Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8A1E6AC2MEWJ0BEKBB84F

The community hall smelled overwhelmingly of sugar and disappointment. Disappointment, because the bouncy castle was deflated and forlorn in one corner. Sugar, because a frankly obscene amount of cupcakes sat on a table draped in glittery pink fabric. Molly surveyed the scene with a practiced eye, her nose wrinkling slightly. Bill, meanwhile, was attempting to subtly taste a rogue jelly bean he’d plucked from the floor. "Are you *seriously* eating evidence, Bill?" she hissed, sidling closer to him. "It's reconnaissance, Molly! Gotta know the enemy's flavor profile," he mumbled, popping the jelly bean into his mouth with a satisfied sigh. "Lime. Very childish. Predictable." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We’re stealing presents, Bill, not analyzing confectionery trends. Operation Sugar Rush is a go, remember? Focus." He swallowed with theatrical deliberation. "Right, right. Presents. Mountains of them, apparently. Little Timmy's got a remote-controlled monster truck. Little Susie's getting a pony… a *toy* pony, thank heavens, no actual equines involved." The hall was bustling with parents trying to appear enthusiastic about coloring-in competitions and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Kids, fueled by sugar, were screaming and chasing each other with reckless abandon. It was chaos, controlled chaos, and perfect for covering their tracks. "The target zone is the gift pile," Molly continued, pointing to a teetering tower of brightly wrapped boxes accumulated under a banner that read, 'Happy 5th Birthday, Lily!' "Approximately seventy-eight packages. Range from Barbie dream houses to educational dinosaur kits. High-value targets: anything with batteries." "Seventy-eight! That's… substantial," Bill said, his eyes gleaming. "We’ll need a strategy. A plan. Something… elegant." "Elegant doesn’t come into it, Bill. It’s a children’s party. We’re aiming for efficient. I’ve already identified the two exits – the main doors, obviously secured, and a fire escape at the back. Less guarded. You’ll handle the distraction." "Distraction?" Bill's face fell. "What kind of distraction?" "You," Molly stated flatly. "You're going to pretend to be a ridiculously enthusiastic magician. Card tricks, disappearing rabbits… the whole shebang. Pull their attention away from the gift pile. Keep them buying into the absurdity." "A magician? Molly, I can barely juggle three grapes without dropping two!" "You do not need to juggle. Just be… convincingly awkward. Embarrassingly silly. Think a clown who’s lost his way." "I can do awkward," Bill said, puffing up his chest slightly. "I’m practically a professional at awkward. But sillier than me? That's a tall order." Molly ignored him. “While you’re charming the five-year-olds with your masterful illusions, I'll be loading the presents into the getaway bag – a reinforced duffel, naturally. Meet me at the fire escape in fifteen minutes. And Bill?" "Yes?" “No jelly beans.” She turned, blending into the crowd, leaving Bill to contemplate his impending role as a spectacularly bad magician. He eyed the cupcakes again. Reconnaissance, he told himself. It was all about reconnaissance.