The flickering neon sign of "Sparky's Funhouse" cast a sickly green glow on Molly's determined face. "Right, Bill," she whispered, her voice raspy from too much cheap coffee and anticipation, "Operation Birthday Bonanza is a go. The intel suggests the main haul will be in the giant bouncy castle, probably disguised as, I don't know, artisanal clown shoes." Bill, a man built like a particularly lumpy sack of potatoes, adjusted his imaginary monocle. "Fascinating. And the security, Molly? Surely a party for tiny humans won't have laser grids and pressure plates… although a strategically placed juice box could be devastating." "Relax, sport," Molly said, tapping a worn map of the Funhouse layout. "Just toddlers and a sugar-fueled clown named Barry who, according to the spy footage obtained via a strategically placed pigeon, has a crippling fear of balloons. We go in during the cake cutting. Maximum chaos, minimum suspicion. You distract Barry with a rogue accordion solo, I'll make the grab. Think of it, Bill. All those new Lego sets. Enough to build a tiny, plastic empire." "An empire built on the tears of joy… and possibly a little snot," Bill mused, a wide grin spreading across his face. "This is magnificent, Molly. Utterly magnificent."