Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9WX7M27ET8NR5AGMTA8ZV

Molly leaned over the cluttered table in their dimly lit hideout, scribbling on a napkin with a crayon she'd swiped from a diner. Bill paced, munching on a stale doughnut, his fake mustache twitching with every chew. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, eyes gleaming. "The party's at the community center tomorrow—balloons, cake, the works. We go in as clowns. You distract the kids with balloon animals, I snag the presents from under the tree." Bill snorted. "Clowns? Molly, I look ridiculous in polka dots. What if a kid pulls my wig off? 'Hey, mister, why's your hair smell like cheap whiskey?'" She rolled her eyes. "That's the point! Chaos is our friend. While you're juggling rubber chickens, I'll stuff the gifts into my oversized pants. Easy peasy." "Yeah, until some rugrat starts crying for his new bike. 'Mommy, the clown ate my present!' What then?" Molly grinned. "We bolt. Hit the fire exit, dump the loot in the van. By the time they notice, we'll be fencing Barbies on the black market." Bill chuckled. "You're a maniac. Fine, but if we get caught, I'm blaming your crayon blueprint." "Deal," she said, high-fiving him. "To the heist of the century!"