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Arnold Rimmer gazed upward at the Incarnation of Death, as the ship fell apart around him.
"Arnold Judas Rimmer," it intoned. "Your life is over. Come with me." The apparition reached out a hand to him. "We will travel to the River Styx, where you will place a coin in the-"
"Not today, matey," Rimmer replied, sending a well-aimed knee into the apparition's nether regions. "Remember, only the good die young."
With that, he took off down the smoke-filled hall. Within moments he was out of sight.
Death was still in a crumpled heap on the floor. "That's never happened before..."
At that point, a man in dark clothing stepped out from behind a fallen bulkhead, shaking his head in disappointment at the specter.
"Son..." the man began.
"Oh, knock it off, dad, I'm not feeling very well at the moment," it groaned. Instead of its earlier stentorian tones, the voice had become lighter and decidedly more...working class. "I thought you said this would be easier if I went with a traditional representation of Death."
The older-looking man sighed, then shrugged. "Yes, well, the bright spangled waistcoat just doesn't project an appropriate image for this line of work." He watched as the otherworldly figure tossed the scythe to the floor and began pulling off its robe; then looked thoughtfully down the corridor where Arnold Rimmer had run. "You know, I could swear I'd got him already..."
"Dad, I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures right now," the specter interrupted, finally removing the heavy cloak. When the robes were off, it revealed a rather normal-looking man with dark hair. He was all in black, save for a brightly colored, incongruously cheerful-looking multicolored vest.
"Would you like to try it again?" the older man offered. "He's still on the ship, you know."
"I don't think so." Mulberry glared at his father, then staggered over to lean against the bulkhead, wincing. "I tell you, Dad, I am just *not* cut out for this job."