Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8TFHMRD8SD91XJ2KXW8EK

Molly slams a crumpled neon children’s party flyer onto the linoleum table of Duke’s Diner, her chipped cherry nail polish glinting under the buzzing fluorescent lights. Bill stirs a lukewarm chocolate milkshake with a greasy french fry, his lopsided fake mustache slipping down his upper lip—he’d worn it to recon the party’s venue the day prior, a choice Molly had ridiculed through their entire walk back. A tattered party hat, swiped from the venue’s entrance table, sits crumpled beside her coffee mug. “You still haven’t justified why you ate three sugar cookies during recon instead of counting the exit doors,” Molly says, prodding the flyer’s “Pin the Tail on the Donkey” graphic. “In my defense, the sprinkles were holographic—tactical intel on kids’ weak points,” Bill says, pushing his mustache back with a finger. Molly huffs, unfolding the flyer to reveal the venue’s layout—an old community center with a single back exit blocked by a stack of folding chairs during her own recon. She taps the “Cake & Presents” section, a circled note in pencil reading “giant teddy bear + toy race car haul.” “Holographic sprinkles don’t help us avoid the party’s grandma security detail,” Molly retorts. “That grandma’s got a cane with a hidden pepper spray canister—I saw her test it on a stray cat.” “That’s why I’m dressing as the hired clown,” Bill says, leaning in. “I’ll blend right in while swiping the mom’s bin key.” “You can’t even tie a balloon animal without popping it,” Molly says, snorting. “I’ll use a juice box diversion—spill a case of strawberry ones, cause a kid stampede,” Bill says, slamming his fry on the table. Molly taps the flyer’s piñata graphic, a scribbled note reading “candy distraction for adults.” She grabs a crumpled napkin to jot a timeline. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard… but it might work,” Molly says. “We’ll let the kids break the piñata right when we grab the bin—grandma’s too busy handing out candy to notice.” Bill grins, snatching the tattered party hat and plopping it on his head—its elastic band snaps, sending it bouncing off the diner’s jukebox, which blares a tinny rendition of a popular kids’ song. He flinches, knocking over his milkshake, which drips onto the flyer’s exit section. “You sure the back exit’s clear after I move the chair stack?” Bill says, dabbing the spill with a napkin. “I’ll move the chairs while the kids are busy with the piñata,” Molly says, wiping chocolate from the flyer’s present bin note. “What if a kid catches us?” Bill says, his voice rising. A nearby diner patron glances over, and he slumps in his seat. “Bribe them with a leftover cookie—holographic sprinkles and all,” Molly says, winking. “Kids love secrets more than candy.” Molly folds the flyer and tucks it into her jacket pocket, grabbing the tattered party hat and taping its elastic band back together with a strip of duct tape from her purse. She slides it across the table to Bill. “Genius,” Bill says, putting the hat on straight for the first time. “When do we meet at the venue?” “2:45 PM—we’ll hide in the broom closet until the piñata setup starts,” Molly says, finishing her lukewarm coffee. Bill nods, shoveling the last of his fries into his mouth. He grabs the flyer from her pocket to double-check the timeline, his mustache slipping again as he squints at the scribbled notes. “Don’t forget the juice boxes—strawberry only, not grape,” Molly says, standing up. “Kids hate grape when they’re already hyped on sugar.” “I’ve got it—tactical juice box selection, holographic cookie bribes, clown key swipe,” Bill says, standing too. “This heist’s gonna be a masterpiece.” Molly snorts, heading for the diner’s door. Bill follows, tripping over a chair and sending his empty milkshake glass clattering to the floor. The patron glances over again, and Bill waves, his party hat askew.