Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5SRHQZ4BGV5YTSSZ7X7MF

The warehouse loft smelled of dust and distant rain. Molly traced a finger over the blueprints, her expression grim. “It’s a hard target, Bill. Perimeter is a backyard fence. Guard rotation is two parents, likely sleep-deprived. Primary threat: twenty sugar-fueled four-year-olds.” Bill adjusted his black beanie. “So we go in quiet. I’ll create a diversion with a rogue piñata. You sweep the gift table.” “The payload is wrapped in loud, crinkly paper. Extracting it without alerting the tiny, screaming sentries is the issue.” “We’ll need a transport. Big red bag, maybe. Blends with the theme.” Molly snorted. “Santa’s gone bad. I don’t like it. The intel says the big gift is a ‘Talking Princess Celestial Unicorn.’ High-value, but it probably glows and sings.” “It’s the principle, Moll. The job’s the job.” Bill pointed at the schematic. “We hit during ‘Musical Chairs.’ Maximum chaos.” “And the exit?” “Same way we came in. Over the fence, through old Mrs. Henderson’s petunias.” Molly sighed, a sound of pure professional resignation. “Fine. But if I get glitter on me, I’m leaving you behind.”