Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB0S48GHPC3QJNMTT23JPJ

The community hall smelled overwhelmingly of sugar and desperation – desperation, in Molly's case, for a decent payday. Streamers drooped like forgotten dreams from the ceiling, a pathetic confetti graveyard. Bill, ever the pragmatist, was meticulously sketching the room’s layout on a napkin pilfered from a nearby refreshment table. Tiny pastel chairs sat arranged in neat rows, facing a stage adorned with a frankly alarming number of balloons. He circled a particularly large pile of brightly wrapped boxes with a thick red pen. “That’s the jackpot, I reckon,” he mumbled, more to the napkin than to her. Molly kicked at a rogue bouncy castle, the air whooshing out with a mournful sigh. “Kids,” she muttered. Just miniature, sugar-fueled chaos agents. Bill tapped the napkin. “Security's…minimal. One volunteer manning the door, looks like he moonlighted as a scarecrow.” “Right, because terrorizing five-year-olds is a rigorous training ground for security professionals,” Molly deadpanned. “So, inflatable diversion?” Bill nodded, pointing at the partially deflated bouncy castle. “Distraction, then swift retrieval. Present count is…significant.” “Let's just hope none of them have bite.”