The diner was almost empty. The music that played over the loudspeaker could finally be heard, without the frantic hustle and bustle of customers and waitresses. At this late hour, you could actually have a nice pleasant conversation without having to subconsciously compete with the table next to yours for volume.

Lister stared into his milkshake, watching it turn to milk in front of him. He absently glanced out at the cars passing by, watching their headlights whizzing past in the darkness. His mind had been racing ever since he left Dr Curo's office earlier that day, so he just stared ahead in silent wonder.

Nothing is real?

The words kept running in his head. He couldn't shake the foreboding in his psychiatrist's voice. It was ludicrous. It was preposterous. It simply didn't add up. How could nothing be real? He was real, wasn't he? This booth he was sitting in his real. The milkshake he occasionally sipped from was real. The wad of bubblegum that had congealed under his shoe just an hour earlier was real.

So how could nothing be real?

He wanted desperately to brush off Curo's words like dandruff from his shoulder and forget about them, but the whole situation had become too surreal for him to just ignore it all.

Rimmer had picked him up from the appointment, but he'd given his flatmate very few details. He was too concerned about what future events my lead him to do later on, and he decided that involving the others at this early date would be a bad idea.

He noticed the last traces of the jazzy song playing slowly dying away, and now there was absolute silence. He tried sitting in it for a few seconds longer, but it was making him even more nervous, so he decided to pay and leave. He gulped down the rest of the 'shake, and he slid out of the booth, replacing the plastic glass on the counter for them to take back, chucking his straw in the bin.

Lani threw him an amused glance when she saw him. "You fixin' to leave?" she drawled loudly.

"Yeah, I think I've sat around in a lonely diner long enough. Time to go home and sit around there instead," Lister replied, grinning tiredly.

"What brought you out here at this hour anyway?" she asked, taking the cup and chucking in a nearby sink.

"Eh, I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"That's dangerous stuff, you know."

Lister smirked. "Yeah, well, always out to try new stuff. You know me."

"Provided it doesn't involve sprouts, of course."

"Well, that's just common sense."

Lani chuckled, wiping down the counter with a rag. "So what were you thinking about?"

"I went to a psychiatrist earlier today. I've been having these nightmares recently."

"Oh…," Lani said. "Sorry to hear that. Shouldn't think you'd need to go to a psychiatrist, though."

"Well, these dreams have been getting worse over the past week. I figure it's worth a try."

"I don't trust psychiatrists on the whole, frankly. I mean, what are they getting paid to do exactly? They sit around on their cans all day, listening to people moan about their problems, and then they just throw some random advice out there and make fun of you behind your back. I wouldn't be surprised if everything you told him today, he's recounting to his family tonight."

Lister stared for a moment. "I dunno… There's something about this guy… He seems a little insane in his own right."

"Oh, that's so much better…"

"Well, we'll see how good he is. I'm going back next week."

Lani shook her head dismissively. "Take my advice – skip it."

"Eh?"

"Just don't turn up. Ignore it. It's just a waste of time and money."

"…I don't know… I mean, Kris really wants me to go, and she's helping me pay for it…"

"Just talk her out of it. You've got better things to do than sit around letting some nut job pass judgment on you."

Lister blinked, surprised. "I do?"

"Of course! You've got a job, a girlfriend, regular friends, a place to live – what more do you need?"

"…I suppose."

"Just go home and forget about it. Go back to your old routine and ignore it. Look online or something. Find something better worth your time than some stuff old shrink in a suit."

Lister looked at the waitress, wondering why she was so adamant about this. After a few moments, he realized how tired he was and decided to shove off for home. "Thanks for the advice, Lani. I'll see you around."

"Take care, Lister," she replied, smiling nicely.

Waving halfheartedly, Lister walked towards the glass doors and pushed through them into the cold outside world. It was chilly tonight, so he pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he strode down the sidewalk, ignoring the people around him and hoping he got home soon enough.

Rimmer, Cat and Kochanski were all seated amongst the chairs and the couch, all watching the latest happenings on television. They'd been through three sitcoms, a pay-per-view movie trailer and two infomercials and were just getting through the evening news when Lister strode in. He flung off his jacket and tossed it in the closet before crossing over to join Kochanski on the couch.

