Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5GP04Q1WMR0RJF1HXP9W2

The warehouse smelled of desperation and damp concrete. Bill, a man whose face was a roadmap of bad decisions, tapped a grimy finger on a child’s crayon drawing of a bouncy castle. “See? The perimeter is soft. No watchmen, just a dad in a novelty apron who’ll be three beers deep by noon.” Molly polished her lockpicks with a silk cloth, her expression one of profound disappointment. “Bill, we once liberated the Star of Mumbai from a pressure-sensitive vault suspended over a shark tank.” “And this is better!” Bill insisted, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. “The security is nonexistent. The getaway vehicle is a brightly coloured bouncy castle deflator van. We’ll be invisible.” “We’re planning a felony at a six-year-old’s birthday party, Bill. The only thing we’ll be is ashamed.” She sighed, looking at the schematic Bill had ‘procured’—a stolen invitation with a hand-drawn map on the back. “What’s the actual play here? We incapacitate the clown?” “Clowns are a myth, Molly. A distraction for the weak. The real mark is the ‘Present Table’. It’s a goldmine of unregulated, untraceable merchandise. Lego sets, action figures, those plastic ponies with the brushable hair…” “We’re fencing brushable-hair ponies to a guy named ‘The Weasel’?” Molly asked, her voice flat. “What’s the split? Sixty-forty of the giggles and cheer?” “Seventy-thirty,” Bill said, missing the sarcasm entirely. “And I get first pick of the Nerf guns. Look, the chaos is the key. Pin the Tail on the Donkey is a strategic nightmare. Blindfolded children stumbling around? It’s the perfect smokescreen.” Molly massaged her temples. “And the extraction? Do we just stuff a pile of wrapped boxes into a sack like some jolly, felonious Santa?” “I was thinking more of a coordinated play,” Bill said, puffing out his chest. “You create a diversion. Maybe ‘lose’ a pet hamster.” “I am not sourcing a diversionary rodent, Bill.” “Fine, a goldfish then! Lower maintenance. While the parents are cooing over a bowl, I swoop in, clear the table, and we’re out through the side gate. It’s clean. It’s elegant.” “It’s a path of destruction through a piñata and a cake shaped like a unicorn,” Molly stated. She looked from Bill’s earnest, delusional face to the crayon map. A part of her, a part she wasn’t proud of, was intrigued. It was so stupid it was almost brilliant. The sheer audacity. The absolute rock-bottom of their criminal careers. “Think of the payoff, Moll,” Bill whispered, his eyes gleaming. “No lasers, no pressure plates. Just a single, flimsy piece of tape that says ‘PRESENTS’.” She was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant drip of water. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “The tape,” she said. “That’s the real mark. That’s the symbol of their false security. We take the tape, too.” Bill’s face lit up. “That’s my girl! We’ll frame it!” “We’ll burn it,” Molly corrected, her professional pride finally, tragically, engaging with the operation. “Okay. The diversion isn’t a hamster. It’s a controversy over the rules of musical chairs. I can start a mutiny in the under-seven demographic in under thirty seconds.” Bill clapped his hands together. “Now you’re thinking like a criminal! A beautiful, beautiful criminal.” He grabbed the crayon map. “Let’s go over the entry point again. I’m thinking we scale the inflatable slide.”