Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1S9851FD57TGWYF5CJEF5

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned warehouse, masking the sound of Bill's nervous pacing. He adjusted his black balaclava, which was currently slipping over one eye, giving him the appearance of a confused pirate. Molly sat on an overturned crate, sharpening a butter knife she had insists was tactical gear. "We are professionals," Molly said, her voice low and serious. "We do not panic." "I am not panicking," Bill replied, tripping over a loose cable. "I am merely expressing concern about the target demographic." Molly stopped sharpening the knife and looked up. "It is a birthday party, Bill. For six-year-olds. What could possibly go wrong?" "Everything," Bill whispered dramatically. "Have you ever tried to sneak past a room full of sugar-crazed toddlers? They have eyes in the back of their heads. They sense fear. They smell weakness." "They are eating cake," Molly countered. "They will be distracted by frosting and balloons. We go in, we grab the pile of wrapped boxes under the tree, and we leave before the clown finishes his balloon animal routine." "The clown," Bill said, shuddering. "That is another variable. Clowns are unpredictable. What if he sees us? What if he tries to perform a magic trick on us?" "Then we run," Molly said simply. "But think of the haul, Bill. Lego sets. Remote control cars. Those limited edition dolls that cost more than my rent. We could retire after this one job." Bill paused, considering the money. "Okay, but what about the parents? There will be adults there. Drinking punch. Watching everything." "They will be drunk on cheap wine and exhausted from wrapping paper," Molly explained. "They won't notice two shadows slipping out the back door with a sack full of toys. It is the perfect crime." "The perfect crime involves no glitter," Bill muttered. "Glitter gets everywhere. It is the herpes of craft supplies. If we get glitter on our gear, we are ruined." "You are overthinking this," Molly said, standing up and slinging a large duffel bag over her shoulder. "Here is the plan. We enter through the side window near the bathroom. We avoid the main hall. We grab the presents from the hallway table where they usually stack them before the opening ceremony." "And if a child catches us?" Bill asked, his voice trembling slightly. Molly paused at the door, her hand on the handle. "Then you use the distraction technique we practiced." "The fainting?" Bill asked hopefully. "No," Molly said. "You offer them a piece of candy and tell them you are a special guest magician sent by the birthday boy's uncle. It works every time. Kids believe anything if you mention magic or free sugar." Bill took a deep breath, pulling his mask down properly this time. "Okay. Magic and sugar. I can do that. But if I get hugged by a sticky child, I am blaming you." "Less talking, more stealing," Molly said, opening the door to the rainy night. "Let's go make some children very sad tomorrow morning." "This feels wrong," Bill whispered as he followed her out into the dark. "It feels like retirement," Molly corrected, sprinting toward the waiting van. "Now drive. Operation Tiny Treasure starts now."