The Immune

You wake up, feeling dazed. Almost like you're hungover, but without the migraine.

You instinctively look for your phone to check the time, but your hand misses the table. Actually there isn't a table at all. You get yourself more into focus and realize you're not in your bedroom.

This room is almost all white, nothing but you and the small bed that you're laying on. The walls look like plastic hexagons poking out and the floor feels like it's a fragile stone, but holds you steady.

You look to what looks like the door and walk over to it. It won't budge. You knock on the door and call out. No answer. You look at your reflection in the glass. Closed on the other side, making it look like a perfect mirror. Who do you see?