Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAXPAG0RT6PRDHCZ1CW99S

The chipped Formica of the diner booth stuck to Molly’s elbows. She’d chosen this place specifically for its sticky surfaces and the lingering aroma of regret and burnt coffee. It felt…appropriate for the operation. Across from her, Bill was meticulously dismantling a sugar packet, arranging the tiny granules into a disturbing miniature fort. “You’re building a rampart against existential dread again, aren’t you?” Molly asked, stirring her lukewarm coffee. Bill didn’t look up. “It’s strategic. Think about it. Parallel lines of defense. A core reinforcement zone. This represents the laser grid.” “There is no laser grid, Bill.” “There could be. It’s a high-end party, Molly. Little Timmy Hargrove is the grandson of Bartholomew Hargrove, the shipping magnate. They probably have retinal scanners protecting the pin the tail on the donkey.” He finally looked up, his eyes glinting with manic energy. “The point is, we need to anticipate everything.” Molly sighed. “The point is, we’re stealing presents from a bunch of eight-year-olds.” “High-value presents. Think Lego Millennium Falcons, remote control robots, possibly even a pony. A miniature, ethically sourced pony, naturally. Hargrove wouldn't be caught dead with a non-organic pony.” “A pony?” Molly actually choked on her coffee. “Just a possibility. We need to be prepared for all eventualities. Okay, let's review. Operation: Unwrap Rage. Phase one: infiltration. You’re on distraction duty.” “And what, pray tell, is my distraction supposed to be? Juggling flaming marshmallows?” Molly was already imagining the headline: ‘Granny Arrested for Arson at Birthday Bash’. “Better. You’re a face painter.” Molly stared at him. “A face painter? Seriously?” “Think about it! Access to the children, covering our tracks amongst the chaos, and a plausible reason to be hovering around the gift table. You’re surprisingly good at butterflies, remember that street fair?” “That was one time, Bill! And those butterflies looked more like moths suffering an existential crisis.” “Details, details. You’ll be ‘Sparkles the Magnificent’. I’ll be ‘Barry, the Helpful Uncle’. I’ve grown a truly magnificent beard for the occasion.” “You always have a magnificent beard, Bill.” “This one is specifically magnificent for helpful uncle-ing.” He paused, tapping the sugar fort. “Timing is crucial. The magic show is at two-thirty. That’s our window. Everyone's focused on doves and disappearing scarves. We go in, grab the goods, and vanish before little Timmy realises his inheritance has been…reallocated.” “And then what? We fence a pile of kids' toys?” “There's a collector, a very discerning collector, who specializes in high-end children’s merchandise. Apparently, original packaging is key. He operates out of a laundromat in Little Italy.” Molly rubbed her temples. “A collector. Of course. This is officially the most ridiculous heist I’ve ever been involved in.” Bill beamed. “Isn’t it glorious?”