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[The screaming, the growing paranoia, the inability to leave... it's just like Rapture again. Just add a few drops of water and rusting metal all about, bloody bits on the walls and the whispering, whispering of insanity and you have the city in a bottle, as it were. So of course, this affects our dear Mister Sinclair, bringing back some serious, serious nostalgia.
When the feed snaps on it shows him, sitting on the bed and staring, dead-eyed, at the wall, absolutely nothing but a slight touch of fear in his face. The only movement he's doing is rocking slightly, back and forth. The lights are off, and the screen is lighting his face up. His trusty cigarette holder is holding nothing but a butt, signaling he's been there for quite some time - enough for the cigarette to burn down and not be replaced, at least. He's not scared anymore - but he's not anything, really. He's just simply. not. there.]
[A note: he's moved, now, and is unwilling to be responsive to anything around him, thanks to Sofia Lamb. If you'd like to react to this, as the camera was indeed ON, feel free!]
When the feed snaps on it shows him, sitting on the bed and staring, dead-eyed, at the wall, absolutely nothing but a slight touch of fear in his face. The only movement he's doing is rocking slightly, back and forth. The lights are off, and the screen is lighting his face up. His trusty cigarette holder is holding nothing but a butt, signaling he's been there for quite some time - enough for the cigarette to burn down and not be replaced, at least. He's not scared anymore - but he's not anything, really. He's just simply. not. there.]
[A note: he's moved, now, and is unwilling to be responsive to anything around him, thanks to Sofia Lamb. If you'd like to react to this, as the camera was indeed ON, feel free!]