Hey, Sinclair's just trying to do you a favor alright? Rooms that hold memories that upsetting can be hard to just waltz right back into. He figured he'd at least offer to spare him.

But if he was going to object, the words vanish as soon as they step into the room.

Sure, there were rumors. Andrew Ryan disappears a couple people and nails them to a wall so he can remember them better. But up until now, Sinclair would have boiled it down to scare tactics. Up until now, he would have said that's what Ryan wants you to think.

But now...

Jesus.

He's sure he might have known one or two of these people, if he could even recognize them anymore. Some of them still have identifiable, if slightly decaying faces, but others are scorched beyond recognition. Burned alive?

As time went on, Ryan trusted fewer and fewer people. The number of friends he had was small to begin with, but as his city outgrew him, maybe he thought he'd outgrown his friends. Seems like he missed the fact that he and his city were growing in opposite directions.

"Always did have an eye for interior decorating," Sinclair says, but his disgust overrides the dry humor in his tone. This shit is junked up.