[Filtered against known villains and Grell, 100% unhackable]

[The handwriting is disguised, and the picture obscured. The message is as anonymous as possible.]

If there is anyone returned from a kidnapping or being threatened who does not feel safe in his or her home, speak to anyone at the Welcome Center and they will direct you to a safe place to stay until things are better.

If you wish to volunteer to house someone, you will need a reference from a trusted member of the community.

[/Filter]

[A few minutes later, he uncovers the camera and starts a new message, spoken this time.]

Alexis Rodgers has been sent home. At least I assume as much--no one has seen her and her flat is empty. It's good.  She was very homesick, and...

[A pause. There's nothing really to say after that. He doesn't sound greatly distressed, but there's definitely a certain melancholy.

He'll be at the library this afternoon, and Good Spirits tonight. Missing Dawn, mostly. He'll occasionally walk through the item shop, killing time looking for little gifts to pick up for her.  At some point, he'll go see Ingrid in the clinic.  In the evening, he'll pay a visit to Jack Sparrow's house on the beach.  He's there to see Horatio, of course.]

[Written in a shaky hand]

I don't know if anyone is really out there. I seem to be caught up in a tree. In my defence, the tree looks worse than I do. I think I am winning. However, it is very cold and windy up here, and I can't seem to make it down on my own. I've heard about safe falling, but the only guideline we have about falling in the navy is "don't do it." If anyone can see this, then, I need your help. In the meantime, I'll keep writing, if you don't mind. It's just about the only way to keep moving up here.

I am Lieutenant Kennedy aboard His Majesty's Ship the Renown. If you'll believe it, that used to mean something. You may call me Kennedy (with or without the "mister"), or, since I suppose it makes no difference here, just Archie. I've answered to both. While I am sure you are dying to hear the endlessly dull story of my life and death, my literary skills are limited by my half-frozen fingers and my ability to manipulate this infernal book. Maybe later.

I can only hope this place has a decent glass of whiskey somewhere. I have a headache. Probably a permanent one. Not to mention I'm aching in body parts I actually did not have before. I suppose I should be glad to be alive again. Maybe that will come later.

Damned wings. I've no idea what to do with mys

[Accidental video: a flying shot of, well, mostly a grey-and-white blur as the book falls from the tree. A man's fingertips, nearly blue with cold, pass just in front. There's a dismayed shout and the sound of tearing cloth as the journal thumps to the ground, lying open. Barely visible in one corner is a very cold new feather, barely hanging on to a tree branch far above the ground. His pants seem to be caught and tearing. For a moment, he freezes with his arms around the branch, breathing heavily. Seconds later, he chuckles as if he just got a joke. He can barely be heard when he speaks.]

Looks like I d-didn't escape a hanging after all, H-Horatio.

[After a few more wheezing, half-hysterical chuckles, he goes very quiet.

The rest of the shot is of a location just outside the west side of town, north of the river.]