Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP10S7FQ2G80K8Y6XSZGMW

Molly adjusted her binoculars, staring through the van windshield at the inflatable castle. "The target is heavily fortified by a perimeter of toddlers." She lowered the lenses and glared at her partner. "We need a tactical insertion plan." Bill wiped powdered sugar from his chin and crinkled a bakery wrapper. "I still think we should just walk in through the front door." He pointed a chubby finger toward the manicured lawn. "It is a birthday party for a seven year old. They are literally letting anyone inside if they bring a gift." Molly slapped the dashboard, sending dust into the stale air. "That is exactly what they want you to think, William. It is a trap." She pulled a blueprint from her jacket and spread it over the steering wheel. "Look at the layout. The primary payload is located atop the dining table, guarded by a clown making balloon animals. If we just breach the kitchen door, we bypass the parent supervision zone entirely." Bill squinted at the diagram, trying to decipher the erratic red circles Molly had drawn all over the paper. He reached for a thermos, unscrewed the plastic lid, and poured himself a steaming cup of awful coffee. Reclining backward in his torn fabric seat, he sighed heavily. "Molly, the clown is named Jingles. I hired him." Molly froze, her finger hovering over a crude sketch of a piñata. She turned her head slowly, fixing him with an expression of pure, deep horror. "You compromised our inside man? Did you pay him out of the syndicate fund?" Bill took a loud, wet sip from his plastic cup. "I paid him fifty bucks and half a ham sandwich. He is going to drop his juggling clubs at exactly three in the afternoon. When the parents look away, we grab the mountain of wrapped boxes." Examining the suburban fortress again, Molly chewed her bottom lip. The volume of colorful paper waiting inside was enough to fence for a small fortune at the playground black market. She nodded in reluctant approval, folding the crumpled blueprint and stuffing it away. "Fine. A distraction protocol is acceptable. But what about the localized security system?" Bill burped quietly, shifting his very considerable weight. "They have a security system?" Molly gestured wildly toward a golden retriever sleeping peacefully on the front porch. The animal twitched its paws, dreaming of tennis balls. "The biological alarm unit! If that beast barks, every soccer mom within a three mile radius will swarm us. We do not have the firepower for angry mothers." Digging into his deep coat pockets, Bill produced a slightly squished tube of ground beef. He slapped it triumphantly onto the center console, grinning like a mastermind. "I already anticipated the dog. We deploy the meat tube. He eats, we sweep the loot into the garbage bags, and we vanish into the afternoon shadows before they even cut the chocolate cake. We will be very rich, Molly, and no one gets hurt over this dessert."