Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94T5VC4TW249AD5MF1RRWY

The back of the rusted transit van smelled like stale Cheetos and misplaced ambition. Molly adjusted her tactical headset, which was actually an old gaming rig she had spray-painted matte black to look professional. Bill sat opposite her, his knees knocking against a pile of discarded zip-ties and empty soda cans. He was currently fighting a losing battle with a neon-orange jumpsuit three sizes too small, his face turning a worrying shade of plum as he struggled with the zipper. Remind me why I am the Orange Ranger? Bill grunted. Themes Intergalactic Safari, Bill. You are a space tiger. Keep up, Molly snapped. She was busy tracking the movement of a suburban mom carrying a tray of cupcakes through the side window. The woman moved with a terrifying, efficient grace that suggested she had managed three toddlers and a household budget simultaneously for years. Molly turned back to her partner, looking him dead in the eye with a gaze that usually made the local loan sharks nervous. Focus. Targets the sunroom gift table. Perimeters guarded by a grandmother with juice boxes. Bill sighed. Is it 100 percent juice? My stomachs been weird since that questionable taco truck incident yesterday. Molly ignored him, pointing to a tactical map pinned to the van wall. It was actually a floor plan hand-drawn in bright green crayon on the back of a greasy pizza menu. The birthday boy, a six-year-old named Kevin with a documented history of biting shins, was circled in red as the primary threat. Outside, the sound of a bouncy castle motor hummed a low, threatening drone that competed with the shrieks of twenty sugar-crazed children. Irrelevant. We strike during the pinata riot. That is our three-minute window. Bill peaked through the curtain. What about the dog? He looks like a narc. Molly held up a yellow sphere. The canines a non-combatant. I have a high-quality diversionary tennis ball for the neighbors begonias. Once he sees it, he is out. The dog in question was a Golden Retriever who was currently trying to eat his own tail, but Molly took no chances with security. She checked her inventory list, which was mostly various sizes of laundry bags and a single stick of high-quality bubblegum for emergencies. And the Lego Star Destroyer? It is four thousand pieces. Molly nodded. Thats the crown jewel. Grab the Lego and anything in foil. Foil means high-value. Leave the clothes. Bill muttered, I just want that drone. He finally managed to yank his glittery tiger mask over his head, though the snout was slightly lopsided. Molly checked her watch. It was 2:14 PM. Through the vans thin walls, the muffled sound of a dozen children screaming along to a remix of a popular shark-based nursery rhyme reached a deafening crescendo. Masks on, Molly ordered. I cannot see. There is a sequin in my eye, Bill whispered. Molly grabbed the door handle. Suck it up, Tiger. Go in hot. If a toddler engages, do not make eye contact. Bill took a deep breath. No eye contact, grab plastic, avoid juice. Lets roll. The sliding door creaked open, revealing the sun-drenched chaos of the Henderson backyard, and the two thieves surged forward into the fray.