Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7J7PAHCWFBXDQB72HK6X5

The aroma of sugar cookies and existential dread hung thick in Molly’s tiny apartment. Bill, draped across her threadbare sofa like a discarded Santa sack, was meticulously studying a flyer. It depicted a shockingly cheerful group of children, bouncing on trampolines and wielding plastic swords. “Operation Sugar Rush,” he mumbled, circling the address in red marker. “You still think this is a good idea, Bill?” Molly asked, stirring sugar into her lukewarm tea. “Stealing presents from children? Even for us, that’s… ambitious, isn't it?” Bill looked up, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing mixture of excitement and caffeine. “Ambitious is what we do, Molly. Think about it! A room full of easily distracted, sugar-fueled tiny humans, hordes of brightly wrapped boxes… minimal security. It’s practically begging to be robbed.” “Begging to be robbed by two grown adults who probably should have retired from petty crime years ago,” Molly retorted, taking a sip of her tea. “And what’s the plan? We dress as clowns? Giant inflatable kangaroos?” “No, no,” Bill dismissed, waving his hand dismissively. "Too obvious. We go subtle. Think… parents. Disgruntled parents. We’ll blend." “Blend? We look like we haven’t slept in three days and subsist entirely on instant noodles.” Molly gestured to his rumpled attire – stained sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt. “Details, details!” Bill hopped up, energy suddenly surging through him. "I’ll get some… chinos. And maybe a polo shirt. Something vaguely respectable. You can work the ‘concerned aunt’ angle. Feign an excess of familial obligation." "And how exactly do I 'feign an excess of familial obligation' when I’ve got more experience convincing squirrels to share their nuts?" “Improvisation, Molly, improvisation! Think worried eyebrows, lots of nodding, the occasional ‘Oh, little Timmy’s been *so* under the weather lately…’" Bill demonstrated, contorting his face into a grotesque imitation of a concerned relative. Molly winced. “You look like you’re having a stroke.” “It’s a work in progress,” Bill conceded, puffing slightly. "The key is the distraction. While I'm subtly assessing the lay of the land, you create a diversion. Something… big.” “Like what? Setting off the sprinklers? Releasing a flock of pigeons?” “Something… theatrical,” Bill replied, stroking his chin. “Perhaps a well-timed dramatic fainting spell? Or maybe a passionate argument about the merits of gluten-free cake?” Molly stared at him. “You want me to fake a fainting spell? Or argue about cake? Bill, are you entirely sure you’re alright?” Bill shrugged, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Hey, it’s a party! It’s all about the entertainment, right? And who knows, maybe we’ll even get a piece of cake afterward.”