Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY98SSW3G87NZK72N4C2TK8

The community hall smelled overwhelmingly of sugar and desperation. Balloons bobbed like panicked goldfish, and a banner proclaiming "Barnaby's 5th Birthday Bash!" drooped over a table laden with plastic cutlery and suspiciously bright orange juice. Molly surveyed the scene with a professional eye, adjusting the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. “Right, Bill,” she said, her voice low, “Operation Sugar Rush is a go. Observe the parameters. We're targeting the present mountain. Priority: Lego. Secondary: anything with batteries. Tertiary: that enormous fluffy unicorn. It's hideous, but incredibly valuable on the collector’s circuit." Bill, a man whose enthusiasm often outstripped his competence, bounced on the balls of his feet. He was currently disguised as a particularly anxious-looking clown, complete with a wig that threatened to achieve escape velocity and a nose that glowed faintly in the dim light. “Lego, batteries, unicorn… Roger that, Molly! But… are we *sure* about the unicorn? It looks… sad.” Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bill, we're stealing presents, not offering therapy to plush livestock. Focus. Security is minimal. One bored-looking security guard playing Candy Crush in the corner, a gaggle of hyperactive five-year-olds, and a parent or two desperately clinging to sanity. The weakest link is clearly the cake table, deceptively close to the present pile. We create a distraction, I grab the loot, you… well, you try to look less like you're about to burst into tears." “I can create a distraction! I’m a clown! I can juggle! I can… make balloon animals!” Bill brightened, attempting to twist a balloon into what vaguely resembled a dachshund. It promptly exploded. Molly ignored the popping sound. “No juggling, Bill. No balloon animals. We're aiming for plausible deniability, not a circus. I want you to stage an elaborate, but entirely harmless, meltdown. Dramatic fainting, maybe? Claim an allergy to streamers? Just… something to draw attention away from the present mountain while I work.” “A meltdown, you say? Can I practice? I think I could really sell a despairing performance about… about losing my red nose!” Bill wrung his hands, his clown makeup smeared slightly. “Just don’t actually lose your nose, Bill. And for the love of all that is holy, no crying. We are professionals.” Molly pointed toward the security guard. "He’s our key. I’ll handle him. Tell him his Candy Crush streak is about to be disrupted by a rogue clown. Something like that. Just… keep it vague and dramatic. And make sure he looks thoroughly annoyed." “Right. Annoyed. Vague. Meltdown. Unicorn. Got it!" Bill took a deep breath, attempting a mournful expression. "Oh, woe is me! The joys of childhood… fleeting… like a rainbow… a slightly deflated rainbow…” Molly winced. "Just… try to be convincingly distressed, Bill. We have precisely fifteen minutes before Barnaby starts demanding cake and the parentals become completely oblivious. Let's make this a birthday Barnaby will *never* forget.”