Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8V64GJX6KN33MHNVEQ47P9

The rusted van smelled of stale fries and regret. Molly pointed a laser pointer at a hand-drawn map taped to the wall. “This is the operational area. The ‘target repository’ is here, under the papier-mâché volcano.” Bill squinted, scratching his stubble. “The living room?” “The living room. Primary ingress is via the sliding patio door, here. It’s reported to have a faulty lock.” “Reported by who?” “My niece, Chloe. She’s seven. Her intel on snack placement is impeccable, so we trust the lock assessment.” Molly switched to a blueprint of the house. “The main variable is the patrol pattern of the adults. They tend to cluster around the guacamole. We’ll have a ninety-second window during the ‘Piñata Protocol’ when all visual attention is directed at a suspended donkey.” Bill nodded, taking notes on a napkin. “What’s the extraction point?” “We load the goods into the empty gift bags we’ll be carrying, exit via the front door, and blend into the departing parent demographic. Our cover is we’re from the catering company, ‘Clown Adjacent.’” She handed him a rainbow wig. Bill stared at it. “I’m not wearing the wig.” “It’s non-negotiable. You’re ‘Bubbles.’ I’m ‘Sparkles.’ We’re assessing party satisfaction.” “The loot, Mol. What’s the estimated haul?” Molly sighed, flipping to a spreadsheet. “Based on the registry and demographic, we’re looking at a mix of plastic novelties, educational puzzles, and at least four copies of the same bestselling graphic novel. We fence it all to that guy with the kiosk in the mall. He gives us twenty cents on the dollar.” “Twenty cents?!” Bill threw his hands up. “We’re risking a B&E for some used action figures and a gift card to ‘Tiny Tumblers’?” “It’s a volume business, Bill! The Smythe birthday next week is a double-header. Twins. That’s twice the gifts.” “What’s our contingency if the small, screaming witnesses get suspicious?” “We deploy the distraction.” Molly held up a sack. “Confetti-filled eggs. Creates chaos, covers our retreat. But only as a last resort. The goal is silent, smooth, and merry.” Bill slumped against the van wall, the rainbow wig in his lap. “I just… I dreamed of bigger scores. The Bellagio. The Crown Jewels.” “We all start somewhere,” Molly said, patting his shoulder. “Consider this your training wheels. Now, let’s run the timings again. At ‘happy birthday,’ you’re on guacamole surveillance. I’ll be verifying the lock…”