Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5R3WY33RKH667J3ERDHAV

Molly squinted at the childish map, a crude drawing of a suburban backyard dubbed “The Compound.” Bill, beside her in their stolen panel van, adjusted his black ski mask despite the summer heat. "The 'Loot Depot' is here, by the bouncy castle," she muttered, tapping a crayoned 'X'. The plan was simple, but fraught with unseen variables. The primary obstacle, besides a legion of sugar-fueled seven-year-olds, was "The Beast"—a drooling, easily bribed Saint Bernard named Butterscotch. Their entry point was the side gate, conveniently left ajar by arriving pizza delivery. Bill’s job was to create a diversion involving three whoopee cushions and a confetti cannon repurposed from a retirement home heist. Molly, smaller and quicker, would sweep the gift table, piling booty into a sack disguised as a piñata. Bill shifted nervously. "The noise… it’s a tactical risk." Molly didn’t look up. "It’s a birthday party, Bill. They’ll just think it’s part of the act." She finally stowed the map, her expression grave. "Remember, we’re in and out in ninety seconds. Maximum stealth. We avoid the clown at all costs. I don't trust his painted smile." They shared a tense nod. To an outsider, it was a ridiculous mission. To them, it was just another score, albeit one that likely contained more Lego sets than diamonds. The van door slid open with a quiet sigh. Showtime.