"Huh? Which me!?" Luka has hardly any time to react or parse Nine's inquiry before everything seems to come at him all at once.

Quite literally, almost, as the other Luka impacts the bar and explodes into horrible little cubes again. Luka remains motionless on the dusty bar floor, surrounded now by broken glass and whatever gelatinous matter the copy was composed of.

"Nine..." He starts softly when he manages to gather himself. He reaches to his face to feel the cut, and his fingers notably pass over the same distinct strange substance that now covered the floor. "What do you mean, 'which' me?"