Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYARTH5FBDMDKH7NR72GYJ8

Rain lashed against the bakery window, blurring the sugar-dusted pastries within. Molly chewed on a stale croissant, her gaze fixed on a crumpled flyer taped to the glass. “'Princess Penelope’s Fourth Birthday Spectacular!'” she read aloud, dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Seriously, Bill? A children's party?” Bill, a man whose enthusiasm generally peaked at locating a dropped pound coin, grunted from behind a mountain of éclairs. “Look, the intel was solid. Million-dollar security system—turns out it’s protecting a bouncy castle and a cake shaped like a unicorn. Don't knock it till you've tried it.” “A million-dollar security system for a room full of four-year-olds? What, are they expecting a ninja invasion?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Besides, stealing presents? It’s… tacky. We usually go for high-value art, rare stamps, maybe the occasional priceless Fabergé egg. Not sparkly tiaras and plastic dinosaurs.” “Tacky equals profitable, Molly. Think about it. Parents spend a fortune on these things. We’re talking limited edition superhero figurines, bespoke teddy bears, handcrafted wooden train sets… each individual gift could be worth a decent chunk. Plus,” he pointed a chocolate-covered finger at a picture on the flyer, “look at the guest list. Upper-crust. Daddy’s credit cards. Very, very shiny presents.” Molly considered this, taking another bite of her croissant. "Alright, alright, you've made a flimsy argument, but I'm listening. So, operation 'Sugar Rush' – what’s the plan? We can’t exactly waltz in and announce ‘surprise, we’re stealing your presents!’” "Of course not. Disguises. We go as entertainers." Bill beamed, a rogue smear of chocolate on his cheek. "I've been practicing my balloon animals. Prepare to be amazed. I'm going for a particularly realistic dachshund.” Molly choked on her croissant. "You? A balloon animal artist? You struggle to inflate a bicycle tire without a manual!” “Details, details! You're doing face paint. Butterflies, superheroes, the usual. And a convincing sob story about your clown school dropout rate.” "A sob story? Bill, you’re a master of meticulous planning, meticulous execution, not... emotional manipulation." “It’s all part of the package! Think of the sympathy factor. Parents aren’t going to suspect a man with damp eyes and a vaguely sad-looking dachshund of stealing their children's Christmas lists come to life.” He paused, then added, "You'll also need a glitter gun. Essential for crowd control. Think of it as… strategic sparkle deployment.” Molly sighed. “A glitter gun. Of course. So, the security system? What’s the weak link?” “The bouncy castle. Apparently, the system prioritizes the safety of the bouncing children. Which means if we disable the power to the bouncy castle, it temporarily shuts down all external sensors.” Bill tapped his chin thoughtfully. "We disable the bouncy castle, grab the loot, back out before anyone realizes their miniature porcelain pug collection is missing.” “And what about the parents? They’ll notice a sudden, mass disappearance of gifts.” Molly frowned. "They'll be too busy consoling children who are suddenly bouncing-castle-less to pay attention to missing presents. Trust me. This is foolproof." Bill grinned, picking up another éclair. "Foolproof, sparkly, and surprisingly lucrative.”