Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94T8DQTRT924CHSZ6E4NAF

The booth was a shrine to the deep-fried, smelling faintly of forgotten dreams and chili oil. Molly, all sharp angles and contained energy, spread a crumpled, tear-stained napkin across the sticky table. It wasn't evidence of emotional distress, but rather the detailed blueprint of her latest caper, the edges softened by countless hours of desperate planning. The dim, flickering fluorescent lights of the diner cast long shadows, highlighting the clutter on their table: half-eaten toast, an empty jam packet, and Molly’s ever-present lock-picking set, polished to a dull sheen. Her fingers traced a crudely drawn rectangle labelled 'Party Zone'. Across from her, Bill, a man built like an overstuffed armchair, was attempting to juggle three sugar packets, dropping them with embarrassing frequency. He paused, watching one packet skitter under the table, his brow creased in thought. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of frying bacon and unspoken anxieties. This wasn't their usual turf, far from the gleaming banks and hushed auction houses. This was… fluff. But fluff with potential. Big, brightly wrapped potential. Molly tapped the napkin. "Alright, Bill. The target's secured." Bill blinked, his focus shifting from the floor to her. "Secured? Like, triple-locked vault secured?" Molly sighed, a familiar sound of weary exasperation. "No, Bill. The *event*. A child’s birthday party. We're going in for the presents.” He brightened considerably, his scattered sugar packets forgotten. "Presents! You mean like, toys? And maybe a decoder ring?" "Precisely. And the method of entry is key. We'll be posing as entertainers. 'Happy Hamster Havoc'." She pointed a sharp fingernail at a section of the napkin labelled 'Stage Area'. "You're the hamster handler." Bill leaned forward, intrigued. "Do I get a tail?" "You get a full-body hamster suit, Bill. Your job: create extreme, overwhelming cuteness, plus a thirty-minute puppet show. While the tykes are captivated by Mr. Nibbles' existential crisis, I'll be extracting anything that looks expensive enough to pawn. The plan is simple: distraction and extraction." He nodded slowly, picturing himself as the giant rodent. "So, I just gotta be a fuzzy distraction while you do the sneaky bits. Got it." Molly tapped the napkin again, her gaze distant. The sheer volume of potential loot, all gathered conveniently in one place, was staggering. It was the kind of haul that could fund them for months.