Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVP3CYTPFMS2S65DT3RK637

Molly slapped the stolen blueprint flat onto the sticky surface of their diner table. It was a complex tactical map of the neighborhood community center, drawn entirely in smudged purple crayon upon a paper placemat. Her burly partner leaned forward, staring blankly at the waxy schematic. "The target is turning seven," Molly said, tapping a poorly rendered stick figure wearing a paper crown. "The perimeter is guarded by two depressed clowns and a petting zoo animal. A goat, I think." Bill leaned his massive frame over the crumpled placemat, squinting fiercely at the chaotic purple wax lines. He rubbed his prominently squared chin with thick calloused fingers and sighed heavily, looking extremely unenthusiastic about the impending operation. "Why are we hitting a birthday party?" Bill asked. "I thought we were professionals. I brought my lockpicks." "Professionals adapt," Molly explained. "Do you know how many unactivated gift cards are neglected in that pile? It is an untapped goldmine." Bill picked up a cold french fry and used it to point at a large wobbly square on the map. "What is this sector here?" Bill asked. "That is the bounce house," Molly whispered sharply, craning her neck to scan the nearly empty diner for any potential eavesdroppers or undercover police officers. "We strike at exactly three o'clock when the fondant cake is brought out. Everyone will be focused on the birthday frosting." "I do not like bounce houses," Bill muttered miserably, dropping the greasy french fry onto the table surface in complete defeat. "I get terrible motion sickness. Static electricity ruins my hair." Molly grabbed the cold forgotten fry and ate it. She pulled a heavy silver stopwatch from her trench coat and set it carefully on the table. "You will not be bouncing," Molly said. "You are on perimeter duty. I will infiltrate the synthetic ball pit, snatch the loot, and toss the packages over the netting." "What if the goat spots me?" Bill asked, his voice trembling slightly. "I heard terrible things about goats. They eat tin cans, Molly. They feel no pity." "You are a terrifying giant of a man," Molly scoffed. "Just stare the beast down. Or simply offer it a balloon sword." "I cannot make balloon swords," Bill said defensively. "You know my hands are far too meaty for delicate latex work." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. Designing the perfect crime was truly exhausting work, especially when her accomplice possessed the nervous system of an elderly chihuahua. "I will provide a fully inflated decoy," Molly promised. "Now, please rehearse the extraction code with me." Bill closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on the plan. "The paper zebra has ruptured," Bill recited slowly. "The juice boxes are secure. Also, start the minivan." "Perfect," Molly smiled, rolling up the crayon map. "We breach the inflatable perimeter at exactly two fifteen. Do not forget your festive party hat." "Spiderman or the heroic cartoon rescue dogs?" Bill asked seriously. "The dogs," Molly calmly replied. "We must blend in completely."