Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94S4PSJQG5HMG39DPNSQGJ

Molly smoothed out a crumpled flyer on the park bench, the colourful image of a grinning cartoon elephant now serving as a prop for their latest, and arguably their most morally compromised, endeavour. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the worn green wood, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, uninvited guests. Bill, her partner in various shades of petty larceny, leaned in, eyes wide with anticipation. A shared, lukewarm coffee sat between them on the bench. “So, recap,” Molly began crisply, tapping the flyer with a perfectly manicured finger. “Operation Sugar Plum. Target: Birthday presents. Acquisition window: during communal singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ and the subsequent cake-cutting ceremony. Standard procedure. Minimal risk, maximum reward. Timing is everything.” Bill nodded vigorously, a stray piece of lint dislodging itself from his threadbare jacket like an escaped companion. He watched a pigeon peck hopefully near his worn shoe. “Got it! Big haul. Presents. Cake related. Like the time we raided Mrs. Higgins’s chutney collection, but… flashier?” Molly folded the flyer neatly and tucked it into her inner jacket pocket. A faint quirk of her lips suggested amusement. “Less fermented, Bill, more… individually wrapped. Younger victims, yes, but it’s still unattended valuables. Redistribution. We’re in and out before the first paper hat comes off.” Bill gestured vaguely with both hands. “Right! Kids don’t appreciate the intrinsic value of new toys. They just want to rip paper! So, window by the petunias?” He pointed towards the target house, visible over the park fence. “Third from the left, correct,” Molly confirmed, her gaze sweeping over the park as if spotting potential witnesses in the distant trees. The window was indeed known to be slightly ajar, discreetly airing out the undeniably strong smell of cheap plastic and parental desperation. Her mind was already mapping the fastest routes. “You’ll be on distraction duty inside. Subtly nudge the bigger gifts towards the hedge. I’ll be the primary extraction specialist. Professional precision is key.” Bill’s expression became earnest. “Distraction duty? What do I do? Trip over a Lego spaceship? Pretend to be part of the entertainment?” He seemed genuinely eager to contribute meaningfully. Molly offered a weary smile, the kind that came from years of experience with Bill’s particular brand of enthusiasm. “No, Bill. Create a diversion. Knock over a bowl of punch when no one’s looking. Or, and this is crucial, compliment Mrs. Henderson’s aggressively floral fashion choices. That always buys me exactly five minutes of bewildered silence while she processes the faux compliment.” She watched a child chase a squirrel nearby with unburdened joy. Bill’s eyes lit up, already formulating a theatrical approach. “Ooh, I can do that! ‘That dress is… positively bursting with blossoms, Mrs. Henderson! It practically pulsates with floral energy!’” He mimed a dramatic flourish, looking more like he was warding off an invisible swarm of gnats. “She’ll be too stunned to move, right?” “Correct. Now, your primary objective is to secure the ‘Robo-Raptor 5000’ from the main pile,” Molly stated, standing up to signal the end of their planning session. The air seemed to thrum with their shared anticipation. “It’s the big one. The absolute prize.” Bill whispered, eyes still sparkling at the prospect of tangible, robotic loot. “Robo-Raptor! Awesome! Does it bite?” “It’s a toy, Bill,” Molly replied, her tone firm as she started walking away, her stride crisp and purposeful. “My concern – *our* concern – is getting it out safely and efficiently. Our getaway vehicle is the slightly dented green Civic parked three blocks down. Maximum present acquisition before the inevitable mercy-killing administered by the party poppers marks the end of the festivities.” Bill scrambled to keep pace beside her, his shoes scuffing the gravel path. “So, no more than, say, twenty presents? Or is it a free-for-all on the table?” Molly looked back over her shoulder. “Aim for the ‘main event’ pile, the ones clearly designated for the birthday boy. The smaller gifts… they can stay with Timmy. We’re professionals, Bill, not savages. Now, the signal is three discreet coughs from behind the garden shed. Try not to sound like you have pneumonia. And absolutely no ‘surprise’ shouting this time, understood?” Bill gave a mock salute, a wide, goofy grin plastered across his face. “Three coughs. Not pneumonia. No shouting. Got it. This is going to be great, Molly! Finally, a heist that brings joy… to us!” He clapped his hands together, a small cloud of dust rising from his palms. Molly just shook her head, her lips twitching upwards infinitesimally as they continued their shared walk, leaving the peaceful park behind them.