Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5FARP3VJKV65ZCFBE22DV

The van smelled of old fast food and desperation. Molly tapped the blueprints spread over the steering wheel, her brow furrowed. "Okay, listen. The target is a seven-year-old named Timmy. His party is at 2 PM, at the community rec center." Bill peered at the schematics, a half-eaten jelly donut in his hand. "Rec center? That's a fortress. I saw a kid wipe out on a juice spill last week. Security is a nightmare." "Focus, Bill. The presents will be piled near the inflatable dragon slide. Our window is during the 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' chaos. That’s when all parental visual units are diverted." Bill squinted. "What's the extraction plan? We gonna stuff a piñata and run?" Molly sighed, a long-suffering sound. "No. We pose as entertainers. You're 'Bouncing Billy,' the clumsy clown. I'll be the party coordinator, 'Miss Mimsy.' My job is to herd the tiny witnesses. Your job is to create a diversion." "A diversion? I'm not setting anything on fire near a bouncy castle, Moll. The ethics..." "Not a fire! A confetti incident. A *big* one. You'll trip, your oversized shoes will get tangled, and the confetti cannon you're supposedly carrying for the grand finale will go off prematurely. The room will be a glittery blizzard. That’s my cue to efficiently relocate the gift pile to our rolling gift bag, which just looks like a festive trash can." Bill considered this, brushing powdered sugar from his shirt. "What about the cake? Do we neutralize the cake?" "Why would we touch the cake?" "Because it's a focal point! A three-tier chocolate fortress guarded by a sugarpaste dinosaur. It’s a command center. We need to ensure it doesn't become a rallying point for the tiny guests." Molly stared at him. "The cake is not the mission. The presents are the mission. You avoid the cake. In fact, you are to maintain a ten-foot perimeter from the cake at all times. Your clown shoes are a cake-hazard." "Fine, fine. Cake is a no-go zone." He studied the blueprint again. "What’s our exit strategy? We just walk out with a bag of loot during a toddler mosh pit?" "We use the chaos. After the confetti blast, I signal you. You begin a 'soggy clown' routine, claiming the confetti made you allergic. You run weeping for the 'clown car,' which is this van. I follow, apologetically, saying I need to get your spare nose. We load the bag and we're gone before they even cut the cake." Bill was silent for a moment. "It's a solid plan. But what about the moral weight? Stealing from children, Moll. These are Legos and plush unicorns we're talking about. The psychological scarring..." "We're not stealing *from* children, Bill. We're stealing from *adults* who gave the children too much stuff. We're practically performing a societal service. And we're fencing it all to that guy who sells stuff at the flea market. It'll be redistributed." "So we're... Robin Hood, but for questionable merchandise?" "Exactly. Now, do you remember your safe word if things get too intense?" Bill nodded solemnly. "Yes. If I feel the pressure is too much, I yell 'I need to find a bathroom that's not terrifying.'" "Perfect. Let's go over the clown shoes one more time. The left one unties with a single pull. That's your confetti trigger." She looked at him, his face smeared with jelly. "And for the love of all that is holy, try to look less like a man who just robbed a bakery." "You said to get into character!" he protested.