Lying is going to get him nowhere, he can tell. But telling the truth? About where he comes from? The fact that he was made? And then used?

That's not something that appeals. Sorry not sorry, Mister Sinclair.

He starts shaking his head unconsciously, and on his face is... unhappiness. Not sadness, not discomfort, not the blues, but something more injured and angry. No, his being here isn't an accident; it was Fontaine. Every moment of his existence is because of Fontaine. That's something he's still coming to grips with, it's enormous, it's like a weight bearing down on him and every time he thinks he has a hold on it, he realises it's bigger than he thought.

And he got revenge. He's glad he did, he's glad he killed Fontaine. But that didn't make it better. And so his hackles are starting to rise.

"I'm not going to tell you why I'm here."