[Tim has been pretty absent from the Barge for the past week or so. He's been seen getting food, but he hasn't been particularly sociable...at all, really. He's been in brooding mode. It's a thing he does. So the signs that he's been getting sick have been largely missed, most particularly by himself.

When the video clicks on, there's a groan, and the device wavers for a moment before steadying. Tim is in bed, shirtless because that is how he sleeps, and he's holding the camera above him. And he looks like shit. When he talks, it comes out as a croak. His sore throat went from bad to worse.]

Someone bring me chicken soup. Please.

[His arm gets tired and you all get an extreme close up of his forehead, because that's where he's resting the device. The rest of the audio is muffled, since the mic is like an inch from his mouth.]

Oh my God I think I'm dying. [He's just being a drama queen. But he does groan again, and the picture shuffles and shifts as he rolls over, dragging the covers up over his head before the feed clicks off.]

[Tim has had quite a few painkillers. Later, he'll miss having his injuries treated in a cave, where he can't make a stoned fool of himself. He's still in the infirmary, so spam is totally a possibility here.] God, my cheek is killing me. [Probably because you keep touching it, Tim. He's gingerly rubbing that fractured cheekbone.]

So those, uh. Uhhh the animals. That stopped? Back to normal and everything, right? What the hell was that about? I mean. I mean, man am I glad I didn't turn into something. [And he's going to dissolve into snickering for a moment before he realizes that hurts, too. His free hand is holding his ribs.]

Wilson! What the hell was that? Do you have any, I mean any idea how much you weighed?

A lot. If you didn't.

...Who helped me when I came back? I don't think I know you. Her. You.

[And now Tim futzes with the computer a bit, which shakes the camera around some until he can obsessively feed his paranoia by making sure all his private notes are actually private.]

( Privates to: Murphy, Nygma, Cissie, Shego, Crane, Ruby, Joker, and Sylar )

[There's a very, very loud fwumping sound, and almost immediately following, a strangled scream. Tim was falling about forty stories when he was dragged back here, and he's hitting his floor hard, magically managing to turn on the audio function while probably breaking a bone in his hand in the process.

Which doesn't help things, considering he's got a fractured cheekbone, a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, cuts, bruises, and a few stab wounds. Tim's in bad shape. AND TO MAKE IT EVEN BETTER, he's in his uniform, torn to hell as it is. There's some movement to be heard, and a few very, very pained sounds - Tim's dragging off his costume and shoving it under this bed. It's really hard to manage.

And when it's mostly sorta stashed, there are some shuffling sounds as he heads for his computer; he realizes it's on and somehow manages to turn on a camera feed. There's a long gash across his chest, his right shoulder is out of it's socket and shifted way too far forward, and bruises are already blooming all over his face. When he talks, it's quiet, and very strained.]

I need help.