Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WE1VJJPGZ9XNPSP2TPXJZ

The engine of the van coughed into silence. Molly smoothed the crinkled blueprint across the steering wheel. Beside her, Bill stared at the cheerful, balloon-festooned house with deep suspicion. “The target is a seven-year-old human female, one Penelope ‘Penny’ Schreiber,” Molly began, tapping the diagram. “The party kicks off at 1400 hours. Our window is during the organized chaos known as ‘pin the tail on the donkey.’ That’s when adult supervision is at its lowest.” Bill slowly turned his head. “You’re using military time for a pony ride and cake?” “Professionalism, Bill. It’s what separates us from common looters. Now, primary ingress is through the side gate, here. The patio doors have a simple latch. No silent alarm.” “What about the… staff?” “One mother, Jennifer, highly caffeinated but distractible. One father, David, will be manning the grill. His focus is singular. The real wild card is the hired entertainment: a magician called ‘The Great Zoltan.’ He’s a variable we need to monitor.” Bill rubbed his temples. “A magician. Right. Do we have a contingency if he makes us disappear?” “We blend in,” Molly said, producing two garish, polka-dotted shirts. “We go in as guests. Distant cousins. We mingle, we admire the baby, we load the gifts into these oversized gift bags during the donkey pinnage.” “The loot profile is weak, Mol. It’s all plastic junk. A ‘My Pretty Pony’ castle. Some building blocks.” “Volume, Bill. There will be twenty-three guests. That’s twenty-three gifts. Quick fence job down at the Toy Barn, we clear maybe three hundred bucks. Easy score.” “It feels… low.” “It’s a child’s birthday, not the Crown Jewels. But the principle is the same. Identify the vulnerability, execute with precision, exit clean.” Bill pointed a stubby finger at the blueprint. “What about the cake? That’s a focal point. You’ve got a primary guardian – probably the mother – stationed right there. And a secondary perimeter of sugar-hyped minors.” “The cake is not the objective. It’s a diversion. We create a minor incident. You’ll spill a pitcher of fruit punch near the patio. The guardian will rush to contain the spill. That’s our moment. I’ll sweep the presents from the gift table into the bags. You keep the bag open.” “I spill the punch. On purpose.” “It’s a classic misdirection. Clean, non-violent.” Bill sighed, a long, weary sound. “And the exfil?” “Back through the gate, into the van. We’re two blocks away before anyone notices the gifts are gone. They’ll just think another parent collected them.” “I don’t like it. There’s too many variables. What if a kid sees us? A six-year-old can ID you in a lineup.” “Children are unreliable witnesses. They’ll say we were taken by pirates. Trust the plan.” Bill stared out at the house again. A large, inflatable dinosaur wobbled in the front yard. “We’re professional thieves planning to steal from a seven-year-old.” “We’re professionals *adapting to the market*,” Molly corrected, folding the blueprint with finality. “Now, put on your shirt. The party hat is non-negotiable for cover.”