Bill squinted at the crayon-drawn floor plan, a chaotic swirl of rainbows and a wobbly, smiling sun. He tapped a suspiciously sticky spot on the map. Molly paced the motel room, a laser pointer aimed at the wall, treating a six-year-old’s birthday party like it was Fort Knox. “That’s the bounce house, Bill. The primary obstacle. High-visibility, low-threat, but the acoustics are a nightmare.” Bill ignored her, his eyes wide with a professional paranoia that seemed wildly out of place. “But the target? The asset? The… presents? They’ll be swarming with civilians. Parents.” “Amateurs. We create a diversion. I’ve procured a gallon of extra-strength, industrial-grade bubble solution.” He gestured with a half-eaten candy cane, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “And the guard? The one in the big, fuzzy yellow hat? He looks dangerous.” Molly sighed, holstering the laser pointer like a pearl-handled revolver. “That’s Ronald McDonald, Bill. A civilian. We exfiltrate through the doggy door the moment the magician starts his ‘sawing the assistant in half’ routine. It’s our ten-second window. Don’t miss it.” Bill just nodded, already calculating the resale value of a slightly-used tricycle.