Space Man

Realization

I was just walking around the server, doing my usual rounds and checking up on everyone, when I stumbled across Xisuma's base. The place was unusually quiet—no sounds of machinery or the familiar hum of his redstone contraptions. As I got closer, I spotted him standing perfectly still in a field of honey blocks and redstone, not a single movement. A sense of concern crept up on me.

I wasn’t sure if it was the weirdness of the situation or my own instincts kicking in, but I stepped up to him, a bundle of flowers in my hands—mostly for stress relief at this point—before realizing he was... asleep. The digital eyes on his visor were dim, an unmistakable sign that he was out cold. I froze for a second, unsure how to handle it. I gently patted his armored shoulder, the solid thud of the metal greeting my hand. His entire body was locked in place, his legs secured, bracing him upright as if the suit itself was holding him together.

That was... odd. Did he often sleep like this? Standing? I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen him rest this way. The redstone around him looked like he’d been in the middle of wiring something when the exhaustion had just hit him. His thick, padded gloves were still gripping a piece of redstone, his arms unmoving. It almost looked like he’d fallen asleep mid-project, which was... concerning.

I tried to shift him, just to see if I could get him into a more comfortable position, but his suit kept him locked in place, like it was programmed to prevent him from falling or damaging himself. I noticed the soft puffs of air coming from his breathing apparatus—steady, rhythmic—so at least he was still breathing. But that didn’t ease the gnawing worry in the pit of my stomach.

Just as I was about to think of what to do next, I heard rockets fly overhead, followed by the familiar sound of landing thrusters. I wasn’t the only one checking on Xisuma, apparently. Etho was the first to land, landing quietly beside me. His gaze followed mine to Xisuma’s suit, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is he asleep?" Etho asked, his voice low.

"I think so, but I can't really tell. His digitalizer’s closed," I answered, pointing to the visor, hoping it would clarify. Etho nodded thoughtfully, glancing between me and Xisuma’s still form.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Etho asked, his tone more serious than I expected.

“I... I don’t know," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "It’s not like him to just collapse mid-project, and if he’s this exhausted, I’m worried something’s wrong. The suit’s locking him in place, though, so he’s safe... for now.” I shifted on my feet, unable to take my eyes off of Xisuma’s unblinking visor. "But I can’t help but wonder... how often does he do this? How long has he been pushing himself like this?"

Etho didn’t have an immediate answer. Instead, he stepped closer, inspecting the suit and its intricate locking mechanisms with careful precision. "We should try to wake him up," Etho suggested. "I don't like the idea of him staying like this for too long. The suit could be keeping him stable, but it can’t be comfortable."

I agreed. Something had to be done. If only we could get him out of the suit, even for a few minutes, maybe we’d find out what was really going on beneath it all.

As Etho and I continued discussing how best to wake him up, I noticed something—a slight twitch in his hand. At first, I thought it was just a figment of my imagination, but then I saw it again, more pronounced this time. His visor flickered to life, and the digital display shifted, showing signs that he was slowly regaining consciousness. His head turned slightly, scanning his surroundings, though his movements were slow and groggy, like he was fighting the sleepiness.

I stood still, not wanting to disturb him too abruptly, but as Xisuma’s gloved hand came up to his helmet, I could see the confusion on his face through the faint glow of the visor. He gently shook his head, muttering something under his breath—too quiet for me to catch—and then, without missing a beat, he just... continued his work. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed we were there, as though it was perfectly normal for him to be standing in a field of honey blocks, asleep, and then suddenly snapping back to his usual self, as if nothing had happened.