Except he wasn't.
He looked around the room he found himself in. It looked like a hotel lobby and full of antique furnishing, real old and not fake old, not like the cheap knock offs often sold to midwestern housewives with too much money, but made from real materials. There, in the corner, he spotted what looked like a computer, but it too was an antique. He booted it up and found...
There was nothing, no way to access the network, no way to call for help. He was cut off from Brian, from everyone. He sighed and tipped back his chair, catching his reflection in a mirror across the room. Same sandy brown hair, same blue eyes. So this wasn't some out of body experience, he really was... wherever he was.
"Fuck," he said succinctly. "What am I going to do now."
Typist: Harry Creek from The Android's Dream. He's like Transformers. More to him than meets the eye. also from ~the future~