Lady Kara declared a "high-level strategic consultation," which everyone knew meant Bob was about to unleash nonsense and she needed containment. She dragged him into the APX war room, slapped a sign on the door: "NO FUNKY_LIONS ALLOWED."
Inside, Kara stood over the map like a commander forged from precision. Bob held a broom. "It's my tactical staff," he whispered. "We're planning a siege, not sweeping," Kara muttered. Above them, Funky_Lion was already in the ceiling vent, sprawled out like a smug cat, watching through the grate with the dedication of someone who knew he was banned and refused to accept it.
Kara pointed at the map. "We strike from the west. Clean. Controlled." Bob nodded, then jabbed his broom at the east. "And then I run distraction. Fireworks. Maybe a goat." Kara froze. "Why would there be a goat." "For morale," Bob said. Funky_Lion mouthed "a goat?" and nearly shook the vent loose trying not to laugh.
"No goats," Kara insisted. "No fireworks. No chaos." Bob raised a hand. "What if the chaos is strategic?" "Bob. No." Funky_Lion whispered, "Bob. Yes." Bob leaned in. "Okay, but what if I pretend to be captured, escape dramatically, then—" "No." "—ride the goat—" "NO." "—into their command tent—" "BOB."
The vent rattled. Kara looked up. Bob gasped. "THE ENEMY IS IN THE CEILING." "It's Funky," Kara sighed. The grate popped loose. Funky_Lion fell through like a ninja who miscalculated the landing. He stood, dusted himself off, and grinned. "So… what's the plan?" "You were banned," Kara said. "And yet," Funky replied, "here I am." Bob beamed. "He heard the goat part!"
Kara exhaled the long, exhausted sigh of a leader surrounded by idiots she cared about. "Fine. Funky stays. But there will be NO goats." Bob and Funky_Lion exchanged a look. There would absolutely be a goat.