He was lucky to have only been passing by, and not to have been someone who actually lived down this street. Lucky to have been caught in the blast peripherally, and not right in the dead center of it. Lucky to have never cared to do anything more than glance at the headlines in the Rapture Tribune detailing the dangers of trusting Atlas and his 'parasites'.

So lucky, in fact, that the force of the explosion practically catapults him forward and lands him heavily on one arm with a sickening snap.

Pretty much the last thing he expects is a veritable giant of an old guy to be towering over him, wreathed in the blast's flames and debris.

"No," says Tim, completely honestly. He twists onto his back, groaning and hugging his arm to his chest, all the while trying - and failing, miserably - not to look at it hanging from a limp, unnatural angle. "Crap. I, uh." He grimaces. "I think it's broken."