Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WBP1HNM5Q0S0V2HRR79VC

Molly smoothed the blueprint of the suburban bungalow with the reverence of a cartographer mapping El Dorado. Bill, chewing a toothpick, squinted at the detailed rendering of a bounce house and a unicorn piñata. The air in their van was thick with anticipation and stale fast food. “The target is soft, but the perimeter is noisy,” Molly whispered, tapping a symbol for a horde of six-year-olds. “Cake protocol?” Bill grunted. “Frosting-based incident near the patio. I grab the goods during the chaos.” Bill nodded, grim. The operation was simple: infiltrate during musical chairs, bypass the single parental guard (a dad hypnotized by football), and extract the loot from the gift table. Molly had accounted for the canine threat—a lethargic golden retriever susceptible to beef jerky bribes. Their tools were laid out: a giant Santa sack, industrial-strength double-sided tape, and a remote-controlled monster truck for a koi pond diversion. Molly checked her watch. In three hours, they would be knee-deep in wrapping paper and irrevocable shame.