Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5T28ZW7RZ00RV601T3GQF

Molly traced a pudgy finger across the crudely drawn map, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The ‘vault’ is here. Heavily guarded by a sugar-crazed six-year-old named Timmy.” Bill adjusted his black beanie, peering over her shoulder at the diagram of the suburban backyard. “The big guy? The one with the plastic sword?” “The very same. Our intel suggests he’s ruthless. Took down a piñata in three swings.” They were huddled in their ‘hideout’—a dusty garden shed smelling of fertilizer and regret. The plan was simple, audacious: infiltrate the birthday party of one Emily Peterson and liberate the mountain of brightly wrapped gifts currently sitting unattended near the inflatable slide. “Distraction?” Bill whispered, his voice tight. Molly held up a whoopee cushion. “I’ll create a diversion at the snack table. You go in, grab the loot, and exfiltrate via the bouncy castle. It’s foolproof.” Bill eyed the flimsy whoopee cushion with deep skepticism. “That’s the entire plan? A whoopee cushion?” “It’s a classic, Bill. Never fails.” He sighed, accepting his fate. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling your mother we’re here for the clown.”