You develop an external membrane that serves to insulate you from the outer world.
When this process is complete, the sun pulls closer to the earth, the seas dry, crops fail, and everybody dies. Except you, you in your room, playing Mount & Blade like your very existence depends upon it. Calls go unaswered, e-mails unread, cheques bounce; loved ones move into separate rooms before moving on entirely. But not you, in your room; trading with the people beside the sea, plundering the shit out of villages hidden by hills.
You have ceased to exist, remaining only as an enclosed photo in the locket of that old woman in the popular motion picture Titanic©.