Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM63DX726CCHZ0BNF56SH8V

The warehouse was drafty, the kind of place where even the rats wore tiny sweaters. Molly tapped her foot against a crate labeled *Fragile: Probably Just More Cardboard*, while Bill squinted at a hand-drawn map of the party venue—a sprawling mansion owned by the city’s most insufferable toy magnate, Reginald P. Twinkle. "You sure this is the right place?" Molly asked, flicking a cobweb off her sleeve. Bill grinned. "Positive. Twinkle’s annual ‘Kiddie Extravaganza’ is tomorrow. Every spoiled brat in town will be there, and so will their presents." Molly sighed. "Breaking into a children’s party feels… low." "Low? Molly, this is *artistry*. We’re not stealing from kids—we’re stealing from *parents* who buy their kids too much junk." She rolled her eyes. "Fine. What’s the plan?" Bill spread the map wide, revealing a maze of ball pits, bouncy castles, and a suspiciously large area labeled *Cotton Candy Cannon Zone*. "We go in disguised as clowns—" "Clowns?" Molly groaned. "—because no one looks at clowns twice. Too scary. We blend in, load the presents into a piñata-shaped getaway vehicle, and vanish before anyone notices." Molly stared. "You built a piñata-shaped car?" "It’s a *truck*. And yes." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What’s the catch?" Bill hesitated. "Well… Twinkle hired a security detail. Former circus performers." "Of course he did." "But!" Bill held up a finger. "They’re allergic to confetti. One good blast from a confetti cannon, and they’ll be too busy sneezing to stop us." Molly considered this. "You’re an idiot." "A *brilliant* idiot." She sighed again, deeper this time. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling everyone this was your idea." Bill clapped his hands. "Deal! Now, let’s practice our clown laughs." Molly deadpanned. "No." "Come on! A good heist needs chemistry!" She glared. "The only chemistry here is the kind that’ll explode in our faces." Bill ignored her, launching into a wheezing, over-the-top cackle that echoed through the warehouse. Somewhere, a pigeon took off in panic. Molly massaged her temples. "We’re doomed." "Nonsense!" Bill slapped her on the back. "By this time tomorrow, we’ll be rolling in loot. And by loot, I mean action figures and those weird jelly shoes kids love." Molly muttered, "I hate my life." Bill grinned. "No, you hate *boring* heists. This? This is legendary." She didn’t argue. Mostly because she knew he was right.