"Hey," he said, sitting down. "What're we watching?"

"Some story about an old man who got beaten to death by his own dog for the inheritance money," Cat replied.

"Really?"

"Turns out it backfired, though. Dogs can't legally inherit from humans."

"Ah…"

"Where've you been?" Kochanski asked.

"Eh, just hanging out with Lani down at the diner. Shot the breeze, you know."

"How's she doing?" Rimmer asked.

"She's a waitress. How well can she be doing?" Lister shrugged.

"Point."

"Weird, though. I told her I went to a psychiatrist, and she went off on this tangent about how useless they are and how I shouldn't go back next week."

Kochanski rolled her eyes. "Oh, Lani's got all sorts of weird theories. Remember her theories about Coca-Cola and Pepsi fighting it out once a week to see who has the superior fizz?"

"Moot point anyway," Rimmer remarked. "They both taste like malted battery acid."

Cat frowned. "Wait… You mean, they don't?"

Lister rolled his eyes. "Whatever… I just needed some time to think the whole session over."

"How'd it go with Dr Curo anyway?" Kochanski asked. "Rimmer says you barely spoke the whole way home."

"That wasn't a complaint, by the way," Rimmer said. "Merely an observation."

Lister shot him a disparaging look. "I dunno how to describe it," he admitted. "The guy brought me into his office, sat me down, locked me in, hypnotized me, made me have a nightmare about Kryten as a robot, and then when I woke up, he let me go and told me nothing is real."

Kochanski stared at him, clearly debating what the appropriate response to this would be. "…Did he?" she said at last, clearly wishing she could've used her vast education to come up with a more intelligent sounding reply.

"Yeah… I'm beginning to think Lani was right. The man was a total nutter."

"He locked you inside his office?" Rimmer asked, clearly wondering if he'd heard right.

"Yeah. I don't even know how he did it. I was watching him the whole time. He never touched that lock."

"You should sue. Nail his ass for holding you hostage and diagnosing you against your will. Maybe you'll make some proper money."

Lister shook his head. "I'm not suing, Rimmer. There's just too much weirdness going on right now. When I was in the dream, the dream robot version of Kryten told me to trust him."

"Trust who?"

"Dr Curo."

"A robot version of our man servant told you to trust him?" Cat asked, looking very lost.

"Yeah. Even weirder, he said that he sent him to help me."

"…Who sent who where to help you?" Kochanski asked, scrunching her face up in confusion.

"The dream Kryten said that the dream version of him and you guys sent Dr Curo to help me."

Rimmer, Cat and Kochanski all stared at him, looking very puzzled.

"…Did you make another appointment?" Kochanski asked at last.

"Yeah, next week."

"I'd keep that date, if I were you…"

Lister sighed heavily. "Yeah, yeah…"

It took Lister a few moments to totally comprehend his surroundings. He looked around the place concernedly. He was back on Red Dwarf. He was in his dream world. He had on the outfit – leathers and fuzzy hat. He was in a corridor that had a sort of milky white complexion, save for the large bay windows that made up the outer wall.

He looked around uncertainly. He had that feeling of foreboding that was always the first sign that something incredibly painful would happen in a few minutes.

"Okay…," he mumbled to himself. "I know this is a dream. This place isn't real."

He looked up and down the corridor, and he realized something rather unsettling – he was talking to himself.

"Kryten?" he called. "Hey, robo-Kryten, where are you, man?"

But the robotic version of his friend didn't turn up.

"…Kris? You 'round here? Babes?"

No reply from a version of his girlfriend from an alternate dimension.

"…Rimmer? You there? Cat? Holly? Anyone?"

No holograms, super-evolved cats or senile floating heads anywhere to be found.

But Lister wasn't having it. "Who's there? Because I know somebody is…"

And then he heard the very distinct noise of a foot settling down on the metal floor.

He froze. The sound had come from behind him. Typical.

Then he heard another foot setting down, sounding closer than the first, indicating that whoever was behind him was moving closer.

