The architectural schematics were actually a crinkled invitation featuring a generic cartoon sponge, yet Bill analyzed them with the gravity of a diamond heist mastermind. He smoothed the paper against the steering wheel of their rusted sedan, tracing the ingress route with a grease-stained finger. The target was the Thompson backyard, currently fortified by a perimeter of crepe paper and a bouncy castle serving as a strategic watchtower. A hired magician patrolled the buffet table, and Bill suspected the man was packing more than just white rabbits in that top hat. Molly adjusted her tactical turtleneck, squinting through binoculars at the mountain of wrapped boxes sitting vulnerably near the sandbox. The extraction window was narrow, wedged between the pinata destruction and the cake cutting ceremony. One wrong step meant getting swarmed by twenty sugar-drunk toddlers. That hired magician constitutes our primary tactical threat to the asset, Bill whispered. Molly checked the tension on her grappling hook, which was noticeably just several jump ropes knotted together. They needed that loot. I will neutralize the wizard. You secure the Legos, she replied. The stakes had never been lower. Bill revved the engine, unleashing a pathetic whine that signaled the start of Operation Birthday Blues.