“Hello Todd.â€? The voice called from behind him. Todd spun around to see a man in his early thirties, light brown hair with frosted tips, sitting Indian style on a traditional wooden longboard. The man and his surfboard hovered six inches above the bamboo floor.

“Who are you?â€?

“Master Trent.â€?

“Where am I?â€?

“You are where you have always been; where you will always be.â€? Confusion painted a blank stare on Todd’s face. Trent laughed and stepped down from the hovering surfboard. “Just messin’ with ya dude. You should totally see your face.â€?

He walked gracefully towards Todd, his long black robe bouncing with each step. “This is my HB dojo. Pretty sweet, no?â€?

“There’s no walls.â€?

“Yeah, the square footage is obscene. Cost a fortune.â€?

“And the stairwell is gone. How did I get here?â€?

“Your questions will be answered in due time.â€? Trent extended his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you in person.â€?

Todd shook the extended hand out of habit. “Wait. How did you know my name? And what do you mean ‘finally meet?’â€?