Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY95GFM774C2MYX4S3HG9WV

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped hideout, a half-eaten pizza box serving as a makeshift map. Bill paced back and forth, his lanky frame casting jittery shadows from the flickering bulb overhead. The target was clear: a lavish birthday bash for some rich kid turning seven at the Evergreen Manor playground. Presents galore, wrapped in shiny paper, piled high under a garish bounce house. "Bill, listen up," Molly said, jabbing a greasy finger at a doodled sketch of the venue. "We hit 'em at peak chaos—two p.m., when the piñata bursts and the kids go feral. You dress as the clown, I'll be the face painter. Easy in, grab the loot, slip out with the trash bags." Bill stopped pacing, his eyes wide behind his smudged glasses. "A clown? Molly, I can't juggle! Last time I tried, I broke Mom's vase and blamed the dog. And face painting? What if I draw a mustache on a kid and they cry? We'll be mobbed by soccer moms with tasers!" She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "That's the beauty, genius. Distraction city. You honk that nose, make balloon animals that look like escaped zoo freaks. I'll swirl cheeks with colors till the brats look like abstract art. By the time the parents notice, we'll be halfway to the van with Santa's sack." He scratched his chin, glancing at the window where neighborhood kids shrieked outside. "Okay, but the presents—there's gotta be fifty of 'em. Legos, bikes, that drone thingy worth a grand. How do we haul without tipping off the birthday boy? Kid's got a trampoline entourage." Molly pulled a crumpled clown wig from her bag, tossing it at him. It landed on his head like a deflated hedgehog. "Prioritize, Bill. Snag the big-ticket stuff first—hide 'em in the bounce house, deflate it for cover. Rest goes in oversized gift bags labeled 'Party Favors Return.' We'll pose as cleanup crew. 'Oops, took the wrong pile!'" Bill adjusted the wig, striking a pose that made him look like a deranged mime. "Cleanup? With this getup? I'll scare the cake right off the table. And what about security? That venue's got cameras, and the host's some tech bro. One wrong honk, and we're viral fugitives." "Relax," she said, popping a bubble with her gum. "Jammer gadget from Eddie—blocks the feeds for ten minutes. We time it: Enter at cake-cutting, exit at goodie-bag grab. Split the haul sixty-forty, my way since I planned it." He grinned, finally warming up. "Fifty-fifty, or I draw you as Bozo. Deal?" "Deal, you clown." Molly high-fived him, but Bill tripped over the pizza box, sending cheese flying. They both laughed, the absurd plan solidifying in the mess. The heist was on—presents beware.