This was cause for another, more emphatic, "What the fuck." And this one almost, almost managed to sound like an actual question instead of a demand. He didn't totter into the room, though it was close, because this was apparently just one too many shocks to the system, and not the kind he was acclimated to.

He shoved the gathered detritus -mostly clothes- off of the chair and dropped into it, rubbing his eyes for a moment before looking back and finding that yes, there were definitely two more of him there. Which had him muttering a more resigned, almost defeated: "What the absolute fuck?"

His next instinct was to check his pulse, fingers pressed to the side of his neck, because the only logical reason this would be happening was if he'd died, right? Life flashing before his eyes and all, though he hadn't expected it to be quite so... literal.