Biggie and John F. Kennedy are stuck in Library Locked-In Overnight and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Damn, Mr. President, never thought I'd be locked in with you, surrounded by all these dusty books," Biggie chuckled, adjusting his shades in the dim light.

"Well, Wallace, life throws curveballs, even in death. Seems we both know a thing or two about unexpected endings," Kennedy responded, his gaze thoughtful.

"Word. They say power corrupts, but bein' on top just makes you a bigger target, you feel me?" Biggie mused, leaning back against a bookshelf.

"Indeed, Christopher. The weight of leadership, the constant scrutiny... it can break a man, even one who appears invincible," Kennedy sighed.

"So, all that 'ask not what your country can do for you' stuff, was that just a front, a way to lighten the load?" Biggie inquired, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"No, Wallace, it was a genuine call to action, a belief in the inherent goodness of the American people, even if they sometimes disappoint," Kennedy countered, his voice firm.

"See, that's where we different. People ain't inherently good, they just tryin' to survive, hustlin' for a piece of the pie," Biggie retorted, a cynical edge to his tone.

"Perhaps, but hope, Mr. Wallace, is a powerful motivator. Without it, we're all just lost souls in a library of forgotten dreams," Kennedy stated, his eyes reflecting the moonlight filtering through the window.

"Forgotten dreams... that's real, Mr. President. Guess even a king needs somethin' to believe in," Biggie admitted, a touch of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

"Precisely. And sometimes, Christopher, the greatest dreams are found in the quietest corners, even in a locked library with a Brooklyn poet," Kennedy concluded, a small smile playing on his lips.