He really wished he had a cricket bat or a cattle prod somewhere on his person. Then he wondered – could he? It was a dream, after all. Couldn't he control his own environment is this was a dream? Now that he knew it, couldn't he do something?

So he held his hands out in front of him, hoping he could whip up a nice metaphysical stick of dynamite and then a match, and he struggled with it, listening to three more super-slow footsteps thudding down behind him, each one closer than the last. Unfortunately, his subconscious was very mushy since he was asleep, so he was having trouble actually forming it. He looked at the bat in his hands once he was done. It was actually drooping, slowly curving downwards towards the floor.

"Smeg…," he muttered. "Okay, gotta think of something else."

He tossed the semi-solid bat aside, letting it splatter on the floor, and he tried something different. He tried thinking of a gun. He held out his hands, trying to get a decent-sized bazooka, but it too was just a syrupy mess in his hands, some of it running down his sleeves as he tried to hold it up right.

"Oh, forget this," he muttered, listening to two more footsteps. "Leg it!"

And he ran as fast as he could for the doors at the far end of the corridor. But it felt like something was holding him back. Something was tugging on the tail end of his leather jacket, and he just couldn't make himself go any faster. He stumbled and flailed helplessly, trying his best to make it forward, but it was nothing doing. In fact, he seemed to be moving backwards.

Even worse, when he dared to look back over his shoulder, he somehow tripped and landed on his shoulder. He rolled around, trying to get a decent look at who was coming, but for some reason, his eyesight did not want to cooperate.

It was the rogue simulant, definitely. But it looked…less, somehow. It looked like it wasn't finished. Every time he blinked, it seemed to change shape.

But the evil grin on its face was unmistakable as it leveled its gun and fired.

"…A bazooka? Really?" Rimmer asked disbelievingly.

"Give me a break. I was asleep. It was the best I could think of at the time," Lister moaned, leaning his head back on the sofa.

Rimmer shook his head as he went about clearing the place up after breakfast. "So then what did you do when that didn't work?"

"Well, I tried legging it, but you know how it is when you try to run away from something in a nightmare. Something's always holding you back. It's like your mind is trying to make the scenario a little more realistic, so it makes the likelihood of you dying in the dream more likely."

"Mmm… Yeah, I hate dreams like that. You ever have the one where you're back in school, and the head cheerleader is at the end of the hall, beckoning to you, and you're trying to get to her, but for some reason you're lifting up into the air above her?"

Lister blinked. "Oh, come on, who hasn't had that dream? That's like the dream where Santa Claus is an evil dictator and he tries to smother you with his sack of toys. It's just a part of growing up."

Rimmer headed into the kitchen with the dishes and put them away. "So what are you doing today?" he called over his shoulder.

"Eh, just thought I'd stay in. Just want to sit around and watch some telly, and then we can all go out later. You?"

"Not sure yet. I was thinking of going down to the gym, but I'm not sure about driving in this rainy weather…"

Just as he was coming back into the living room, there was a knock at the door. He went over to answer, and as he pulled it open, he had to stop himself from slamming it in their visitor's face.

"Holly!" he squeaked.

"Hello, handsome," she purred, looking at him through lowered eyelids.

"Hey, Hol, what's up?" Lister called over.

"Just thought I'd bring up your spare key," she said, holding up the key for them both to see.

Rimmer promptly snatched it from her hand and smiled as pleasantly as he could muster. "Taa muchly! Thanks for stopping by!" he said pleasantly.

"You want to come in?" Lister suggested with a patronizing grin.

"Oh, I don't know… Okay, thanks," she replied, stepping through the doorway, smirking at Rimmer. "What are you boys up to?"

Taking a moment to gather himself, Rimmer reluctantly closed the door. "Er, Lister was just telling me about his latest nightmare."

Holly looked at the man on the sofa with concern? "Oh, Dave? You're still having those pesky nightmares?"

Lister grimaced. "Yeah, had a really weird one last night. You know those nightmares where you're trying to run away from something, but you just can't get anywhere?"

"Ohh, I hate those," Holly tutted sympathetically. "I remember one where I was trying to run away from a huge out of control snowplow, and I was trying to run into this ski cabin, and I ended up sliding down an icy sidewalk into an ice cream factory."

