Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA2VTWSAWG7YTMXXXG8Q6Y

The community hall pulsed with cake-fueled chaos, a bouncy castle wheezing like an accomplice with asthma. Streamers drooped, balloons squeaked, and a piñata grinned with paper teeth over a barricade of glittering gifts. Molly mapped exits with a frosting-smeared brochure while Bill polished a red foam nose he insisted was tactical camouflage. Parents milled like suspicious guards; toddlers patrolled with juice boxes and sticky jurisdiction. Their plan hinged on timing, confidence, and the universal distraction of a conga line. When the DJ hit maximum whimsy, they would ghost in, bag everything cheerful, and vanish behind the magician's smoke puff. Perfect. Molly: Clown entry at ten hundred; smiles are our grapples. Bill: Copy that; honk twice if security notices parachute pants. Molly: I'll flank the cake; you tango-pivot toward the piñata. Bill: Distraction move alpha; I start an emergency nap-time drill. Molly: Locate the present mountain; prioritize robots, puzzles, anything noisy. Bill: Bag structure confirmed; glitter-proof, crumb-resistant, deceptively festive, also monogrammed. Molly: Watch the dinosaur balloon; its tail decapitated my dignity. Bill: If cornered, deploy confetti; nobody arrests joy while sneezing. Molly: Exit through the magician; pretend we're volunteers returning doves. Bill: And if asked names, we're Cake Logistics, Sprinkles West.