Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94PQSBRNERRNDQRVX8XBDX

The van smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Molly tapped a finger against the dashboard, her eyes fixed on the bounce house currently vibrating with the force of twelve hyperactive first-graders. To any other observer, it was a Saturday afternoon in the suburbs. To Molly, it was a high-security vault currently being guarded by a distracted clown and a golden retriever that had fallen asleep in its own water bowl. Look at them, Bill. No discipline. No spatial awareness. They are basically tiny, sticky landmines. Bill sighed, digging through a grease-stained bag for a jelly-filled donut. It is a birthday party, Molly. Not a cartel meeting. We are here for the LEGO Star Destroyer and the remote-control monster truck. Let us keep our eyes on the prize. That truck has independent suspension, Bill. Do you have any idea what that fetches on the underground toddler market? It is two months of rent if we flip it to the right nanny. Molly adjusted the focus on her binoculars, narrowing her gaze on the sunroom. The cake is being served in ten minutes. That is our window. Sugar crashes are predictable. At T-minus fifteen, the energy levels will spike, creating a chaotic auditory screen. At T-minus thirty, the weeping begins. That is when we move in. And the clown? Bill asked, wiping powdered sugar off his chin. You did not mention the guy in the oversized shoes. He looks shifty. I think he is packing. He is packing a balloon animal pump, you idiot. But he is a variable. He has distracted the parents, which is good, but he keeps the perimeter loose. Bill shifted in his polyester suit, the fabric groaning under the strain. I still do not like the plan. Stealing from a kid named Timmy feels like a new low, even for us. Remember when we used to hit art galleries? Galleries have laser grids and silent alarms. This house has a screen door with a broken latch and a trampoline. It is a lateral move, Bill. Focus. Molly pulled out a blueprint drawn in crayon. She had intercepted it from the kitchen table during her flower delivery reconnaissance the day before. The gift table is positioned in the northwest corner of the sunroom. It is a logistical bottleneck. We enter through the laundry room, neutralize the juice box station to prevent any sticky footprint trails, and extract the haul into the hamper. What if they have the party favors already handed out? Do not worry about the favors. Those are just plastic whistles and bubble wands. We want the heavy cardboard. We want the stuff wrapped in glitter paper. High-density loot only. Bill pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. I have the distraction ready. High-potency bubble solution. One blow and the backyard becomes a shimmering field of tactical confusion. They will be too busy popping spheres to notice us. Good. Remember, if a toddler makes eye contact, do not engage. They smell fear and fruit snacks. Got it. No eye contact, no mercy, and absolutely no raisins. Molly checked her watch, her face hardening into a mask of professional heist-readiness. It is showtime. Put on the hairnet.