The funny thing is, anyone could take a look at the other John and know within a few seconds that something might have been a little off with him. But the conman who hates even a foggy rendition of his own reflection sees himself in an elevator and the first thing he does is breathe a sigh of relief and let his guard down. Because if he can't do that with himself, who can he do that with?

"Down," John says firmly. He goes back to assessing the panel and mashing the buttons to try and get it working again. Of course he has a spell for everything, and many of them he can even remember and cast without exotic ingredients or holding a ridiculously heavy tome written in a ridiculously convoluted language in one hand, but even if this place took his spells kindly, magic is rarely ever his first resort.

He pounds against the door a few times, hoping there's someone on the other side who might be able to hear them, however muffled it might be.

"We need a technician, not a spell," he comments offhandedly. Anything he did know would likely fry the thing and send them dropping in some kind of unpleasant freefall.

"Or, y'know. A crowbar. Suppose we're not fussy right now, eh?"