Author's Note: Okay, I'm not expecting anyone to welcome me back with open arms, but I have been away due to nothing but hospital and computer related incidents. Seeing as this is the only piece of the Rimmer/Kochanski fic I have on my memory pen and my laptop still isn't fixed, I've decided to just post it and call it chapter one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dwarf, but am sorry to have kept my fans waiting :)

News in The Tank spread like wildfire. You could whisper something to the person next to you in secret, pop to the bog, and in the time it took you to tear off some bog roll, the entire tank population would know that secret.

There was a newspaper, The Daily Tank, that was written for inmates by the slightly more sane and literate inmates. They went into a little room and scribbled it down on a piece of paper, watched by the wardens in case they tried any funny business with the pens, and then it was typed up onto a computer and several copies were made and passed around.

In their cell, Rimmer and Lister were doing pretty much what they did everyday; sitting around waiting for break time when they were released into the wild pandemonium that was the mess hall, for all of five minutes. It was all of five minutes because the rules had been broken regarding throttling other inmates and staging breakouts, and now everyone was being punished because they'd all tried to throttle the inmate who had tattled about the breakout they were tying to stage. The whole thing had been pointless really, just a different way to while away the hours.

'This newspaper is more pointless than flogging a dead horse at a donkey derby,' Rimmer spat, sighing heavily and rolling over onto his back in his bunk, putting one arm behind his head.

Lister, lying wistfully on the top bunk made a simple 'oh?' of acknowledgement.

'I mean, you have to decipher it first before you can even read it! I would understand this many typos if the typist has five thumbs on both hands, but- second thoughts, this is The Tank, maybe he does...'

Lister smirked.

'And this crossword...' Rimmer shook his head, dangling the page over the bunk for Lister to lean down and see, 'It's ridiculous! There are more letters in the possible answers than there are squares! Listen to the clues, right, five down- ''to strangle''!'

Lister snickered and took the page from Rimmer, 'Oh eh...'

'The daily advice is just ''keep hold of the soap''!' Rimmer exclaimed, 'And this... what is this! I can't understand a word, it's illegible!'

'Hey,' Lister said, genuinely offended, 'I wrote that bit, give us it 'ere,'

'You write for The Daily Tank?' Rimmer raised an eyebrow, looking down at the scouser.

'Yeh,' Lister nodded, 'It's the privileges man; I don't enjoy it,'

'What privileges?'

'You get let out to write this smeg, it's a few more minutes o' different surroundings, isn't it?'

'God...' Rimmer shook his head, 'anything goes in here, doesn't? Everyone'll do anything for the slightest chance of freedom. The walls of moralisation really are crumbling in here,'

At that moment, a prison warden appeared, opening the door and blocking the doorway easily, 'Arnold Rimmer?'

'What is it?' Rimmer sat up, ignoring Lister who was snickering from the top bunk:

'What 'ave yeh done now, Rimmer?'

'It's time for the first meeting of Mission Thirteen,'

'Eh?' Lister dropped down from his bunk with an audible 'thunk', 'What's that?'

'That, Lister,' Rimmer explained, preparing to leave, 'is a little something I've signed up to,'

'But what is it?' Lister demanded again.

'It's... it's...' Rimmer scrunched up his nose in thought, turning to the warden, 'What is it, exactly?'

'It's the most horrible experience you'll ever have in your entire, weasel-y life,' the warden replied gruffly, and simply, like he was telling someone today's Zero G Football results.

Rimmer's nose twitched, and he looked like he was about to run and hide, but the warden swept him out of the room with one heavy arm colliding with his back.

'Tch,' Lister made a noise that was accompanied with a triumphant smirk, as the cell door was slammed again, 'That'll teach ya to sign up to things behind me back,'

Author's Note 2: So I'm thinking of just writing it again; think it'll be easier than waiting five million smeggin' years to fix my laptop. Let me know what you thought of this miniscule chapter!

Nirvanah

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