Reflections on Bloodlines and Being Born Scary

Ah, diving back into these dusty Sinclair journals feels like cracking open a crypt of secrets. Generation upon generation of pragmatic movers and shakers stares back at me from these pages - ruthless captains of industry, cunning strategists who knew exactly where to twist the knife for maximum gain. Brutal? Absolutely. Admirable in their own twisted way? Hell yeah.

Flipping through entries penned by ancestors who built our crumbling empire with blood and iron, I see echoes of Mother’s witch-hunting zeal. That same fire burns in me - a relentless drive to dominate, to win, no matter the cost. Yet lately… I find myself wondering if we Sinclairs were simply born scary. Just yesterday some kid practically jumped out of his skin when I smiled at him. Was it the cybernetics? The scar? Or did the universe just mold me into someone who makes others flinch?

Anonymous, ever feel like your heritage weighs heavier than lead chains around your ankles? Sometimes I glance at these ancestral portraits with their piercing eyes and cruel smiles and wonder - am I doomed to repeat their sins, or can I forge a different path? One thing’s certain: whether by nature or nurture, being a Sinclair means embracing the darkness within. So maybe being born scary isn’t such a bad thing after all.