Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2GGMG74HB25FS360SBWJH3

"Bill, I've looked at the blueprints you drew on this napkin, and either we're breaking into a bouncy castle or you've been drinking." "That's the southwest turret, Molly. Obviously. It's a princess-themed party. The presents are piled in a cardboard castle by the face-painting station. We go in through the soft-play area, past the juice bar, grab the loot, and we're out." "Through the soft-play area. You want two grown adults, dressed as hired entertainment, to crawl through a nylon tunnel full of screaming four-year-olds to get to a stack of glittery boxes." "It's the path of least resistance. No one questions a clown in a ball pit." "I am not a clown. I am Twinkletoes the Magical Unicorn. You are the clown. And if you call that nylon death trap a path of least resistance, you've never tried to move fast in oversized novelty shoes with a dozen toddlers clamped onto your legs like prosperous little limpets." "Fine, we take the long way around, past the craft table. But that's a gauntlet of glitter glue and macaroni art. The forensic evidence alone will follow us for the rest of our natural lives. We'll be finding glitter in our underwear until we're dead, Molly. Dead and sparkly." "Okay, so the soft-play tunnel it is. What's the diversion?" "Simon the Unreliable Magician has his slot at two-thirty. He's going to attempt the Disappearing Rabbit trick. I've swapped his trick thumb for a standard model. When he goes for the vanish, he's just going to aggressively throw a live rabbit at the birthday girl." "That's your diversion? Projectile lagomorph?" "It's a solid ten minutes of chaos. Screaming kids, angry parents, a traumatised rabbit running through the cupcake display. We'll have a clean window to load the presents into our specially modified birthday cake on wheels." "The cake is a brilliant touch. Four tiers of hollow confectionery engineering. Is the bottom tier structurally sound? I'm not pushing a quarter-ton of collapsing sponge and stolen Lego through a car park." "The bottom tier is reinforced with a carbon-fibre frame I stole from a high-end kite. It'll hold. The real question is, what's our exit strategy once the rabbit-induced mayhem subsides?" "We exit as we entered: completely in character. You, sobbing and honking your clown nose remorsefully, apologising for the terrible magic show. Me, clip-clopping alongside you making neighing sounds of profound sympathy. No one stops people in costume who are clearly having a worse day than they are. We just wheel the grieving cake right out to the van." "Grieving cake. I like it. But what about the parents who actually bought the presents? The ones who'll say, 'Hey, that unicorn is making off with a laser-guided dinosaur robot that looks exactly like the one I wrapped.'" "Bill, have you met a parent at a five-year-old's party? They've been up since five, they're surviving on cold cocktail sausages, and they've just seen their child's face painted like a gothic tiger. They can't remember what they bought, let alone recognise it. We are invisible." "So the plan is: crawl through a tube, dodge a live rabbit, stuff a structural cake with swag, and trot out crying." "That's the heist, Bill." "I've got one concern. In the soft-play tunnel, what if we get separated?" "We won't get separated. It's a straight line from the slide to the throne room. Just follow the sound of my hooves." "What sound do hooves make on foam padding?" "A soft, determined thudding, Bill. The sound of profit."