Sinclair picks up the box and makes as quick a trip as possible with his healing leg. Which is feeling considerably better, by the way, though it still aches more than he'd like it to. It's easier to ignore with the bubbling excitement in his belly. Sure, he was excited when he came to Rapture, but this...this is different.

Rapture is toxic. Staying here is a slower and more painful death than anything an atom bomb could do. This is a chance to start over. Sinclair's had his run, playing the game, turning a profit. He's beyond ready to cash it in and live out the rest of his days in luxury. Real luxury, not Ryan's artificial paradise. That's what all the work was for, anyway. This is it. It feels like Christmas.

"I'm telling you, kid," he says upon his return, setting the box down outside of the bathysphere. "This is the best thing that could've happened for either of us. A clean slate, starting fresh. You're gonna be able to do whatever you want."