[ Oh dear. That's rather a grumpy face on the other end of the feed. It's the face of a telepath with a pounding headache - not nearly as bad as he would have imagined, given the circumstances, but still rather bothersome, all the same. There is a great deal of exasperation in his voice as he speaks, as if he's a parent reprimanding an errant child that keeps making the same mistake over and over again. ]

I would like to state for the record that this "jumpsuit" is an absolute travesty. I have no intention of wearing it for extended periods of time- [ the bare shoulders visible in shot should be some indication of this ] -and God knows I am incredibly hopeful that in time it might be possible to find some alternative clothing that isn't nearly as criminal as this. I'm practically offended.

[ A brief pause, another faint wince as the headache throbs. ]

In any case, I suppose it was about time to make proper use of this little device. Good day, fellow captives, I hope you're all as delighted as I am by your existence upon this ship. My name is John Buchanan, but you may call me Oxford instead - it doesn't sound nearly quite as dull. [ He smiles, just a tad, and it's unclear why. Maybe at his little jab at his given name, maybe at something else. ]

Finally, a small request; if anyone has some ibuprofen, I'd be much obliged and indebted if they could perhaps share it before my skull cracks in half.

[Hello, have a former tall ship who's trying to help, as usual.]
Hello.
As you may have heard by now, we're currently stuck in a spaceship whose means of propulsion seems to have gone wrong, leading to us coming here. I will assume nobody is anywhere near their respective homes anymore; I would say not even in their own universe. Moreover, what remains of the crew doesn't seem to have a much better idea than us what could possibly have happened.
For the ones who think they've been taken on purpose by whomever they know to use this trick on a regular basis, I'll say that it's what I thought at first, but now I cannot be so sure. The crew, or whoever else, might still be playing tricks, but it's more and more unlikely: they really look as desperate as us, and I would be inclined to trust them. What I can say is that nobody you know or ever heard about is responsible. We're from too many different places for that to be possible.
Anyway, it would be useful if we could get together, ideally including the crew, in order for everyone to be able to go back home. Several of you (and I do include the crew here) have already suggested this, and I'll be joining them in their efforts. For example, I think we will need advanced physicists in order to help our engineer figure out what happened and how to reverse it. I've heard Spock offered to join in this effort, but I would think the more people join, the better. Likewise for all the other positions on this ship; we will need everyone. I admit our Captain could have said it more diplomatically when he said we would have to 'pull our weight', but he does have a point: we. need. everyone.
I would assume most of this would be obvious to most of you, but I would like to make sure everybody is on the same page on this. So, if you have any questions, feel free to contact me, the crew, or anyone you know to be able to answer. Ideally the latter.

[GREETINGS, NETWORK. Some loser's got his coke-bottle lenses way too close to the camera. Back up, bro, you're fogging the screen, and that is gross.

Turns out he's just trying to make the device stay upright. After a few moments, success! Wheatley (who looks extremely nervous) takes a step away, hovering over the communicator as if he expects it to fall, like it did the past seventeen times.

He is not wearing any clothes.]

Hello! If anyone is there and I'm not just--not just talking to this little black box, which, by the way, could stand to be a little clearer in the "what does this button do" department...

Not that I had any trouble figuring it out. Fiddled around for a bit, and boom, there we go, video feed on. Not a problem. But, you know. Instructions. Just in case anyone's a little...technologically impaired. Couldn't hurt.

[Wait. Where was he?]

Right! Uh…show of hands, if you would, seeing as we've all got hands now. Who's an AI? That's Artificial Intelligence for the aforementioned technologically impaired. Robots count too, I am also a robot.

And--and I know what you humans are thinking; Wheatley, you're not a robot, you're squishy and inefficient just like the rest of us but that, humans, is where you're wrong. One hundred percent robot, right here, just as soon as I get my body back.

Point is, if you see someone in an orange jumpsuit or...or a lab coat, maybe hear them talking about Science or Apertures, or some combination of the two…go ahead and let them know that Wheatley's looking for them and also that...it is important.

[A small pause as he fidgets, suddenly looking that much more uncomfortable.]

Actually. Don't tell them that. Tell me, instead! If--if you meet anyone with that description and. I will go. Find them.

( Narration. )

[Sup, Tranquility. Today we bring you the eerie but oddly soothing sounds of an old, old man. Doesn't he look silly with that cravat on over his jumpsuit.]

So it would seem that not all of us are human. How curious that you should all be so open about it... One has to wonder what sort of worlds you were all transported from. I have had more than a passing interest in the idea of traveling between worlds.

[More like he's devoted HIS ENTIRE LIFE to doing it, and most of it trying to get back home.]

Tell me. Do any of you non-humans possess any supernatural abilities? I wonder if perhaps they could be of use in our current situation.

...Ah. I nearly forgot. My name is Alexander. These devices are not my usual style of communication... I look forward to being able to meet you all face-to-face whenever possible.