Lister and Rimmer stared at her, wondering what to make of this woman.

"Well, I haven't hated myself yet today – I'll ask," Rimmer sighed. "Holly, what happened next?"

"Oh, I did what everyone does when they dream they've crashed into an ice cream factory – stuffed myself silly, didn't gain an ounce and ran around on the ceiling for an hour," Holly replied.

The two flatmates stared at each other for a moment.

"Well!" Rimmer said at last. "I think I'll go to the gym after all. See you both later."

"Later, man."

"Bye, Arnie," Holly said with a wink.

Rimmer grabbed his keys and jacket and hurriedly fled the room, slamming the door behind himself and thudding away through the puddles.

Lister chuckled and got up, heading for the fridge. "I'm gonna grab a beer. You want anything, Holly?"

"Got any ice cream? All that talk about ice cream has got me hankering for it all of a sudden."

"Yeah, I think we got something…" Lister pulled open the freezer and dug around a bit. "Okay… I think we've got some vanilla number with cookie bits in it. What are you in the mood for?"

"Oh, just whatever you can get. I just need something really brain-numbingly cold."

"Okay…," he said, pulling out the carton. "Let's see… Where did we put the scooper…?"

"Oh, just let me have it," Holly said, grabbing a spoon out of a drawer. She snatched the carton away from him, ripped the top open and began to shovel it down.

Lister watched for a moment before snapping open his can of beer and taking a sip. "Cheers," he said, taking it all in stride.

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments before they heard the sound of thunder rumbling, and the lights flickered.

"Ahhh, bloody weather," Lister grumbled. "Just wait. The power's gonna go off in a minute."

"It'sh not loike it'sh moi fawlt," Holly retorted with a mouthful of ice cream. "Can't 'elp wot the weather does to the power."

"I wasn't blaming you…"

"You wanted to."

"…Well, it's always the simplest way out, isn't it?"

At that moment, there was a flash of lightning, followed by a huge roll of thunder. The lights flickered a couple of times before they went out completely, and all the sounds of motors running and whatnot suddenly cut and faded away, leaving Lister staring into relative darkness, listening to the staccato sound of rain drops on the window.

"Smeg…," he muttered. "Hang on, I think Rimmer keeps a flashlight next to the microwave. Hang about…"

Holly remained silent while he shifted around, fumbling for the correct location, and he was pleased a few seconds later when he found the flashlight in place.

"Okay… We've got it," he said, switching it on. "Here we go. Nice to know Pretty Boy's good for something, yeah?"

Holly didn't reply.

"Holly? What's wrong? Brain freeze?"

Lister aimed the beam of light in the location where Holly had been, but he was surprised to see she wasn't there.

But there was an open carton of ice cream and an abandoned spoon on the floor.

"…Hol?" he called out worriedly.

Absently, he reached down and picked up the carton, placing it on the counter, leaving the mess for Kryten to clean it later. He headed into the den and looked around, but he didn't see much of anything that looked like his kooky landlady. He looked over at the door, but it was still shut, and there was no sign of anyone having been over there.

"Holly? Come on, mate, where are you?"

Then there was a strange noise coming from the far wall. He looked over at the television and stared at it in surprise. Somehow, despite all the other appliances being switched off due to the power outage, the telly was switched on and crackling with interference as it struggled to bring some sort of image to the screen, which was just snow at the moment.

"What the hell…?" he murmured.

Crackling and snapping noises exuded from the speakers, and from within all that gobbledygook, he could just make out a familiar voice.

"…Dave…?"

Lister felt his jaw slacken. "…Who's there?"

"…Dave Lister… Can you hear me…?"

"Who's there?" he repeated.

"…Dave Lister… Can you…? Oh, bugger this… Hang on… Just need to try and… Here we go!"

The screen flashed momentarily, and Holly's face appeared on the screen, beaming away with her ruby red lipstick.

"Hello, Dave!" she said cheerily.

Lister yelped in shock, backed away and fell backwards over the sofa. He recovered quickly and looked up over the back of it, looking at the screen in terror. "What the hell…?"