Hercule Poirot and Robert Downey Jr. are stuck in Submarine on Lockdown and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Mon Dieu," Poirot sighed, adjusting his tie, "This cramped metal coffin is hardly conducive to deductive reasoning, is it?"

Downey Jr., ever the pragmatist, chuckled, "Relax, Herc. Think of it as an iron lung for the mind. Forces clarity."

"Clarity, monsieur? I find only the claustrophobia of unanswered questions," Poirot retorted, stroking his mustache.

"Questions, schmestions. It's all about perspective, Poirot. We're trapped, sure, but we're also...together," Downey Jr. mused, a glint in his eye.

"Together, like sardines in a tin? Hardly a comforting thought, even for one as astute as myself," Poirot sniffed.

"Nah, together like two sides of the same coin. You, the meticulous observer, me, the instinctive improviser," Downey Jr. grinned.

Poirot paused, considering, "Perhaps...perhaps there is a certain synergy to be found in our disparate approaches."

"Synergy? I call it survival, baby. We gotta use our strengths to crack this tin can," Downey Jr. declared, rolling up his sleeves.

"Then let us begin, monsieur. My little grey cells are already formulating a plan, however improbable," Poirot stated, a newfound resolve in his voice.

"Attaboy, Herc! Now you're talkin'. Let's get outta this watery grave and back to solving the real mysteries of the world," Downey Jr. proclaimed.