering, there's something about it that really unsettles him. There aren't so many that it's the first thing you'd notice, but all along the length of the wall, there are these butterflies. They're drawn on with a little more care than the angry smears of protest against Ryan, by different hands. Some are small, some are bigger, but they're all a soft blue and white against the furious red that spans the rest of the hall. He's seen them before in a couple other places, but never as many in one spot. He knows what they are.
This must have been a popular area for splicers at some point, an entire hall full of rooms with beds. But looking through the doors now as they pass them, most of the mattresses are missing from the bed frames. There doesn't appear to be a single room that's livable anymore, they're all full of rubble and crumbling furniture and leaking pipes. It's almost depressing, if Sinclair actually cared about the state of Rapture anymore.
He follows Jack in silence, listening closely for any potential remaining splicers who may have decided that a deteriorating home is better than no home at all.
no subject
Which is less of a room and more of a long hallway. It appears to turn a corner towards the other end of it, so Sinclair supposes that is their destination. All of the open doors along it make him a bit nervous though; anything could be in any one of the rooms they're about to pass. There's graffiti covering the walls and doors, some of it political, some of it sexual, some of it both.
But for all the crude messages, the dripping paint and messy lettering, there's something about it that really unsettles him. There aren't so many that it's the first thing you'd notice, but all along the length of the wall, there are these butterflies. They're drawn on with a little more care than the angry smears of protest against Ryan, by different hands. Some are small, some are bigger, but they're all a soft blue and white against the furious red that spans the rest of the hall. He's seen them before in a couple other places, but never as many in one spot. He knows what they are.
This must have been a popular area for splicers at some point, an entire hall full of rooms with beds. But looking through the doors now as they pass them, most of the mattresses are missing from the bed frames. There doesn't appear to be a single room that's livable anymore, they're all full of rubble and crumbling furniture and leaking pipes. It's almost depressing, if Sinclair actually cared about the state of Rapture anymore.
He follows Jack in silence, listening closely for any potential remaining splicers who may have decided that a deteriorating home is better than no home at all.