Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94K25B50QS5N179BVBJVRN

The interior of the 2004 Ford Windstar smelled of stale corn chips and the bitter scent of Bill’s cheap cologne. Molly peered through a pair of high-powered binoculars, her eyes locked on a suburban backyard that looked like a primary-colored war zone. A massive inflatable castle wheezed in the corner, its turrets swaying rhythmically with the frantic jumping of ten over-caffeinated first-graders. The humidity of the July afternoon was pressing against the windshield, blurring the edges of the pink and blue bunting. Across the street, the target sat unguarded: a sagging folding table burdened with a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes. "Target acquired," Molly said. "The high-value assets are clustered near the sugar-free punch." Bill shifted in the driver’s seat, his large frame making the van’s suspension groan. He was clutching a juice box with a sense of profound existential dread. "Are we really doing this? Stealing from a six-year-old feels like a professional low." "It’s not stealing. It’s a forced redistribution of plastic. We’re doing a public service." Molly didn't blink. She pulled a map from the glove box. It wasn't a standard blueprint; it was a crude sketch drawn in neon highlighter on the back of a pizza menu. She pointed to a jagged line representing the perimeter fence. "The entry point is behind the hydrangeas. The clown is the distraction. That’s our window." "What if the dog sees us? Golden Retrievers are notorious for their snitching." Molly adjusted her earpiece, her expression cold and professional. The neighbor’s lawn sprinklers hissed in the distance, a rhythmic sound that felt like a ticking clock over the muffled sounds of a pop song playing from the patio. "The dog has been neutralized with organic jerky. Focus. I’m talking high-end LEGO sets." Bill sighed, pulling a lime-green ski mask over his head. He adjusted the eye holes, which were slightly misaligned, giving him the appearance of a very confused forest gnome. "If I get tackled by a dad in cargo shorts, I’m blaming you." "Just make sure you grab the box with the silver ribbon. It’s the gaming console." Outside, a chorus of screaming erupted as a piñata was struck, showering the dry lawn with cheap taffy and plastic rings. Molly checked her watch. The chaotic physics of thirty children scrambling for sugar was the perfect smokescreen for their tactical insertion. "Go now. Watch out for the LEGO landmines. They’re deadly. Watch your shins." "I'll be like a shadow. A shadow that really wants a piece of cake." "The cake is for winners, Bill. Just focus on the mission and get out." He stepped out of the van, his boots thudding softly against the hot asphalt. He moved with a surprising lack of grace, his bulky frame silhouetted against the white picket fence. Molly stayed behind the wheel, her fingers tapping a rhythm on the dashboard. She watched as Bill disappeared into the thicket of dusty hydrangeas, his green mask blending poorly with the floral arrangement. The greatest heist of the suburban summer had officially begun, fueled by greed, adrenaline, and a very specific map drawn in crayon.