Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5VDH3AP832VM2HG21MK7D

Molly and Bill huddled over a scribbled map of the suburban cul-de-sac, the air thick with the scent of cheap coffee and desperation. The target: a six-year-old’s birthday party, a fortress of joy guarded by overly enthusiastic parents and a hyperactive poodle. Molly pointed a gloved finger at the back gate. “Balloon distraction?” she whispered. Bill shook his head. “Too risky. The dog.” He proposed the “Santa’s Early Helper” ruse, involving a red suit and fake beard. Molly vetoed it; Bill was allergic to polyester. “You’ll sneeze us into jail,” she said. Bill rubbed his chin. “Piñata smash? Create diversion.” “Too loud,” Molly countered. “Think quiet.” Their debate was interrupted by distant children’s screams, a sound that made Bill flinch. He always preferred the quiet of a museum heist. Finally, they settled on the simplest plan: wait for cake chaos, when all adults would be glued to phones documenting the sugary mess. They would slip in through the side window, laden with gifts, and vanish before the first tear was shed over a popped balloon. It was a perfectly criminal operation. The audacity filled them with peculiar pride. They were professionals, after all, even if their loot would consist of stuffed animals and plastic dinosaurs. They checked their tools: walkie-talkies, sacks labeled “TOYS,” and earplugs. Molly adjusted her black beanie; Bill practiced his “innocent bystander” face, which mostly looked constipated. The clock struck two. The party music blared a tinny cartoon theme. It was the perfect cover for their approach. They shared a nod, a silent pact of larcenous intent. Time for the most adorable heist in history.