2009. A mine collapses in Scandinavia. Seventeen days later, rescuers pull out a man who won’t speak. Nurses say he turns in perfect right angles and stacks anything he can reach—cups, gauze boxes, stones from a plant on the windowsill—into blocky patterns. His face bears severe trauma: features flattened into planes; a jaw set like a square. Non-graphic, but impossible to forget.Then the rumor starts. “Some say” an indie developer saw the man and took photographs of that blocky profile, months before a voxel-style mining game launched—one with a silent builder who mines alone underground and stacks blocks into shelter. Is it connection or coincidence? The record gives us a rescue report and a patient who arranged the world into cubes. The legend gives us a protagonist the world now plays.This episode is a Critique: we line up record vs. story, explain why block graphics were a technical choice, and ask why our brains fit trauma into playable myths. No blame, no claims—just images that won’t leave: a hospital tray tiled like a little fortress, a handheld torch in a dark tunnel, and a man who started building before there was a game.

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“What did the council decide on item 42?” — answered with the speaker and the moment.

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