The existential crisis of looking down. Your brain tells you, you have feet, because looking across at your team mates, you can see they have legs and feet. Looking down you think my feet are surely there, they are just out of shot. So you back up against a wall, and then you see just the wall - and no there is no where your legs could be... and your mind blinks - where are my legs?
Banksy strikes again.
Fear not death for the hour of your doom is set and none may escape it.
When all of your comrades have already fallen, it's time to put a paper bag over your head or something.
