Power does not change you, it unmasks you.

Host: The city was wrapped in a fog of amber streetlights and echoing footsteps. A thin rain clung to the pavement, turning every reflection into a trembling mirror of the night. From a small rooftop bar above the sleeping streets, the hum of the world below faded into whispers. The neon glow flickered against wet glass, painting faces in fragments of blue and red.

Jack sat by the railing, a half-empty glass of whiskey glinting beside his hand. His eyes, sharp and gray, scanned the horizon as if searching for something hidden behind the mist. Jeeny leaned against the bar counter, her dark hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the rain, listening to it as if it were speaking in a language only she could understand.

Jeeny: “Do you know what John Kennedy once said, Jack? ‘Power does not change you, it unmasks you.’”

Jack: “I’ve heard it. A nice line — poetic enough for speeches, brutal enough for truth. But I don’t buy it.”

Host: A pause followed. The rain ticked louder against the metal railing, filling the silence between their words.

Jeeny: “Why not?”

Jack: “Because power changes everything. It changes how people think, how they choose, how they see themselves. You give a man control, and he learns to play God. That’s not an unmasking — that’s a transformation.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s the other way around. Power just strips away the pretenses. It doesn’t make you a new person; it just reveals who you’ve always been when the fear of consequence disappears.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice trembled softly but carried a fierce conviction. She lifted her glass of red wine, the liquid catching the light like a pulse.

Jack: “Then explain the tyrants who were once idealists. Lenin, Castro, even our corporate CEOs — they all start preaching equality, end up building empires. You think that’s just the ‘real them’ coming out?”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she said quietly. “Because ideals are often just masks themselves. The hunger behind them — that’s the truth. Look at history, Jack. When people rise to power, the masks fall, and what’s left is the raw face of their desires. Power doesn’t invent greed or cruelty; it just takes away the fear of showing them.”

Host: The wind swept through, carrying the faint scent of the city, of smoke and rain-soaked stone. Jack leaned back, his jaw tight, his eyes cold.

Jack: “You make it sound like everyone’s a hidden monster waiting for a throne. That’s too cynical, even for you.”

Jeeny: “I’m not cynical, Jack. I’m just… observant. You remember the nurse who used to volunteer at the shelter? She was kind, gentle — until she got promoted to head nurse. Then she started treating her subordinates like dirt. No one changed her — she was always like that. She just didn’t have the chance to reveal it before.”

Jack: “Maybe pressure twisted her. Maybe responsibility reshaped her. You think it’s easy holding power? It’s not a mask removal — it’s evolution through fire.”

Host: His voice grew rougher, almost trembling under its own restraint. The whiskey shimmered in the glass as his hand tightened around it.

Jeeny: “Then tell me, Jack — if power changes us, why do some people stay kind? Why did Nelson Mandela walk out of prison with forgiveness instead of vengeance? He had every reason to become something darker.”

Jack: “Mandela was exceptional — not human, almost mythic. People like him are born different. The rest of us? We adapt to survive.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. We choose what to show. Power just gives us permission to stop pretending.”

Host: The rain began to lessen, turning to a faint drizzle that blurred the lights below. A cab’s horn echoed distantly, like a lost memory in the night.

Jack looked away, his eyes distant, haunted. His reflection in the window flickered like a ghost beside the city lights.

Jack: “You talk about masks like we all walk around wearing them. Maybe we do. But sometimes those masks are what hold us together. Strip them off, and what’s left? Chaos. Regret. You ever thought of that?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But isn’t it better to face what’s real than to live in the safety of illusion? Masks protect, yes — but they also imprison.”

Jack: “Tell that to someone who’s been in politics for twenty years. If you don’t wear a mask, they’ll eat you alive.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why they all look so hollow — they’ve forgotten what their real faces look like.”

Host: Her words landed like stones in the quiet. Jack stared at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes stormy, as though she had pulled something raw from beneath his own armor.

Jack: “You’re too romantic, Jeeny. You think truth sets people free. It doesn’t. It exposes them — and people hate exposure. That’s why masks exist. To protect us from what we are.”

Jeeny: “Or to hide us from who we fear we might be.”

Host: The barlight flickered, catching her eyes, deep and brown, glimmering with the faintest trace of sadness.

Jeeny: “You remember your old boss at the construction firm? The one who fired half the team during the pandemic but kept his yacht?”

Jack: “Yeah.”

Jeeny: “He used to talk about brotherhood, loyalty, fairness. But once he had the chance to act with absolute authority, he didn’t hesitate. That’s unmasking, Jack. Not change. He was never the brother he pretended to be.”

Jack: “Maybe he was — before fear got him. You ever been scared of losing everything you built? You’d be surprised what morality people trade for survival.”

Jeeny: “Fear doesn’t erase integrity, Jack. It just reveals its absence.”

Host: The rain stopped. Only the soft drip of water from the edges of the roof remained. The city air smelled clean again, cold and alive. Jack exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

Jack: “You really think power’s just a mirror?”

Jeeny: “Yes. A mirror that never lies.”

Jack: “Then I guess most of us would rather keep the lights off.”

Host: For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of distant laughter drifted up from the street, fragile and fleeting. Jeeny turned toward him, her face soft, her voice almost tender now.

Jeeny: “You wear a mask too, Jack. Not out of malice, but out of protection. You hide your compassion behind cynicism because you’ve seen too much betrayal. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still there.”

Jack: “And you — you hide your despair behind faith. You want to believe people are good because the alternative terrifies you.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we both wear masks, then.”

Jack: “Maybe we all do.”

Host: The wind brushed across the rooftop, lifting strands of her hair, scattering them like ink through the air. Jack reached out, almost without realizing, and tucked one behind her ear.

Jeeny looked up, her eyes wet, her smile fragile but sincere.

Jeeny: “So maybe Kennedy was right. Power doesn’t change us — it just gives us the stage to show who we are.”

Jack: “And maybe change and unmasking aren’t opposites after all. Maybe the moment the mask comes off, we’re forced to face what we’ve become.”

Host: The neon light hummed one last time before flickering out, leaving only the moonlight and the soft shadows of two souls who had just confessed what most of the world keeps buried. The city below kept moving, unaware of the quiet revelation above its restless heart.

Jack raised his glass slightly.

Jack: “To masks, then — and the courage to take them off.”

Jeeny: “To truth — and the grace to live with it.”

Host: The glasses clinked, the sound small but infinite, echoing into the quiet sky. The rain began again — not harsh, but gentle, like an applause from the heavens. And beneath it, the two of them sat in silence, stripped of argument, stripped of defense — two faces, unmasked at last, reflected in the trembling mirror of a midnight city.