"I'm going to be sick."

You stumble back from the storage room of the lab as if kicked in the gut, feeling the acrid burn of digestive juices rushing up the back of your throat. You can't look at this. It's just too much. You gag and cough as you turn away, leaning against the laboratory table, only to immediately flinch away from that as you register the thought that Harold might have done some of his sick deeds there. Instead you fling yourself out into the basement storage area once more, falling to your knees as you try to stop yourself from heaving bile onto the concrete floor.

"My apologies," Mr. Baxter says as he exits the lab behind you - making sure the room is completely sealed. "It is... it's a terrible sight. I should have done more to prepare you."

"Ugh," you groan. How could anyone prepare someone for that view? "How... how can..."

"If I seem calm," the attorney says with a frown, "it's only because I've seen that sight so many times now. It's horrific. Without a doubt. But I've technically seen it repeatedly by this point, with every walk-through I've done. I try not to look too closely." You understand completely. You'll see those faces in your nightmares for years, you presume. "If you would like to end the tour now, and leave the Rossum estate for another, I completely understand," he continues - a look of profound sadness flashing across his face for a brief moment. "If it's any consolation, you won't be the first."

After a long pause, you sigh. "No. No no no. If I bolt now, you'll just have to show some other person that - and thus see it again yourself. No. I... I can do this." You don't quite believe your own words, but you at least have to try. Rising back to your feet, you shake off the last of the nausea with gritted teeth and clenched hands.