Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA24X65RHC1D1ZP2B2V9HW

“Right, so, the clowns,” Molly said, meticulously sketching a map of the community hall on a napkin. It featured a disproportionately large dartboard and a suspiciously cheerful banner reading ‘Happy 7th Birthday, Leo!’ “Clowns are a problem,” Bill grunted, picking at a loose thread on his ridiculously patterned velvet jacket. “They’re mobile, unpredictable, and frankly, I have a deep seated fear of anything with oversized shoes.” “They’re also surprisingly useful,” Molly countered, tapping the napkin with a brightly coloured pen. “Little distraction units. We deploy them, they start juggling flaming pinwheels, Leo cries, parents panic, suddenly nobody’s paying attention to us sneaking around.” “Flaming pinwheels? Seriously?” Bill squinted. “That feels…overly dramatic for a seventh birthday. Are we sure this is the right target?” “Leo’s parents are ridiculously wealthy,” Molly said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’ve been bragging about a ‘major collection’ of vintage action figures. And that collection is entirely comprised of presents.” “Okay, okay, rich parents aren’t inherently suspicious,” Bill conceded, dramatically sighing. “But a room full of sugar-fueled, hyperactive children? That's a recipe for chaos. How are we getting in?” “The ventilation shaft. Small, overlooked, smells faintly of stale balloons. Perfect.” Molly pointed to a tiny, almost invisible arrow on her map. “I’ve taken measurements. It’s a tight squeeze, you’ll need to fold yourself into a pretzel.” “A pretzel? You’re asking me to become a human pretzel? This is why I stick to bank jobs, Molly. Less…elastic.” “Think of it as performance art,” Molly said, completely ignoring his objection. “Besides, I've got a small inflatable tube. You’ll fit. Mostly.” “What about security cameras?” “Two. Pointed at the entrance and a motion sensor near the cake table. We’ll disable them with the EMP. Remember, instant blackout, approximately 37 seconds.” “Thirty-seven seconds to wrestle a mountain of Lego and a swimming pool of juice boxes?” Bill sounded profoundly unimpressed. “It’s about the principle, Bill! And the vintage Captain Cosmos figure I’ve spotted. It’s magnificent.” Molly’s eyes gleamed. “Seriously, this is a key piece. It’s got a slightly chipped helmet.” “A chipped helmet,” Bill repeated, shaking his head. “You’re actually going for this?” “Absolutely. Now, let’s talk diversionary tactics. You’re on clown duty. I want a full-blown, inflatable animal assault.” “An assault?” “Think giant teddy bear. A marching badger. Something loud and utterly bewildering. Just don’t swallow any confetti.” “I’m beginning to regret this whole ‘vintage action figure’ thing,” Bill muttered, staring at the napkin with a horrified expression. “Just…promise me no clowns.”