"Rimmer, Rimmer," Holly's voice persists, gently nudging Rimmer back to consciousness. His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dimly lit room, as he tries to make sense of the world around him once more. The cold, hard floor beneath him serves as a harsh reminder of his current predicament.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but-" Holly's voice trails off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Rimmer's heart skips a beat, anxiety gripping him as he braces himself for whatever news awaits him.
"Buh-but what?" Rimmer manages to stammer, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and uncertainty. His breaths become increasingly shallow and uneven, a throbbing headache relentlessly pulsating through his skull. The exhaustion that engulfs him feels suffocating, threatening to pull him back into the depths of unconsciousness.
In this vulnerable moment, Rimmer finds himself contemplating the choices he has made, the paths he has taken that have led him to this seemingly insurmountable obstacle. Lying there, with the weight of his own mortality pressing down upon him, he grapples with the realization that his illness has rendered him too weak to make the journey to the safety of the ship's sickbay. The thought of remaining on the floor, waiting until he gathers enough strength to move, feels daunting and lonely.
"Rimmer, after running a few more medical assessments," Holly's voice breaks through Rimmer's thoughts, his words carrying a note of concern. "I'd strongly suggest that you make an effort to walk to the sickbay. It's the best course of action for your well-being," Holly advises, his tone filled with genuine care and worry.
Rimmer's eyes grow heavy once again, exhaustion overtaking him. He knows he should heed Holly's advice, but the task feels Herculean in his weakened state. The room starts to blur as his eyelids slowly close, surrendering to the lull of sleep once more.
With a heavy sigh, Holly stands watch over Rimmer, his holographic presence offering a small comfort in the desolate room. The weight of responsibility presses upon him as he patiently awaits Rimmer's awakening and the eventual journey to the sickbay. In those brief moments of consciousness, Rimmer's mind conjures the faint echoes of his old bunkmate, Lister.
"For smeg's sake, Rimmer."
Lister's voice reverberates within his mind, as if he were standing right beside him, just like the old days when they shared cramped quarters on the ship. Memories flood Rimmer's senses, and he swears he can almost catch a whiff of stale beer and cigarette smoke that always seemed to linger around Lister. Those nights of camaraderie, hanging out with his mates, followed by a much-needed visit to the showers before lights out.
As Rimmer battles his physical and emotional struggles, these nostalgic reminders serve as bittersweet reminders of a time when life aboard the Red Dwarf was filled with laughter, mischief, and shared experiences. In this moment of vulnerability and isolation, Rimmer longs for the companionship he once had, even if it came with its fair share of chaos.
"Rimmer, it would be wise for you to rise from the floor before the effects of your concussion exacerbate," Holly advises, his voice laced with concern as he gently urges Rimmer to make his way to the safety of the ship's sickbay.
"Holly," Rimmer rasps, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He offers Holly a weary and uncharacteristically apologetic glance. "I... I believe I'm capable of proceeding." With a determined effort, he summons the last remnants of his strength to push himself up from the cold, hard floor. A grimace of pain forms on his face as his muscles protest the movement. Soft moans escape his lips, a testament to the lingering soreness from the previous day.
"Don't push yourself too hard," Holly advises, concern lacing his holographic voice. Rimmer nods, acknowledging the warning, and takes another deep breath in an attempt to clear his vision. He notices a slight discomfort in his chest, his breathing feeling somewhat restricted. The remnants of tears from earlier still linger, and he wonders if they have affected his lung capacity. The fear of another impending panic attack lingers in the back of his mind, a familiar sensation that Holly has often guided him through in the past.
"Rimmer, I understand the severity of the situation," Holly informs him with a touch of urgency in his voice. Rimmer's response is laced with resignation and bitterness, his words echoing through the empty corridor.
"What's it matter? Everybody's dead, remember?" Rimmer says, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and cynicism. The weight of the loss and isolation is palpable as they continue their journey through the desolate ship.
"Well, at least I don't have to worry about testing your mental acuity, I suppose," Holly remarks, a hint of wry humor in his holographic tone.
"Chin up, Rimmer. Things could be a lot worse, you know," Holly says, his holographic face displaying a sympathetic smile. He tries his best to inject a sense of optimism into the bleak situation.
"Worse?" Rimmer retorts, his frustration evident in his voice. He pauses for a moment, contemplating the gravity of their circumstances. "Worse for who?" he questions, a hint of anger in his tone. "Because it's certainly not getting any better for me.
Rimmer's steps become slower and heavier as he approaches the entrance to the sickbay. His body aches, his head throbs, and the weight of his isolation bears down on him. Doubt creeps into his mind, threatening to consume him once again. As he enters the quiet, sterile room, the sight of medical equipment and empty beds triggers memories of the crew he once knew, now lost forever. A surge of emotions wells up within him, and he clutches his head, unable to contain the overwhelming despair.
"I can't do this... I can't face this empty ship all alone," Rimmer mutters to himself, his voice choked with tears. The reality of his situation crashes down on him, amplifying his feelings of insignificance and isolation.
"Well, then, Rimmer, have a seat on one of those beds, because I have some more bad news to share with you," Holly says, his voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and caution.
Rimmer's heart skips a beat, a wave of dizziness washing over him once more. He can feel his grip on reality slipping as Holly's words sink in. The room starts to spin, and he staggers towards the nearest bed, collapsing onto it with a heavy thud.
"What do you mean?" Rimmer asks, his voice strained and filled with a mix of fear and disbelief. His mind races, struggling to comprehend the enormity of the revelation. "Am I hearing you correctly? The only human left in the entire universe?"
Holly nods solemnly, his light flickering with a tinge of sadness. "Yes, Rimmer, you are the last remnant of humanity. The crew, the passengers, everyone... they're all gone. It's just you now, adrift in the vast expanse of emptiness."
The weight of those words crashes down on Rimmer, his eyes widening in shock. He clutches his chest, feeling as if the air has been sucked out of the room. The realization is too much to bear, and he feels his consciousness slipping away once again.
"No... no, this can't be happening," Rimmer gasps, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and disbelief. His vision blurs, the world around him fading into darkness. He reaches out, grasping for something, anything to hold onto, but his strength fails him.
Holly watches as Rimmer succumbs to unconsciousness once more. The room falls into an eerie silence, with only the hum of the ship's systems filling the void. Holly scans Rimmer's vital signs, monitoring his condition closely. With a sigh, he realizes that Rimmer's unconsciousness might offer a respite from the harsh reality he has just learned