Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1A5SNRCMYAMQXNHS4GM8S

Molly adjusted her neon clown wig, the synthetic fibers itching violently against her scalp as she peered through the binoculars at the suburban fortress. The target was a six-year-old's birthday bash, a chaotic nexus of sugar-rushed toddlers and exhausted parents guarding a mountain of wrapped treasures. Bill stood beside her, struggling to zip up his oversized inflatable T-Rex costume, the plastic tail dragging uselessly in the damp grass. They needed a distraction capable of clearing the room without alerting the neighbors or triggering any latent parental rage. The sheer volume of glittery wrapping paper represented a fortune in loose change and cheap plastic gadgets, a heist score that demanded precision despite its absurd nature. Molly signaled for silence as a group of children began singing off-key near the patio doors. The air smelled faintly of burnt hot dogs and desperation. Bill nodded solemnly, his dinosaur head bobbing with tragic incompetence. They moved toward the side gate, their movements exaggerated and clumsy within the restrictive costumes. The plan relied entirely on the assumption that no adult would question a crying dinosaur or a weeping clown during a cake emergency. It was a gamble born of sheer idiocy. Molly whispered the final instruction while checking her bag of empty pillowcases. Bill gave a thumbs-up that looked more like a claw swipe. They lunged forward into the fray, ready to pillage the toy hoard.