Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1PE81DAA1KRB0XXX3DGBR

The night was dark. The surveillance van smelled overwhelmingly of stale coffee and regret. Molly peered through the high-powered lens, focusing on the brightly lit community center where the six-year-old's birthday bash was in full swing. Balloons bobbed against the ceiling like hostage negotiators waiting for a signal. Bill sat in the passenger seat, meticulously unwrapping a string cheese while wearing a ski mask that was clearly too tight for his head. He looked less like a master criminal and more like a kindergarten teacher on lunch break. Molly lowered the binoculars and rubbed her temples. The plan was intricate, involving zip lines and a distraction featuring a runaway pony, but the target demographic troubled her partner. Molly wore black. Bill wore blue. Bill tore a strip of cheese and chewed slowly while staring at the venue. We are stealing from toddlers, Molly. This is a new low even for us. Molly snapped the binoculars shut with a sharp click. They are wrapped rectangles, Bill. We do not ask questions about the contents until we are fencing the loot downtown. Bill wiped grease on his cargo pants and sighed loudly. It feels predatory. They believe in magic and Santa Claus. It is really wrong. The moral compass of their partnership was clearly broken, pointing south toward a swamp of bad decisions. Molly ignored the guilt radiating from her accomplice. She pulled out the blueprints of the venue, spreading them across the dashboard where the air freshener dangled uselessly. The gift table was positioned near the exit, guarded only by a tired clown inflating a sword for a crying boy. It was the perfect opportunity for a smash and grab. The parents would be distracted by sugar crashes and awkward small talk about private schools. Rain began to fall. Molly tapped the paper map with a gloved finger. The clown is the variable. Clowns are unpredictable and potentially violent. Bill crumpled the cheese wrapper into a tight ball. I could take him out with a tranquilizer dart. Molly shook her head. No violence. We use the sleeping powder in the birthday cake instead. Bill stared at her with wide eyes. You want to drug the children? That is insane. Just the ones near the table. Look, we need this score. The rent is due and the safe house landlord does not accept exposure as payment for utilities. Bill thought about this for a moment. What about the piñata? Molly checked her watch. Secondary target. Focus on the wrapped boxes first. Do not touch the candy. Bill put the car in drive and checked the mirrors. Okay. But I am keeping the Lego sets for myself. Molly nodded once while shifting gears. Deal. Bill asked. Do we leave a note? Molly said. No. They will think it was the tooth fairy. Bill nodded. Fair enough. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of their declining criminal standards. Outside, a chorus of children began singing happy birthday, off-key and piercing through the metal walls. Molly watched them blow out the candles on the cake. The wish they made was probably for peace or a new bicycle with gears. Instead, they were going to get a burglary notification in the morning mail. She felt a twinge of something resembling shame, but it was quickly suppressed by the thought of paying her electric bill. Bill sighed and started the engine. The vehicle rumbled to life, shaking the dust off the hidden compartment beneath the floorboards. Molly checked her pistol. It was a water gun. Bill grinned. They drove forward. The mission was go.