Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94MEQBK7PS2SY2TEM4A8N1

Molly tapped a pen against the laminated blueprint spread across the dingy kitchen table. The blueprint, painstakingly drawn in glitter pen, depicted a cartoon castle bounce house. "Alright, Bill, let's go over the 'Princess Penelope's Pink Unicorn Pajama Party' schematic one more time." "Do we have to call it that, Molly? My dignity." Bill winced, adjusting his fedora inside their cramped, present-filled flat. "Your dignity left when you suggested disguises involving oversized mascot heads. This isn't exactly the Louvre, Bill, but it's still a job." She poked a point on the map. "The target: a mountain of gifts, all wrapped in unicorn paper, located precisely here, beneath the gazebo, adjacent to the pony ride." "Ah, the gazebo. A classic choke point. Are there any tripwires, do you think? Or laser grids?" Bill squinted at the drawing, pulling out a magnifying glass that looked suspiciously like a toy. Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is a five-year-old's birthday party, Bill. The biggest security threat is probably sticky fingers on the cake or a surprise glitter-bomb from Aunt Sharon." "Glitter bombs are no laughing matter, Molly. My last operation, I was finding sparkle for weeks. But seriously, the presents. Do we know what kind of haul we're looking at? Lego Death Star? A decent drone? I could use a drone." "Bill, we are not keeping the presents. We are *fencing* the presents. Think electronics, gift cards, maybe some of those expensive dolls. Not a drone for your personal joyride." She circled a perimeter. "Approach vector: via Mrs. Higgins' prize-winning petunias. Low visibility, good cover." "The petunias? Molly, those things are practically sentient. Last time I went near them, I broke out in hives. Anyway, what about the sentries? Parents. Sugar-hyped children. The dreaded party clown." Bill shivered dramatically. "The children are a diversion. Their chaos is our cloak. The parents will be too busy with small talk and prosecco. The clown…" Molly paused, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "The clown, Bill, will be our inside man." Bill dropped his magnifying glass with a clatter. "You hired a clown? Molly, please tell me you didn't hire *that* clown. The one who juggles flaming chainsaws? My nerves can't take another incident." "Relax, it's just 'Sparkles the Magnificent.' He owes me a favor after that unfortunate incident with the municipal ice sculpture competition." She cleared her throat. "He'll orchestrate a 'sudden, spectacular balloon animal malfunction' in the main tent. General pandemonium ensues. That's our window." "A balloon animal malfunction feels… low stakes, Molly. Couldn't Sparkles just, I don't know, release a flock of trained pigeons carrying fake treasure maps? That would be much more effective." "No pigeons, Bill. Pigeons poo. And we need subtlety. While Sparkles unleashes his gaseous tyranny, you'll be on present retrieval. I'll secure the getaway vehicle." Molly pointed to a crude drawing of a brightly painted ice cream truck. "The 'Happy Swirls' van." "The ice cream truck? Brilliant! We can sell the gifts wrapped in unicorn paper right from the back. No one will suspect a thing!" Bill clapped his hands, a genuine smile breaking through his usual anxiety. "No, Bill. We use the truck for transport. Not for an impromptu garage sale. And remember the contingency plan for the bounce house." "The bounce house. Right. In case a parent decides to get a little too involved. We activate the 'deflation protocol'?" "Exactly. Controlled chaos, Bill. Controlled chaos." Molly leaned back, a faint scent of bubblegum wafting from the blueprint. This was going to be a piece of cake. Or rather, a piece of stolen cake.