Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM60TXZAPP1NK169CXR6Y2B

The dimly lit basement smelled of mildew and old pizza boxes. Molly tapped a pencil against a crumpled piece of paper labeled *Operation Toy Grab*. Bill leaned back in a rickety chair, chewing gum with the intensity of a man who had just discovered flavor. “So,” Molly began, “the target’s a kid’s birthday party. Six-year-old Timmy. Theme: pirates. Cake shaped like a treasure chest. Sounds adorable, right?” Bill popped a bubble. “Adorable? Molly, we’re not here to critique their party-planning skills. We’re here to rob them.” “Exactly.” Molly pointed to the map. “The presents will be stacked near the cake table. That’s our gold mine. All we need is a distraction.” Bill frowned. “What kind of distraction? Balloon animals? Clown noses? I’m not wearing a wig, Molly.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Relax, Bill. No wigs. We’re going in as caterers. You’ll handle the drinks; I’ll handle the cake. When the time’s right, I’ll fake a cake collapse. Chaos ensues. You grab the presents. Easy.” Bill raised an eyebrow. “A cake collapse? That’s your master plan? What if the cake doesn’t collapse?” Molly smirked. “Oh, it’ll collapse. I’ll make sure of it. I’ve got a buttercream recipe that’s basically structural sabotage.” Bill shook his head. “You’re a menace. What if someone catches me hauling a pile of gifts out the door?” “You’ll say you’re moving them to a ‘safe location’ because of the cake disaster,” Molly replied without missing a beat. “Parents love safety. They’ll eat it up.” Bill crossed his arms. “What if Timmy’s dad is a cop? Or worse, a lawyer?” Molly shrugged. “Then we’ll say we’re from the toy company and we’re recalling defective gifts. Everyone hates recalls.” Bill groaned. “This is insane. We’re stealing toys from a kid’s party. What’s next? Robbing a lemonade stand?” “Don’t knock lemonade stands,” Molly said, wagging her pencil. “Those kids are sitting on a goldmine. But focus, Bill. This is about the presents. The loot. The shiny, wrapped booty.” Bill leaned forward. “Alright, say we pull this off. How do we even carry all the presents? There’s gotta be, what, twenty of them?” Molly grinned and pulled out a drawing of a makeshift sled. “We’ll rig up a sled with wheels. Attach it to your belt. You pull, I’ll push. We’ll be in and out before anyone notices.” Bill stared at her. “A sled? Molly, we’re not Santa Claus.” “No,” Molly said, folding her arms triumphantly. “We’re better. Santa brings toys. We take them.” Bill sighed, chewing his gum harder. “You know, when I got into this life, I pictured robbing banks, jewelry stores—big scores. Not a pirate-themed birthday party.” Molly patted his shoulder. “Every master thief starts small, Bill. This is our training wheels. Besides, think of the resale value. Toys are practically currency.” Bill muttered, “I hope Timmy gets socks.” Molly stood, clapping her hands. “Positive thinking, Bill. Now, let’s rehearse the cake collapse. You’ll be the cake; I’ll be gravity.” Bill groaned again but stood up. “If this goes sideways, I’m blaming you.” Molly grinned. “And if it works, we’ll be legends. The Robin Hoods of the toy underworld.” Bill rolled his eyes. “More like the Grinches of preschool.” Molly laughed. “Same difference. Now, let’s go steal ourselves a treasure chest.”