Reverie

No welcome party?

Testing, testing.

[ murphy knows the radio is working, he's just being obnoxious. there's a strain to the man's (boy's?) voice, like pain he's gritting through, because he is. he's sporting fresh bullet wounds in his shoulder and his leg, the latter making movement very difficult, but sitting and waiting for someone to happen on him wasn't helping anything. Despite the strain there, his voice comes in flippant and flat, sarcastic. ]

This is Captain Murphy, paging Spacekru. Come in, Spacekru. [ he pauses, chewing at a lip nervously, though his voice remains a dry drawl. ] Or Wonkru. Hell, I'd even take... Prisonerkru? Whatever you people're calling yourself. Anyone at all?

[ a weighty pause falls, Murphy hoping any voice he knows chimes in. lets him know he isn't out here, on the ass end of space, completely alone. he's done it before, you know. the alone thing. it's fine, it's just not... great. (it's not fine at all). after a defeated sigh, he speaks up again. ]

If those aren't an option, someone with any idea what the hell's going on works too. And — shit — [ a hiss of pain sounds, followed by some clattering - a wounded leg may have slipped and given out for a second. this isn't a fun time. ] And a medbay, or someone with a good sized first-aid kit. Before I contract whatever number of wonderful space infections in this nasty, rusted out can.

Thanks.