Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5K70FFYBRJJR7W06371GR

The warehouse loft smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Molly stared at the blueprint, a crude crayon drawing on the back of a pizza box. "It's a fortress, Bill. A sugar-fueled, helium-filled fortress." Bill adjusted his fake moustache, practicing. "Element of surprise. They'll be distracted by the clown. Clowns are terrifying. It’s the perfect cover." "Your clown is a raincoat and a red nose you stole from a reindeer decoration. You look less like a children's entertainer and more like a lurker who misses rain." "Semantics. The plan is sound. We arrive disguised as catering staff—the giant submarine sandwich delivery." Molly tapped the pizza-box blueprint. "The 'giant sub' is your van with a bread-shaped cardboard box taped to the hood. It barely fits in the driveway. And the 'catering' is one platter of cheese cubes we liberated from the supermarket sample lady." "High-value, low-profile. Now, the mark: the presents will be piled under the 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey' poster. Parents drink prosecco and talk about mortgages. They're complacent. The birthday boy, one 'Liam, Age 6', will be in a cake-coma by 3 PM. That's our window." "Our window is approximately seven minutes between the end of the magician and the start of the pony rides." Bill’s eyes gleamed. "Pony rides? You didn't mention equestrian backup." "It's a Shetland pony named Sparkles, Bill. It’s not a SWAT team. Focus. We enter through the side gate during the chaos of the piñata assault. You create a diversion." "The whoopie cushion on the lawn chair? Classic." "Think bigger. You release the three rented 'Jumping Jungle' inflatable penguins." "Release them? They're tethered!" "Exactly. You cause a tangle. A penguin-based logistical nightmare. While the adults are wrestling with deflating cartoon birds, I sweep the gift table. I’ve got the 'Santa's Sack'—a reinforced garbage bag with festive trim." Bill nodded, then frowned. "Egress? The sub-van is conspicuous." "We exit via the bounce house. I’ve pre-cut a subtle flap in the rear. We tumble out the back, into the neighbor's yard, and over the fence. The presents get tossed into the waiting wheelie bin, which you’ve retrofitted with a parachute for a soft landing in the alley." "A parachute? For a wheelie bin? That’s… actually not the worst idea you’ve had." "Thank you. The loot is mostly plastic and brightly colored. We fence it online as 'gently used, party atmosphere'." Bill sighed, a dreamy look on his face. "We're gonna be rich, Moll. Rich in battery-operated toys and poorly assembled action figures. What's the contingency if we're made?" Molly produced two small, sticky objects from her pocket. "We got out through the kitchen. I’ve procured our final disguises." She held them up: two brightly colored, foil-wrapped chocolate coins. "We tape them to our faces. Instant 'party favor pirates'. They'll just think we're part of the theme." Bill was silent for a long moment. He picked up the chocolate coin, peeling back the foil to take a thoughtful bite. "The beauty is in the simplicity. A crew of two, a mark of twenty sugared-up six-year-olds, and a exit strategy involving a bouncy castle. This is the big leagues, Moll." "It's a backyard in Suburbia, Bill." "Exactly. No one expects it." He stuck the remains of the chocolate to his forehead. "See? I'm already in character."