Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VBFTWR2ZT8TTP84HNT5A2

The stale smell of burnt coffee and defeat hung in the air of the cramped apartment. Molly, her face a mask of intense concentration, stood before a large, crudely drawn map taped to the peeling wallpaper. It depicted a suburban backyard, with meticulous notes like “Punch Bowl (spiked),” “Piñata (primary distraction),” and “Uncle Derek (likely inebriated).” Bill slumped on a sofa that hissed foam with every shift. He stared at a brightly colored invitation in his hands. “It says ‘Princess Sparklefrog’s 6th Birthday Extravaganza.’ Molly, look at the glitter. It’s physically painful.” “Focus, Bill,” Molly said, not turning from the map. She tapped a red X. “Primary ingress is via the side gate. Synchronized with the singing of ‘Happy Birthday.’ Maximum auditory cover.” “Right. Because nothing says ‘covert ops’ like hiding behind a hedge while forty people scream-sing about cake.” Bill tossed the invitation onto a stack of toy catalogues. “I still don’t get why we’re doing this. The take is all Lego sets and plastic ponies.” Molly finally turned, her eyes gleaming with strategic fervor. “Volume, Bill. It’s a volume game. Little Timmy’s rich grandma bought him the ‘Mega-Fortress Ultra’ playset. Retail: three-fifty. We fence it for two hundred. Multiply that by twenty-five over-excited children, and we’re looking at a five-thousand-dollar afternoon. Low security, predictable patterns, and a getaway vehicle that doubles as an ice cream truck. It’s elegant.” “It’s sad. We’ll be stealing from a princess. A Sparklefrog princess.” Bill sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What about the K-9 unit?” “The family dog is a blind, twelve-year-old Shih Tzu named Mr. Wiggles. His threat level is minimal, though he may present a tripping hazard.” Molly moved to a small table displaying crude tools: a walkie-talkie with a unicorn sticker, a net designed for catching butterflies, and several oversized, empty gift bags. “Our extraction is here, at the gift table. You’ll create a diversion.” “Let me guess. The classic ‘clown falling into the cake’ routine?” “Too obvious. You’ll be ‘Uncle Rick,’ the clumsy magician. I’ve prepared your prop.” She handed him a collapsing top hat that sprung back into shape with a loud *boing*. “During your ‘disappearing coin’ trick, which you will, of course, bungle spectacularly, I will be clearing the table. In and out in ninety seconds.” Bill examined the hat, his expression pained. “And the contingency for the ultimate nightmare scenario?” Molly’s face grew solemn. She pointed to a note on the map that simply read, “THE CLOWN.” She produced a small, water-filled pistol. “Squirting flower. But it’s not water. It’s a mild, FDA-approved topical sedative. One direct shot to the red nose, and ‘Binky’ takes a ten-minute nap behind the bouncy castle.” A long silence filled the room, broken only by the distant sound of children playing. Bill looked from the sedative flower to the glittering invitation, then to Molly’s utterly serious face. He slowly picked up a giant, empty gift bag adorned with cartoon dinosaurs. “Alright,” he mumbled. “But if I have to wear a party hat, I’m taking an extra twenty percent of the Lego.”