Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5NJVQWD4XT5H8HZZG3FBH

The warehouse was drafty, the kind of place where even the rats wore tiny sweaters. Molly adjusted her ski mask—which, for the record, was *not* a fashion statement—and squinted at the blueprint spread across the rickety card table. Bill, meanwhile, was enthusiastically licking the last of the powdered sugar from a donut off his fingers. "You done?" Molly asked, eyeing the sticky mess. "Almost," Bill said, then sucked his thumb with a loud pop. "Okay, *now* I'm done." Molly sighed. "Focus. We’ve got a job to do. A *children’s party* job." Bill grinned. "Easiest score ever. Kids are terrible at security. Half of ‘em still believe in the Tooth Fairy." "That’s not the point," Molly said, jabbing a finger at the blueprint. "The point is, we’ve got a three-minute window between when the clown arrives and when the parents start paying attention again. That’s when we hit the gift table." Bill scratched his chin. "What if the clown’s a cop?" "Why would a cop be a clown?" "Undercover work," Bill said, nodding sagely. "They’re sneaky like that." Molly groaned. "Even if he *was* a cop—which he’s *not*—he’d be too busy making balloon poodles to notice us." Bill considered this. "Fair. But what about the kids? They’re like tiny, unpredictable drunk people. One of ‘em could start screaming just ‘cause we took their My Little Pony." "We’ll be in and out before they know what happened," Molly said. "Besides, kids that age have the attention span of a goldfish. Distract ‘em with a piñata, and they’ll forget their own names." Bill brightened. "Speaking of piñatas—you think there’ll be candy?" Molly shot him a look. "We’re not here for candy, Bill. We’re here for the loot. The *presents*." "Yeah, but if there’s candy *on the way* to the presents—" "*No.*" Bill slumped. "You’re no fun." Molly rolled up the blueprint. "Fun doesn’t pay the rent. Now, you got your Santa suit?" Bill held up a wrinkled red costume with a white beard stapled to it. "Voilà." Molly blinked. "That beard looks like it’s been chewed by a goat." "It’s *rustic*," Bill said defensively. "Authentic Santa vibes." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just… try not to get recognized." Bill saluted. "Don’t worry. I’ve got a foolproof disguise." "You’re wearing the same shoes as last time." Bill looked down. "Dang it." Molly tossed him a pair of oversized elf slippers. "Wear these. And remember—three minutes. No clown distractions, no candy detours. Just grab the gifts and go." Bill sighed, stuffing his feet into the slippers. "Fine. But if there’s a pony in one of those boxes, I’m keeping it." Molly didn’t argue. Some battles weren’t worth fighting.