Benedict Cumberbatch and Greta Thunberg are stuck in Museum Exhibit Malfunction and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Right then," Cumberbatch began, adjusting his imaginary velvet smoking jacket, "This temporal anomaly, trapping us amidst Victorian taxidermy, is rather...inconvenient, wouldn't you agree?"

Greta, eyes fixed on a stuffed polar bear, stated plainly, "Inconvenience is a luxury we cannot afford; this situation mirrors humanity's willful blindness to the climate crisis."

"Ah, but perhaps this forced proximity offers a unique stage, a tableau, for highlighting our respective anxieties," Cumberbatch countered, gesturing theatrically.

"Speaking loudly achieves nothing if no one truly listens," Greta retorted, her voice quiet but firm.

"But Greta, surely a powerful performance, a well-crafted narrative, can penetrate even the most hardened of hearts?" Cumberbatch pleaded, a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Emotions are fleeting; systemic change requires consistent pressure, unyielding facts, not theatrical distractions," she replied, unmoved.

Cumberbatch sighed, "So, you believe even my dulcet tones, honed on Shakespearean soliloquies, are futile against the tide of apathy?"

"Your voice can amplify the science, the urgency, but it must serve the truth, not your ego," Greta stated, turning her gaze directly on him.

"Perhaps," Cumberbatch conceded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, "a symphony of voices, all playing the same urgent, discordant note, is what's truly needed."

"Exactly," Greta said, a rare, small smile gracing her lips, "Now, let's see if we can find a way to break this temporal loop and get back to work."