Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM6353SDQPR5VD80TYS9JB6

The warehouse was thick with the smell of stale coffee and failure. Blueprints for "Operation Sugar Plum" were spread across a rickety card table. Molly tapped a photograph of a brightly coloured bouncy castle with a chewed pencil. “The target’s defences are… sticky,” she announced, her voice grim. “Perimeter is guarded by hyper-caffeinated parents. Inner sanctum is a nightmare of spilled juice and glitter.” Bill, polishing a grappling hook that was absurdly oversized for the task, squinted at the schematic. “Logistics are a beast. How do we exfiltrate the loot? A tricycle?” “Negative. Too conspicuous. We go in disguised as clowns.” Bill dropped his hook with a clang. “Clowns? Our intel says the primary, a four-year-old named Timmy, has a pathological fear of clowns.” Molly smiled, a razor-thin line. “Precisely. He’ll create a diversion we can exploit. We’ll be in and out during the ensuing meltdown.” She produced two garish, polka-dotted outfits. Bill eyed his with pure dread. “The things I do for a pile of LEGOs.” “It’s not about the LEGOs, Bill. It’s about sending a message that no present pile is safe.” “The message is we’re adults stealing from toddlers.” “Semantics. Now, practice your balloon animal. We infiltrate at 1400 hours, right after the cake comas set in.”