In a hazy, smoke-filled theater, dozens of red strings dangle from the ceiling. They’re connected to the backs and hands of reporters, all slumped over in their seats, notebooks in hand. There’s a man in the spotlight, with what appears to be a marionette doll over his knee and another journalist, this one conspiratorially close on his other shoulder. As a chorus begins to sing, the strings move, revealing the crowd of press to be puppets, voices orchestrated toward one common belief: “Oh yes, they both reached for the gun.