Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKB67CK0TFWQ9SCE54Q2ZBD

Molly crouched behind the inflatable castle, her black hoodie dusted with glitter from some earlier, less successful crime. Bill knelt beside her, clutching a crumpled party flyer like it was a blueprint to Fort Knox for toddlers. Beyond the plastic drawbridge, the backyard pulsed with shrieks, balloons, and frosting. Parents huddled near the grill, distracted by smoke and existential exhaustion. The gift table, however, stood majestically alone, groaning under neon wrapping paper and the naïve generosity of relatives who’d never met a sugar crash. "Focus, Bill, they're six-year-olds, not dragons," Molly whispered. Bill’s eyes stayed glued to a unicorn piñata swaying ominously from a tree branch. "Six-year-olds have stickiness," Bill muttered. He wiped imaginary jam from his gloves. Somewhere, a child began crying with the raw power of a malfunctioning fire alarm. "Relax; we wear black, we're invisible to sugar-highs," Molly said. She unfolded her own diagram, a lovingly annotated sketch of the backyard, including the sprinkler’s death zone and the clown’s probable blast radius. "That's your theory." Bill gulped. A cupcake flew past and splattered nearby. Molly blinked, recalculating. She silently corrected the plan; clearly, they were robbing a war zone with frosting artillery. The operation was only beginning.