Alfredo Gomez, Grease Monkey for Hire
WHO: Alfredo Gomez, Grease Monkey for Hire
WHERE: An Escape Pod
WHEN: Roughly concurrent with events happening at the moment.
Gomez had always wanted to see outer space. When he was a boy, he'd dreamt of captaining his own starship and saving the beautiful alien princesses from the purple mutant blob monsters using only his wits, cunning and award winning good looks. When he was a teenager, he'd ditched the starship and mutant blob monsters and was only interested in rescuing the beautiful alien princesses from being kept prisoner in their underpants. What Gomez had not dreamt about was being bundled into an escape pod with only his wits, cunning and his half-baked pubescent fantasies about alien royalty.
He wasn't sure how long he had been drifting in the pod for. A few days, a week at best, was his estimate. The pod was about eight foot square with only a small viewport and a tiny nav-comm console to stop himself from drifting into a star by accident. The only thing that was stopping him from going insane through a combination of loneliness and helplessness was, bizarrely, a dog-eared copy of 'The Communist Manifesto' by Karl Marx that he'd found in the satchel marked 'emergency rations'. Even Marx's ramblings couldn't help him, as he'd invariably read three pages before feeling a bit woozy and have the urge to jerk himself off.
The JMC Frank Sidebottom had been his home for the best part of three years, but like all other Jupiter Mining vessels, it'd fallen foul to the new fascist regime that appeared out of nowhere almost overnight. With Captain Sievey mysteriously vanished and Captain Callisto installed as the ship's new commanding officer, things were changing. Mysterious, black-clad troops were everywhere and one-by-one the senior staff were being transferred to new postings outside the airlock or within the fusion reactor. Gomez, knowing the difference between survival and stupidity, had been forced to flee as he'd been pretty sure they'd be coming for him next to promote him to a new position on the ballistics firing range. He'd manage to fight his way to an escape pod and make it to the relative freedom of outer space.
But that was where his plan ended. Where did he go now? Who could he trust? He didn't know, and he hazard a guess that Marx didn't know either. Until then, all he could was wait it out and try to make it through Marx's ramblings. It was all he could do. He'd run out of tissues.
<OOC: I'm back, baby! I'm not sure really what's going on, so if somebody still onboard Blue Dwarf wants to rescue me or give my character the lowdown on what is happening, I'd be much obliged!>