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when lukey's body materialises, he's in the null. the lack of anything is comforting, mimicks how empty he feels. no, not empty, not exactly. emptiness is still something. he doesn't feel anything, just like how the null is just so... void of existence. in a way.
he stares at the roof, so dark it gives the illusion there's no blocks there, just a vast nothing that extends to all eternity. the thought would make him scoff at the irony if only he felt humoured enough. he doesn't feel humorous. he doesn't feel.
forcing his body to move, he sits on the two-bed mattress, ignores the items that rest near them both. lukey's body moves on autopilot as he moves to the chest close by, grabs the few supplies he'll need to get out back into the realm he's learned to consider his home. he doesn't let his mind think about anything much, but he does resemble the task he was given before, well. before the unfortunate interruption. not that it matters. spawn is quiet: most of the outworlders are deep asleep at this hour, and the only keeper who would want to meet him is probably avoiding him. which was more than understandable; lukey doesn't want newt to see him like this either. he's gone through enough, and this was his burden to handle alone. it was whatever.
as much as the urge to just lay down and do nothing clings to him, he was never known for staying still. so he goes to his precious lab, surprised to find that things are the exact way he remembers them looking before his world faded to black; almost like the farm he left unfinished was kept untouched, for him to finish. lukey doesn't mind; he's gone back especially for that. as much as he doesn't feel like fighting anymore, he still has responsibility as a honey badger, and he took the role of collecting the resin for himself. he can at least do that before the inevitable end catches up to him—whether it's by his hands or someone else's.
he spot a book near his office, but ignores it. he can tell who put it there, and as much as he owes the guy explanations, he doesn't want to face the consequences yet. he moves to the corner he remembers going to before death, unlucky to find the items he so carefully put in a chest seconds before bad murdered him in cold blood. maybe he took it as a trophy or something, maybe to ensure that next time he won't be so naive to stand unprotected. not like he had been naive before, but his past mate doesn't have to know that. no one should know his worries and insecurities, even if they can be weaponised, because that is his burden.
with the supplies that surrounds him, lukey makes himself a new diamond armour, just to give himself some leverage against the creaking he'll have to handle. he doesn't bother with enchanting it, or making it netherite, because that would be a waste, and he's wasted enough. with the black and purple ticket on his pocket, a light-weight armour and redstone parts in his inventory, he goes back to work. he mirrors the little machinery that collects the resin, hits the mobs in silence, and let them attack him back from time to time. he feels nothing, almost as if he was stuck in limbo, in the null, yet to fully respawn and come back.
which, at this point, he's not sure is ever happening. this realm is ending, and everyone he knows is going back to where they originally came from—but him. he is from here, he belongs here, corruption or ruins alike. so, really. at the end, none of it really matters.
but the end—the fog, his and pangi's precious orbital strike cannon that still had lots of progress to be made—hasn't come yet, so he grinds and suffers in silence.