Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5K9HJA48E94R2E7Y5K9KX

Molly leaned over the diner table, stirring her lukewarm coffee with a plastic straw. “Listen, Bill, I’ve got the perfect score. A low-risk, high-reward situation. Security’s lax, entry’s easy, and the haul? Untraceable.” Bill squinted at her, his bacon grease-stained fingers tapping the table. “You’re talking about the toy store again, aren’t you? I told you, the laser tag system’s too—” “No, you big dumb oaf,” Molly hissed, glancing around before lowering her voice. “The Benson twins’ birthday party. Saturday. Their parents rented out the whole community center.” Bill blinked. “You wanna rob a kid’s party?” “Not the party. The presents, Bill. Piles of ‘em. iPads, Lego sets, those creepy robot dogs that bark—no serial numbers, no tracking. Pure profit.” Bill scratched his stubble. “So we’re what? Dressing up as clowns?” “Clowns are creepy. No, we go in as caterers.” “We don’t know how to cater.” “Neither do most caterers,” Molly shot back. “You show up in a hairnet, and people just assume you’re supposed to be there. We schmooze, blend in, then load the gifts into a ‘supply van’ right out the back.” Bill frowned. “What about the kids? They’ll notice their presents vanishing.” “You’ve clearly never been to a kid’s party,” Molly smirked. “They’re hopped up on sugar and chaos. By the time they realize, we’re halfway to the buyer.” Bill leaned back, considering. “What’s the exit strategy if someone catches on?” Molly waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please. Worst case, we fake a food allergy. You start wheezing, I scream about gluten—every parent within five miles will panic and forget we exist.” A slow grin spread across Bill’s face. “Okay. But one condition.” “Name it.” “I get first pick of the loot.” Molly narrowed her eyes. “You just want that stupid drone from the TV ads, don’t you?” Bill’s cheeks flushed. “It’s got night vision!” Molly groaned. “Fine. But I’m keeping the robot dog.” “Why?” “Because it’s creepy,” Molly grinned. “Perfect for distracting the kids while we work.” Bill raised his coffee cup. “To the easiest heist in history.” Molly clinked hers against it. “And the most ridiculous.” As they plotted the finer details—napkins as blueprints, ketchup packets marking guard rotations—neither noticed the waitress refilling their cups, her eyebrow arched just slightly higher than before.