Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VAE6YHE8SFG4H8YRP1YJK

Molly smoothed the crayon-illustrated map across the hood of their dented sedan. "The primary target is the gift table," she whispered, pointing a gloved finger at a wobbly drawing of a cake. Bill adjusted his binoculars, training them on the suburban backyard now swarming with six-year-olds. His brow furrowed with the intensity of a general surveying a battlefield. Their preparations were meticulous, yet absurd. Bill’s “distraction” involved a hyperactive squirrel he’d nicknamed “The Frenzy.” Molly’s lock-picking kit lay next to a pair of oversized clown shoes, their planned infiltration disguise. She had insisted on rappelling gear for the backyard fence, despite it being only four feet high. Bill finally lowered the binoculars. "The cake is a formidable distraction. Perimeter is soft." "Remember," Molly said, her voice grave. "No hitting the piñata. That's a noise violation." He nodded, solemn. The mission was clear: in, out, unseen, leaving only tears and empty wrapping paper in their wake. They shared a determined look, two professionals about to commit the most whimsical felony of their careers.