Molly crouched behind the azalea bushes, adjusting her tactical visor to account for the glare. The target was a sunny backyard littered with colorful streamers and unassuming civilians under four feet tall. "Target acquired," she whispered into her headset. "I count twenty hostiles. They look mobile, but their motor skills are trash." Bill popped a licorice straw into his mouth from their supply drop. "Timeline is tight, Molly. We have exactly four minutes before the piñata bursts. Once that paper-mache donkey breaks, it’s a free-for-all." "That's the window," Molly hissed. "I’ll create a diversion by spiking the punch bowl with extra sugar. You grab the Spider-Man bike." Bill adjusted his belt, looking nervous. "The bike? That thing has training wheels. It’s bulky. Can’t I just grab the gift bags?" "No loose change, Bill. We want assets," she snapped. "Just get the bike and meet me by the bouncy castle." "What about the clown?" Bill asked, voice trembling. "He’s making balloon animals. It’s psychological warfare." "He’s a freelance contractor, Bill. Ignore him. If he twists a poodle at you, just duck." "Fine," Bill grumbled. "But if I get glitter on my jacket again, I’m filing a complaint with HR." "Just get the bike," Molly said. "Let’s go ruin a birthday."