Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYASYEM5A3BXFQKC06RWTV1

The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the abandoned pickle factory, a relentless rhythm mirroring the frantic drumming in Molly’s chest. She swirled the dregs of lukewarm coffee in a chipped mug, watching Bill meticulously dismantle a rubber chicken. “Seriously, Bill? You’re dissecting Bartholomew?” “He’s functional, Molly. A surprisingly effective distraction. And look, the beak. Perfect for triggering the sensor on the perimeter fence.” He held up a small, jagged piece of plastic. “Think of it as… avian misdirection.” “I’m thinking of it as an unnecessary complication. We’re going for simplicity, remember? In and out. Like a very polite, heavily armed, present-snatching ninja.” “Ninja need tools. Bartholomew is a ninja tool. Besides, Mrs. Henderson's daughter, Penelope, is turning six. Six. That's a significant amount of sugar-fueled chaos. We need to inject ourselves into the heart of the mayhem.” “Mayhem involving glitter and bouncy castles, you mean?” Molly sighed, pushing a stray strand of purple-dyed hair behind her ear. “Okay, fine. Bartholomew it is. But if a six-year-old tackles me with a pinata, I’m blaming you.” “You’re more than capable of handling a pinata. You once took down a security guard with a particularly aggressive rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’” “That was a misdemeanor! And he owed me money.” “Details, details. Now, the layout. You’ve vetted the ventilation shafts?” Bill was glued to a crudely drawn map spread across a greasy workbench. “Yeah, claustrophobic but passable. Little bit of dust, a family of pigeons, and a disconcerting number of sticky notes. Apparently, eight-year-old Timothy has been mapping the factory for weeks.” “Timothy. The problem child. He’s our biggest obstacle.” Bill tapped the map with a pen. “He’s positioned near the main gift table, according to the surveillance footage. He's… controlling the balloon animals.” “Balloon animals? Seriously? That's a strategic vulnerability.” "Exploit it. Offer him a lifetime supply of gummy bears. Distraction is key." “Gummy bears? You’re relying on a six-year-old’s sugar addiction to pull off a multi-million dollar heist?” Molly raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And what about the parents? They’re going to be suspicious, Bill. Very suspicious." “We’ve accounted for that. I’ve devised a series of synchronized distraction techniques. A strategically placed mariachi band, a rogue magician, and a fog machine. Think small-scale, controlled panic." He paused, considering. “Also, I’ve pre-written apology cards. 'Sorry for the present retrieval. Sincerely, The Party Poopers.'" Molly stared at him, utterly bewildered. "You’re writing apology cards? Bill, we’re stealing birthday presents!” "It’s part of the plan, Molly. It adds a layer of plausible deniability. Plus, Penelope deserves an explanation. A very apologetic one. Now, about Bartholomew…”