Johnny Depp and Michael Jackson are stuck in Flooded Subway Tunnel and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Well, matey, this is a right pickle, innit?" Depp chuckled, pushing a stray strand of wet hair from his face.

"Hee hee, pickle is not good, Johnny," Jackson whispered, his eyes wide, "Too many germs in the water, y'know?"

"Germs be damned, Michael, it's the metaphor of it all that's got me thinking," Depp mused, "Drowning in the expectations, aren't we all?"

"Expectations... like being perfect, like never growing old, always the same?" Jackson asked, his voice barely audible above the dripping water.

"Aye, just so," Depp sighed, "Trapped in a gilded cage, even beneath the bloody city."

"But the music, the dance... it was for the children, Johnny, a way to heal the world," Jackson defended, clutching his fedora tighter.

"I understand, Michael, truly," Depp replied softly, "But sometimes the world isn't ready to be healed, just wants a spectacle."

"Spectacle... like a mask, hiding the hurt, the loneliness," Jackson mumbled, staring into the murky water.

"Precisely, my friend," Depp agreed, placing a hand on Jackson's shoulder, "Sometimes the greatest pirates are the ones lost at sea."

"Lost... but maybe, just maybe, we can find Neverland, even in this underground river, hee hee!" Jackson exclaimed, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.