Hey, he did what he had to do. An attempt was made.

Pulling the door open and shut is harder with every passing second, every inch the water rises, and water spills into the airtight room but with no small amount of effort he manages to push the door shut behind him. And once that's done, the second door is much easier to work with. The water spills out into the the room and disperses until it's just a thin layer licking at the soles of his shoes.

He stumbles to a bench and falls down on it. Adrenaline can only push you past so much pain and the bandages on his leg have fallen to pieces, the blood dyeing his dress pants a sick maroon.

And Jack. Poor kid. Sinclair isn't one to wallow in self pity, but this was his fault and that's really all there is to that. They could have stuck to the original plan of stealing a sub, something with a little more of its own defense system, but he was overeager and it screwed them over. It screwed Jack over.

Sinclair hunches over, rubbing his face. The kid was so full of hope, he'd trusted Sinclair to get him home, and then Sinclair let him down. Disappointing people is practically standard procedure for him at this point, but somehow it's a little different when it ends with you holding a boy's dead body in your arms.

He's sure he should keep moving, wherever he is is probably crawling with splicers, but he's gonna need a second to regroup.