Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9N1MJ05BXRS30Y879NC5J

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned bakery, mimicking the frantic drumming in Molly’s chest. Steam curled from her lukewarm coffee, lost in the gloom. Across the sticky table, Bill meticulously sharpened a letter opener, the rasping sound strangely amplified in the silence. “Seriously, Bill,” Molly said, finally, “a letter opener? You’re going in with a letter opener?” Bill didn’t look up. “It’s compact. Precise. And frankly, delightfully menacing.” He gave the blade a final, appreciative polish. “Think of it as a miniature, justifiable weapon.” “I’m thinking of it as a massive, ironic choice,” she retorted, pushing her coffee away. “This is a children’s party, remember? Not a high-security vault.” “Don’t underestimate Mrs. Higgins,” Bill said without a hint of enthusiasm. “She’s meticulous about her parties. And her presents. She believes in ‘structured joy.’ Which, frankly, is terrifying.” “Structured joy? That's… specific.” Molly chewed on her lip, staring at the blueprint spread out between them – a surprisingly detailed floor plan of the community hall. It included shading for the disco ball, a rough sketch of the inflatable bouncy castle, and a tiny, almost obsessive, drawing of a half-eaten cake. “Okay, so precision is key. How do we get in?” “The back door,” Bill stated, pointing to a barely visible arrow on the schematic. "Loose hinges. A little leverage. Nothing fancy." “Leverage. Right. Like we’re returning a library book.” Molly sighed dramatically. "And the presents? We're grabbing *everything*?" “Every single thing,” Bill affirmed, finally glancing up. He held the letter opener aloft, examining it like it was a priceless artifact. “Teddy bears, Barbies, Lego sets, frankly, I’m expecting a miniature pony. We’re aiming for maximum disruption. Think toddler meltdown meets retail apocalypse.” “You're enjoying this, aren’t you?” “Let’s just say,” Bill hedged, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face, “I’ve always been fascinated by the illogical nature of human desire. Especially when it involves shiny objects and poorly wrapped cardboard.” “So, the plan is… letter opener, loose hinges, chaos. And you're saying you’re not even slightly worried about getting arrested?” “Worried? Of course I’m worried! But worried is just a fancy word for ‘motivated.’ Besides," he added with a grin, “they’re probably too busy crying over a missing race car to notice a couple of rogue adults.” “You’re a monster, Bill.” “A resourceful one. Now, about the cake…” Bill leaned in, a gleam in his eye. “I'm thinking a sizable wedge. For…research purposes.” Molly grabbed her own coffee, taking a large gulp. "Fine. Cake. But if I see one single glitter bomb, I'm out.” “Deal. Though," Bill added, returning to his letter opener, "I might have a few strategically placed confetti cannons of my own."