Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAS7QBZY50WX3K9Y6W052V

Molly leaned over the grimy diner table, blueprints of "Little Timmy's Birthday Bash Palace" spread out. Bill slurped his coffee, eyes gleaming. "Bill, this is genius," Molly whispered. "Hundred kids, richer than Croesus parents. Presents piled high—Xboxen, bikes, that new drone thingy. We hit at cake time, chaos central." Bill grinned, crumbs flying. "Exactly! I go in as the clown, red nose, floppy shoes. You’re the balloon lady. 'Hi-ho, kids! Gimme yer toys!' Nah, subtle. We rig the piñata with knockout gas." Molly snorted. "Knockout gas? You’ll poison the rugrats! Parents’ll call SWAT. No, we fake a fire alarm. Smoke bombs, everyone evacuates, we scoop and scoot in a unicorn van." "Unicorn van? Perfect cover!" Bill slapped the table. "I’ll wear the dad disguise—khakis, fanny pack. 'Hey, I’m Uncle Bob, here for the Lego Death Star.' You flirt with the bouncy castle guy." "Flirt? He’s twelve! Focus, numbnuts. Pinata drop at 3 PM sharp. Grab sacks labeled 'Party Favors.' Out by 3:05, before the sugar crash." Bill nodded furiously. "Sweet heist, Moll. We’ll be rolling in resale gold. Kids’ll think Santa came early!" "Or the Grinch," she cackled. "Let’s gear up."