Molly slammed her palm onto the sticky dashboard of their rusted sedan, flattening the crude crayon map of the suburban backyard. The target was heavily fortified by a waist-high picket fence and an aggressively colorful bouncy castle that blocked standard surveillance lines. She adjusted her tactical sunglasses, despite the overcast weather, and pointed a manicured finger at the juice box station. This was the infiltration point. The distraction team, consisting of a feral squirrel they had previously trapped, was ready for immediate deployment near the star-shaped piñata. She checked her stopwatch, syncing it with the rhythm of the birthday song echoing from the garden. Bill stared out the window at the pastel balloons bobbing innocently in the wind, questioning every life choice that led him here. He tugged at his black turtleneck, which was far too hot for a Tuesday afternoon in July. He felt ridiculous. They were trained professionals, yet here they were, plotting a tactical extraction against a five-year-old who still needed floaties to swim. It was beneath them. "The clown is our only threat," Molly hissed intensely. Bill rubbed his temples. "We are stealing LEGOs, not diamonds." Molly ignored his distinct lack of professionalism. "Focus. If we fail, we neutralize the clown."