Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94T4K3C34ZH6FBYV6NQZNZ

The sticky vinyl booth of "Hank's Greasy Spoon" felt less like a planning room and more like a crime scene waiting to happen, and not in the good way. Molly, all sharp angles and weary cynicism, stared into her lukewarm coffee as if it held the secrets to the universe, or at least a less irritating accomplice. Bill, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with misplaced enthusiasm, his knees knocking a rhythm against the chipped Formica table. He wore a lurid Hawaiian shirt that suggested he’d mistaken their mission briefing for a luau. "Alright, Billy boy. Operation Easter Egg hunt is a go. You remember the objectives?" Molly’s voice dripped with an impatience honed by years of Bill’s spectacular misinterpretations. "Easter Egg hunt! Fantastic! Are we using those little baskets? And do I get to wear the bunny ears? I know a guy who makes them out of actual rabbit fur, it’s very authentic." Bill gestured wildly, nearly knocking over a sugar dispenser. Molly caught it with a flick of her wrist that was both practiced and dismissive. "It's not an Easter egg hunt, it's a children's birthday party. Saturday. The Periwinkle’s place. And no rabbit-fur ears. We're not *terrorizing* the local fauna, just liberating their presents. Specifically, the Mega-Blaster 3000. That’s your primary target." The Mega-Blaster 3000, a glorified toy gun that promised hours of whizz-bang fun, was apparently the must-have item of the season. Molly had seen the commercials. Bill, less so. "Mega-Blaster! Does it shoot lasers? Can I keep one? Just the one?" He wiggled his eyebrows hopefully. Molly resisted the urge to sketch a diagram of a prison cell on his forehead. "It shoots foam darts, Bill. And you can't keep any. Your job is to create a diversion. Make the kids forget all about the shiny new toy they don't have yet. Think mayhem, but family-friendly mayhem. Can you manage that without causing an international incident or setting off the fire alarm?" Bill puffed out his chest, the Hawaiian shirt stretching precariously. He was surprisingly good at 'family-friendly mayhem' when properly motivated. "Mayhem? Family-friendly? Oh, I'm your guy! I could… I could trip myself and fall into the bouncy castle! That always gets a laugh!" His eyes gleamed with a terrifyingly innocent conviction. "No. Absolutely not. The bouncy castle is prime getaway territory. What you *will* do, if all else fails with your 'creative' approach, is sing loudly and badly. Very loudly. About… uh… hot dogs. You know the hot dog song?" Molly’s face contorted as she recalled the earworm. It was the only thing she could think of that might genuinely distract an entire party full of sugar-hyped children. "The hot dog song! *I'm a little hot dog, short and stout!*' Yes! I’ve got this! Consider it… sung! So, after the Mega-Blaster is secured, what's the secondary objective?" He finished his lukewarm coffee in one gulp, a faint green stain blooming on his shirt near the collar. "Cash. Envelopes. And for pity's sake, try not to get a single present *onto* the lawn. We need a clean exit."