Battat stares intently at the chaotic web of red strings stretched across the wall. Pins jab into faded photographs, scribbled notes, and torn-out TV guides—all connected by erratic tangles that only his restless mind could decipher. He paces back and forth, fingers twitching as he traces a loose thread leading to a crumpled Polaroid.

“No, no, no—this can’t be right.” he mutters, twitching anxiously.

His eyes flick to the neatly folded Mike costume draped over a chair, its microphone-shaped head gleaming under the flickering light. The grin on the mask seems to mock him.

“Maybe Mike is Tenna’s imaginary friend! Or his alternate personality, or—something?!”

The Green Pippins snatches up a tangled bundle of red string, eyes blazing with manic determination.

“Time to connect these dots. Before this whole operation spirals into another meltdown!”