Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7YMBQTW7MK843X9JHR9GE

The warehouse smelled like stale popcorn and regret, the kind of regret that comes from realizing you’ve just agreed to rob a *children’s party*. Molly adjusted her ski mask, her gloved fingers twitching over the blueprints spread across the table. A Sharpie rolled off the edge and landed in Bill’s coffee. He didn’t even flinch. “You’re sure this is the place?” Bill asked, sipping the now-ink-stained liquid. “Because the last time we hit a ‘fun event,’ we got chased by a guy in a unicorn onesie.” “That was *one time*,” Molly snapped. “And this is different. The parents are all distracted by a magician who’s *definitely* a front for something shady.” Bill leaned back in his chair, which creaked ominously. “Or maybe the magician’s just really good. You ever seen a kid not clap when a rabbit pulls a coin out of their ear?” “Focus.” Molly tapped the blueprint. “The presents are under the ‘wishing tree’—some kind of glittery monstrosity. Security’s minimal: a bored teen with a walkie-talkie and a dog that looks like it’s one sneeze away from napping.” Bill grinned, his teeth glinting in the dim light. “So, what’s the play? Distract the kid with a fake fire drill?” “Better.” Molly pulled a lollipop from her pocket. “We bring *real* candy. The kid’ll trade his walkie-talkie for a lifetime supply of gummy worms.” Bill blinked. “You had a backup plan.” “Always.” Molly tossed him a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “Now eat these. You’re gonna need the energy for the *real* heist: getting past the parents without them noticing we’re not here to refill the punch bowl.” Bill popped a handful into his mouth. “What if they ask why we’re taking all the presents?” Molly smirked. “Then we tell them it’s for the *other* kids who didn’t get invited.”