Alfred Hitchcock and Banksy are stuck in Deep-Sea Exploration Pod Failure and forced to have a deep conversation.

Hitchcock: (Calmly adjusting his glasses) The confinement itself, you see, is the true horror; the walls closing in, not physically, but on the mind.

Banksy: (Spraying graffiti onto a corroded pipe) Confinement breeds rebellion, mate. Always does. This rust bucket is just another canvas.

Hitchcock: But what meaning is there in rebellion if no one is left to witness it? A silent scream in the abyss.

Banksy: Means something to *me*. It's a jab at the system, even if the only audience is a school of startled fish.

Hitchcock: Fish are hardly discerning critics. They lack the nuance, the dread… the anticipation.

Banksy: Anticipation is overrated, Al. Reality's always more brutal, like this oxygen gauge plummeting faster than my credibility after a dodgy stencil.

Hitchcock: Precisely. The unseen threat, the ticking clock… it's far more terrifying than any explosion.

Banksy: Explosions are just a distraction, though. What *really* matters is who's pulling the strings, who profits from the chaos.

Hitchcock: (A slight smile plays on his lips) Ah, the puppet master. Indeed. The ultimate director, orchestrating our demise with chilling indifference.

Banksy: So, let's give 'em a show they won't forget, even if it's just two blokes and a busted sub, going down in a blaze of ironic glory.