"I can't remember what's on that floor besides mirrors." He has no idea what the rumor is or he'd have smacked John upside the head. But died anyway. Pride really is the downfall of man. "Keep going, what does it involve besides mirrors?" All he can think of is that old bloody mary crap that people used to play at parties for laughs.

Which isn't so funny right now. He can just picture their lifeless bodies with their eyewear broken and blood staining the floor from the numerous stab wounds. Man, do eyes repair themselves if you die with them gouged out and revive? He's not precisely sure he wants to know. It's probably true that they do. He has been crushed to death in the cogs of his smaller alternate self.

This can't be worse than that.