Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5YG43RK26TNKXZWKQYJKN

The air in the cramped van was thick with the smell of stale coffee and desperation. Molly, a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper ponytail, tapped a well-manicured nail against a grainy photograph. “It’s a hard target, Bill. The most fortified location known to man.” Bill, a mountain of a man crammed into a floral print shirt, squinted at the photo. “Is that a bouncy castle?” “It’s a perimeter defense system,” Molly corrected, her voice low. “Designed to disorient and exhaust. The mark’s inside. Seven years old. Name’s ‘Aiden’, but the intel suggests he might answer to ‘Lightning McQueen’.” Bill rubbed his chin. “Right. Access points?” “Front door is a no-go. Heavily monitored by parental units. Standard distraction techniques—mention of a gluten-free diet or a vague acquaintance from prenatal yoga—will only buy us ninety seconds, max.” She slid another photo across the sticky console. “Our best bet is the rear garden. There’s a hedge. We go over.” “A hedge? Molly, my love, my darling, the light of my heisty life, I haven’t ‘gone over’ a hedge since the Cornwall Job of ’09. You remember the hedge. My floral print has never recovered.” “This isn’t about your shirt, Bill. This is about the payload. The presents, Bill. Piles of them. Unwrapped, unguarded, just sitting in a brightly coloured pile of opportunity. We’re talking the latest toddler-tech, premium plastic, limited-edition action figures still in their cardboard prisons.” “What’s the extraction plan?” Bill asked, a glint in his eye. “We can’t just waltz out with a giant stuffed unicorn.” “Disguise,” Molly said, producing two horrifically bright orange vests from a duffel bag. “We inflate the balloons, we put these on. ‘Party Ops’. We become part of the scenery. Nobody questions a person in a high-vis vest holding a balloon. It’s a universal truth.” Bill held up his vest. It had a poorly embroidered patch of a smiling cupcake. “This is our cover? We look like deranged confectionary enthusiasts.” “It’s genius! We blend with the hired help. We’ll use a decoy.” She held up a massive, wobbly bowl of bright green jelly. “The Jelly Gambit. I cause a minor incident near the bouncy castle—a spillage. The chaos will be immense. Tears, recriminations, a full-scale sanitary operation. That’s your window. You grab the loot and proceed to the primary exit.” “Which is?” “The slide.” Bill stared at her. “The children’s play slide?” “It’s the only way out that isn’t covered in glitter and tears. You slide into the neighbour’s garden, I meet you with the van. We’re in and out in five minutes. A clean, silent job.” “Silent? Molly, there will be twenty seven-year-olds hopped up on E-numbers. Nothing about this will be silent.” “Then we’ll be the silent part in the middle of the noise!” she insisted. “This is our masterpiece, Bill. The Party Crasher Job. They’ll write legends about us. Now, are you in, or do I have to go partner with that guy from the pub who says he’s excellent with dogs?” Bill sighed, looking from the jelly to the cupcake vest. He picked it up. “Fine. But if I get glitter in my hair, I’m not responsible for my actions.” Molly grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s synchronise watches. Operation Sugar Rush is a go.”