That scenery man. As much as the red skies give off the feeling that they're descending into a circle of Hell, it's still just. Beautiful, in a dark way. The way it is right before a tornado, when the sky is an unsettling greenish gray. It feels dangerous, and with the help of this new toy, that's something Sinclair thinks he can appreciate.

He follows Jack in silence, watching him fiddle absently with a knob on the chemical thrower, hand still shaking slightly. And he thinks he knows what it is, on the strain of why it couldn't possibly be the caffeine, but it's not an idea he's quite willing to entertain just yet. He's going to wait just a bit longer before he decides for sure that something needs to be done about it. Because if he's right, something will definitely need to be done about it.