Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY91ZXG01K7SWDWC1MNJV31

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, the elastic digging into her forehead like a guilty conscience. Bill fidgeted with a walkie-talkie, his fingers twitching like he was already counting the loot. “You sure about this?” Molly whispered, eyeing the blueprint spread across the table. “Kids, balloons, a clown named *Bubbles*—this is a war crime.” Bill leaned in, his breath smelling like last night’s takeout. “Relax. It’s not like we’re stealing their *birthdays*. Just their *stuff*. And let’s be real, half this junk’s gonna end up in a landfill by next Tuesday.” Molly tapped a finger on the map. “What about the security? I saw a guy in a *superhero cape* on the guest list.” “That’s the dad,” Bill said, deadpan. “He thinks he’s Batman. We case the joint tomorrow, scope out his ‘night vision goggles,’ and boom—we’re in and out before he even realizes his ‘utility belt’ was full of candy.” Molly groaned. “You’re telling me we’re outsmarting a man who probably still believes in the Easter Bunny?” Bill grinned, pulling a toy sword from his pocket. “Exactly. Now let’s practice our *‘A-hem, excuse me, sir, but we’re here for the cake’* routine.” Molly stared at the sword. “That’s a *light saber*.” “Details,” Bill said, flipping it on. “Now say it with me: *‘May the presents be with you.’*”