Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK98HGFWH33KQ2KD1YEYQGM

The van reeked of bubblegum and tactical genius, which in Molly’s world were synonymous. She unfolded a hand-drawn blueprint of the community center, annotated with frosting stains and arrows labeled cake wind. Bill wiped sprinkles off a pair of black gloves and peered through binoculars at a banner across the street. It read HAPPY FIFTH, a threat level she ranked orange. Neighbors drifted in carrying packages wrapped like small bribes to chaos. A bouncy castle heaved in the yard like a beached lung. "Okay, Bill, this caper involves balloons, cake, stealth, and unprecedented levels of politeness from us." She capped a marker with her teeth and circled the gift table twice as if summoning it. "I brought a glitter bomb, three party hats, and an apology note pre-signed sincerely already." He kept inventory the way romantics counted sighs. Three hats, one glitter device, duct tape patterned with dinosaurs, and the apology card, which had tiny balloons apologizing too. "Our entrance window is clown time, right after magic tricks, before the sugar crashes hit." Through the windshield, a magician practiced palming scarves, accidentally palming a sandwich, then bowing to a disappointed shrub. The DJ tested a playlist of songs that weaponized enthusiasm. Parents arranged cupcakes into a barricade shaped like a number five. Molly timed the procession of arriving strollers the way burglars time laser grids. "I practiced walking like a disappointed balloon, so cameras think I'm festive yet defeated today." His rehearsal drew a sigh from the van’s inflatable flamingo, procurement gone awry from last job’s pool party escape. Molly refused to remove it, calling the bird operational decor. "We blend with parents, nod seriously at finger paintings, then gently liberate the gift mountain." She had a timetable sketched in crayon because crayon did not arouse suspicion at family events. Entry under cover of exaggerated nodding. Extraction via rolling tote disguised as a recycling bin of goodwill. Rendezvous point: the tree shaped like a broccoli stalk. "What if a toddler interrogates us with frosting? My poker face melts faster than butter." Bill dabbed his forehead with a napkin that said YOU’RE INVITED in festive fonts. He had a history of folding during interrogations conducted by beings under three feet tall. Molly had trained him to withstand sticker onslaughts, but frosting remained his Waterloo. "Offer a decoy ribbon, compliment their shoes, and pivot conversationally toward dinosaur ethics in preschool." She produced the decoy ribbon, a shimmering serpent meant to distract any small philosopher. It coiled around her wrist, winking like an accomplice. In the margins of her plan, she’d written RULE ONE: SAY PLEASE WHILE STEALING. "I still think we should rent a bouncy castle getaway car, purely for morale reasons." She vetoed bounce logistics, tapping the wheel. Attention was enemy number one. Grape juice was two. Grape juice remembered everything. "No engines, Bill; bouncing produces surveillance angles. We exit like confetti: everywhere, yet uncatchable tonight." "Fine, but I refuse to wear the unicorn horn again; it attracts aggressive hugs apparently."