Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM62WHYY6E2KJ0CWDW2X3CB

The air in the derelict warehouse office was thick with the smell of stale coffee and poor life choices. Molly, her face illuminated by the blue glow of a tablet, traced a finger over a schematized backyard. Bill meticulously sharpened a throwing knife with a file, the *scritch-scritch* sound the only punctuation to her briefing. “Okay, final run-through,” Molly said, not looking up. “The target is a sixth birthday party for one ‘Lucas Henderson,’ son of tech mogul Richard Henderson. Saturday, 2 PM, at their Crestwood estate. Perimeter is a six-foot fence, but it’s decorative. The real issue is the guest list: twenty-four six-year-olds, hyped on sugar and superheroes.” Bill nodded, testing the knife’s edge against his thumb. “Loud. Unpredictable. Perfect cover. What’s the exfil?” “Chaos,” Molly said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Pinata time is at 3:30. We go in as ‘Sparkle the Clown’ and her assistant ‘Bungles.’ You’ll be handling the donkey-tail-pinning game. I’ll be doing balloon animals near the gift table, which will be under the big oak.” “Balloon animals? Moll, I thought we were professionals.” “A poodle sword is a professional tool if you use it right. At 3:28, you ‘accidentally’ spook the pony they’ve rented. It bolts, you give chase, yelling. The parents will be distracted. That’s my window. I collapse the tablecloth into a sack, presents and all, and toss the bundle over the fence into the azaleas.” Bill stopped sharpening. “You’re banking a lot on a panicky pony.” “It’s a Shetland named Toffee. I’ve been feeding him sugar cubes from the fence line for a week. He’ll bolt if you so much as sneeze. You retrieve the sack, load it into the clown car parked on Maple, and we meet at the rendezvous.” Bill leaned back, the chair groaning in protest. “And the loot? We’re hitting a kid’s party. Are we fencing Lego sets and action figures?” Molly zoomed in on the tablet. “Richard Henderson is paranoid about digital footprints. He buys physical. Rumor has it the big box is the new Hyper-Drive XJ gaming console. Not even on the market yet. The rest is just filler: designer clothes, some solid gold rattle he thinks is ironic, probably a few stock certificates in a shiny envelope. It’s a vanity haul for daddy. We’re just… redistributing his vanity.” “I still don’t like the clown makeup. It itches.” “It’s non-toxic and sweat-resistant. Your tragedy is noted.” Molly locked the tablet. “The real beauty is the cleanup. No one reports the theft until the party’s over. By then, Sparkle and Bungles are a melted memory, and we’re three states away counting gold-plated toy cars.” Bill sheathed his knife. “And if someone, say a particularly observant child, sees you?” Molly stood, stretching. “Then I give them a very special, very twisty balloon giraffe. They’ll be so mesmerized by its existential length, they’ll forget their own name.” She picked up a garish, rainbow-colored wig from a crate. “So. You ready to bring joy to children everywhere, Bungles?” Bill sighed, a long, suffering sound that spoke of diminished dignity. “The things I do for a next-gen console. Let’s go pack the confetti bombs.”