Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9TDRP77196105JY0ZNE95

The balloons bobbed against the hall ceiling as Molly and Bill crouched behind the recycling bins, studying the streamers and paper crowns like blueprints. From inside, a chorus of sugarcharged shrieks rattled the windows. Confetti already peppered the grass, evidence of an ongoing crime against upholstery. Molly balanced a dogeared notebook on her knee, diagrams of cake tables and gift pyramids scrawled in three colors of pen. Bill peered over the lid of the bin like a meerkat in a discount balaclava, which was actually a repurposed spider-man mask. Somewhere nearby, a clown honked mournfully, as if sensing incoming doom. "We're really about to knock over a birthday party, Bill?" "Relax, Molly; they're amateurs with wrapping paper, we're professionals with bags." "Professionals don't get taken down by a piñata shaped like a unicorn." "That unicorn is our cover; while they beat candy out, we extract presents." "And when a toddler tackles you for touching his LEGO, then what's plan B?" "Plan B is scream, 'Clown emergency,' point vaguely, and let chaos do overtime." "Fine, but I'm not getting frosting on the gloves again; last job reeked." "Deal; you grab the bright stuff, I'll handle subtle items like cash envelopes quietly."