WHAT: So I heard you like dreams about being buried alive.
WHO: Anyone and everyone!
WHEN: Any point during the nighttime hours of Thursday - Sunday.

Nathan's growing tired of dreams within dreams. As a child, he trained himself to wake up from nightmares when they got too bad — one absent parent and one working double time to pick up the slack meant no crying to mummy in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, immortality has made this more difficult. Of course.

Sexy times with a faceless lady had turned into being ripped apart limb from limb, so he shakes himself from the dream. Wake up. Wake the fuck up. You're dreaming. His eyes open — but it's still dark, unnaturally so. Nathan lifts his hands and finds they meet solid wood, not more than six inches away from his face. "For fuck's sake," he mutters. No amount of telling himself to wake up will work at this point. Got to find a way out.

Odd, this feels more lucid than most of his dreams, so he resigns himself to banging on the coffin lid. Underground or not? Once he got out, only to find the coffin was at the bottom of the ocean. That's just uncalled for, subconscious.

"Oi, help me!" he yells, like he always does, like he did back when this happened in his own life. It didn't work then and it probably won't work now, but he hits and kicks anyway.