Michael has no concept of time, besides the hooded man's visits and the time it takes for a log to be reduced to ashes, both of which he’d lost count of long ago. He could have been here two months, two years, two decades, or two centuries; he suspects the latter options. The sand beneath his feet is soft and fluid as an ocean swell; perhaps it is responsible for the sound of waves crashing in the distance. No stars grace the sky, nor does a moon or a sun provide any light. He doesn’t know how long he's been here, wherever here is. The Hooded Man chronicles Michael's journey to uncover the mystery of where he is, why he's there, and how he can get out.