Mid Space

Who: You'll see.
Where: Wouldn't you like to know… Drifting?
*Static*
"…come in, please. Is anyone receiving this signal? This is a
distress call."
*Static*
*Static*
"Hello? Anyone? I require assistance, this is an emergency…"
*Static*
*Static*
"Mayday, mayday. Aid needed at…"
Zodar dropped the comm link and picked up a notepad he'd jotted down
some rough co-ordinates on when he was forced to jettison himself in
the EVE1.
"uh… where am I?" he said, scanning the piece of paper.
He picked up the communications link again, "Aid needed at
coordinates…uh... `1255, -225, -432'. Please respond."
Zodar had been trying to contact someone for quite some time now and
trying to not repeat cliché phrases over and over was wearing thin
on his mind.
He was so tired of just droning on and on into the headset, that he
didn't care much anymore. He activated the communications link
again. He put on a Cheech Marin voice.
"Dude… like, get round here fast and pick me an mah suit up, cuz we
be, like, driftin', man. Driftin' in an endless sea of emptiness and
doubt, man."
He sighed, it seemed pointless to even try anymore.
"Why won't any of you answer me?!" Zodar shouted into the microphone.
*Static*
"We were waiting for more impersonations, mate" was the reply.
"Jay?"
"No, a sandwich." Said Jay
"Jay, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."
"Need a lift, Zo?"
"Well I can't really travel anywhere by myself. This thing has jets,
but they would be like farting in a fishbowl as far as propulsion in
space is concerned – there's no oxygen to burn in space. So, you
know my coordinates. You have 2 hours to get here."
"Why's that?"
"That's when my life support runs out."
*TAGHENZAFT*
No, not dead, not MIA, well, kinda… But very much alive and trapped
in his own mechsuit in mid, uh, space.