Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9SBGKAJAAHGX2FS4AEG4H

Molly leaned over the dingy kitchen table, blueprints of the community center spread out like a treasure map. Bill paced, twirling a lockpick between his fingers. "Listen, Bill, it's genius," Molly whispered, eyes gleaming. "Rich kids' birthday bash, piles of presents under a piñata. We slip in as clowns, grab the loot during the cake smash." Bill snorted, stopping to jab a finger at the diagram. "Clowns? Me in floppy shoes? I'd trip over my own feet and land in the punch bowl. What if the kids swarm us? 'Hey mister, wanna see my new drone?' while we're hauling off their Xbox?" "Exactly! Distraction gold," Molly shot back, grinning. "You juggle the gifts—er, balloons—while I stuff the sack. In and out before the parents notice. No alarms, just tears from tots who think Santa's on strike." Bill chuckled, rubbing his chin. "Fine, but if Pinocchio Junior grabs my wig, you're negotiating. And what about the piñata? Candy explosion could bury us." "Nah, we'll rig it early—extra candy for cover. By midnight, we're fencing teddy bears and tricycles. Easy score!" "Twisted, Molly. But yeah, let's clown around."