Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94NMSZFJMF3EYWSGA51RY3

Molly tapped a manicured but grimy finger against the laminated blueprint spread across the rickety card table. The surface wobbled precariously under the weight of a lukewarm coffee cup and what looked suspiciously like a half-eaten cat biscuit. Bill, predictably, was already deep into his pre-heist jitters, nervously adjusting the brim of his faded baseball cap. His eyes, usually a dull grey, were wide with a nervous intensity that Molly found both endearing and endlessly frustrating. He nursed a can of lukewarm fizzy orange drink, the condensation leaving faint, smudged rings on their carefully laid-out intel documents. The dingy apartment, crammed with various half-baked inventions and forgotten disguises, always smelled faintly of stale pizza and the unique brand of desperation that clung to small-time criminals. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of weak afternoon light filtering through the grimy windowpane, illuminating their audacious plans for a sunny suburban afternoon. "Details, Bill," Molly stated, her voice a low, gravelly command. Bill cleared his throat, nearly choking on a burp of fizzy orange. "Target acquired. 14 Maple Drive, Picket-Fence Estates. Occupant is one Penelope 'Pony Princess' Smith. Age five. Birthday 'gala' in progress." He gestured vaguely at the map with his can top. "Many assets are wrapped." Molly’s green eyes narrowed, a glint appearing in their depths. "Wrapped is good. Less forensic glitter. Perimeter complications?" "Complications? It's a warzone, Molly," Bill whined, slumping slightly in his chair. "Bouncy castle. Operational. Clown. Highly mobile threat." "A clown?" Molly arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Joking?" "No joke. Balloons. Unicycle. Menacing," he insisted, shivering dramatically as if the thought alone was giving him chills. Molly considered this, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Potential for distraction. Good. Present drop-off zone secure?" "Designated gift table in living room, near sliding glass doors. Low security, high visibility from kitchen-gaggle of moms and dads," Bill reported, his voice briefly regaining a sliver of his professional demeanor. "Exit strategy. No screaming kids, no angry parents, definitely no unnerved clowns on unicycles." Molly leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "My plan: I go in as a saccharine kid-entertainer. You, my friend, create a bouncy castle diversion." Bill’s eyes practically bulged out of his head, his can nearly slipping from his grasp. "Me? On the castle? My knees, Molly! My pride!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "No, you get *on* it," Molly clarified, a predatory smile playing on her lips. "Make a big, boisterous, embarrassing scene. Draw parents. While they’re all distracted, I grab goods, rendezvous at the van." "But what if I fall? The shame, Molly, the eternal shame!" "You won't fall. You’re a professional. Just don't land on any actual children. That complicates the exfil." Bill sighed heavily, a gust of resignation escaping him. "Alright. Bouncy castle diversion. Tactical flailing. But if I sprain something serious, you’re buying me industrial-strength muscle rub." "Done. Now, about the 'Magical Mandy' disguise," Molly mused, already sketching ideas on the back of a pizza box. "Glitter glue, a truly cheap wand, and a smile that absolutely screams, 'I'm judging all your life choices right now'."