Hercule Poirot and Scarlett Johansson are stuck in Stranded in a Lunar Base and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Mon Dieu," Poirot sighed, gazing at the desolate landscape, "even on the moon, the human heart brings its mysteries, non?"

Scarlett, leaning against a lunar rover, retorted, "Mysteries are just stories we tell ourselves, Hercule. Sometimes, the truth is just… boringly practical."

"Ah, but mademoiselle," Poirot chuckled, twirling his moustache, "is not even the most practical solution born from a seed of imagination, of a *story*?"

"Maybe," she conceded, "but survival here is about oxygen levels and engineering, not motives and alibis."

Poirot's eyes twinkled, "Yet, even in a crisis of survival, one's true character, their *motivation*, is revealed, n'est-ce pas?"

Scarlett looked out at the Earth hanging in the black sky. "Being this far removed, you start to wonder what truly matters."

"Indeed," Poirot murmured, "does the vastness of space diminish our problems, or merely amplify their reflection?"

"Maybe it shows us they're all interconnected," Scarlett mused, "like dominoes falling, one after another."

"Aha!" Poirot exclaimed, "a chain reaction, mademoiselle! Precisely the sort of *cause and effect* I find so fascinating."

"Well, if we don't find a way to fix this base, our effect on the universe will be pretty short-lived," Scarlett finished, her gaze hardening with determination.