Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7PZGA9KYDP52YJ6YSW283

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, blueprints of the upscale backyard party venue spread out like a treasure map. Bill paced behind her, gnawing on a stale pretzel, his eyes wild with the kind of greed that only comes from eyeing holiday specials on kids' toys. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, tapping the diagram with a manicured nail. "The Anderson family's throwing this monster bash for their spoiled brat's tenth birthday. Two hundred kids, piñata the size of a Buick, and a present pile taller than me. We're talking Xboxes, bikes, drones—easy resale for thousands." Bill stopped pacing and leaned in, crumbs tumbling onto the paper. "Sounds like a goldmine, Mol. But kids? Screaming, sticky-fingered rugrats everywhere? We'll need disguises. What if we go as clowns? Red noses, big shoes—nobody suspects the entertainment." Molly snorted, sketching a quick route on the blueprint. "Clowns? Brilliant. Until some snot-nosed terror yanks off your wig and screams 'thief!' No, we pose as the caterers. I've got fake mustaches and aprons from that last gig. We slip in through the service gate at 2 PM, when the cake-cutting chaos hits peak volume." "Service gate's got a lock," Bill countered, grabbing a marker to circle it. "Remember the zoo heist? Picked that in ten seconds. But what about the parents? Those helicopter moms will swarm us like bees on a soda can." "Exactly," Molly grinned, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We load the van with 'refreshments'—empty crates disguised as snack hauls. Fill 'em with presents while the kids are distracted by the magician. Poof—abracadabra, our loot vanishes." Bill chuckled, but his brow furrowed. "Magician's the wildcard. What if he pulls a rabbit out of his hat and it hops right into our van? Or worse, makes us disappear—for real?" Molly rolled her eyes, shoving the pretzel bag at him. "Stop overthinking. We time it for the piñata smash—candy explosion, kids go feral. We grab the big-ticket items: the drone fleet, that life-sized robot thing. Small stuff we leave; too bulky for the getaway." "Getaway's key," Bill said, warming to it. "I park the van disguised as the bouncy castle delivery truck. Horns blaring party tunes to blend in. You signal with the fake balloon bouquet—three pops for 'all clear.'" "Three pops? What if a kid bursts one early?" Molly laughed, but sketched the signal anyway. "Fine, make it a flare from the rooftop. No—too flashy. Just wave a pirate flag; ties into the theme." Bill slapped the table, eyes lighting up. "Pirates! We crash as extra entertainers. 'Arrr, mateys, hand over the booty!' Kids'll think it's part of the show." Molly high-fived him, folding the blueprint. "You're a genius, you idiot. This haul buys us that beach house. No more ramen nights." As they clinked coffee mugs in a mock toast, Bill added slyly, "Just promise no singing 'Happy Birthday' during the lift. I draw the line at helium voices." "Deal," Molly winked. "Now, let's gear up. Operation Present Panic starts at dawn."