Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9BJK02TCVFMZ4QS96TGE5

Night settled over the suburb like a grey blanket that forgot to be warm. Molly scribbled on a dog-eared map, tracing routes between hedges and sprinklers with the precision of a bored cartographer. Bill investigated a backpack stuffed with dubious tools: a flashlight, a bag of marbles, and a unicycle horn that he swore could double as a signal flare. The plan, such as it was, centered on a children's party at the Pinecone Community Center, a bright explosion of balloons and cupcakes that would swamp any conscience with frosting. They spoke softly, as if the house next door might hear and report them to a committee of very stern grandmothers. Molly's voice had the cadence of a rumor, Bill's the roaring of a showroom demonstration, and together they hummed a lullaby about mischief, morale, and the possibility of getting away with something shiny and ridiculous. Outside, the street breathed with a weathered calm. A cat tested the edge of a fence and ignored them. Inside, Molly opened a battered folder labeled CONFIDENTIAL, which was mostly doodles and grocery lists. Bill printed a badge of their own invention on a neat rectangle of cardboard, proud of its factory-sealed aura. They rehearsed a mantra they thought sounded entrepreneurial: 'Make it look like a party, take only the laughter.' The room smelled faintly of peppermint and rain-soaked cardboard. Molly traced a route on the map with a chef's knife line of caution: hedges, fence gaps, the silent lull between a chorus of cheers and the moment a birthday candle forgot to be shy. Bill slurped tea that had clearly seen better kitchens and asked questions that sounded plausible to a silly brain lucky enough to be bribed by candy. Bill slipped the back door a centimeter and listened to the night bargain with its own kind of hush. The air tasted faintly of pine and soda. Molly checked her watch, which was a plastic toy that always ran late, and winked at the ceiling as if the ceiling were a co-conspirator in their ridiculous, harmless caper. The clock blinked, and they grinned. "Molly: If we crash this party, we crash with cupcakes and confetti." "Bill: We’ll blend in like glitter, and nobody suspects glitter." "Molly: The presents are basically begging for a teeny holiday." "Bill: Celebrating budget genius, we’ll take the largest stack of wrapping." "Molly: We practice the sneeze, so we don't alarm the cake." "Bill: A strategic sneeze buys time and reduces questions." "Molly: And if a kid cries, we'll blame a helium balloon." "Bill: Helium balloons can witness everything and forget nothing." "Molly: Remember, bring the decoy cake, and the crowd distracts." "Bill: I'll handle the decoy cake with heroic seriousness." "Molly: We move at the speed of a sugar rush." "Bill: Speed is good; timing is better; frosting is crucial." "Molly: If someone spots us, we pretend we're in a band." "Bill: A marching band of charitable misfits, deliciously ambiguous." "Molly: Okay, maybe not marching, but sound confident."