Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94WWNNC0Q5JMRR6FAHAZCK

The flickering neon sign of 'Joe's Greasy Spoon' cast lurid, intermittent shadows across Molly’s face. She tapped a smudged child’s drawing with a perfectly manicured fingernail. Bill, sprawled opposite her on the sticky red vinyl banquette, leaned in, his brow furrowed in concentration. The air hung thick with the smell of stale coffee and desperation. “See this, Bill? This is the motherlode.” Molly pointed to a lopsided box labelled ‘PRESENTS’. “Operation: Sugar Rush is a go. Tonight, we liberate Timmy’s seventh birthday haul.” Bill squinted. “Liberate? Like, from the evil empire of party hats?” “Precisely,” Molly sighed, tracing a wobbly line from the back door of the suburban house to a strategically placed trampoline. “We’re not burglars, Bill, we’re… benevolent recyclers of joy. This is a high-stakes snatch-and-grab from the most vulnerable demographic: excited unboxing dependents.” “So, we’re breaking into a kid’s party?” Bill’s eyes widened, not with fear, but with a peculiar, childlike awe. “Will there be cake?” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “Focus, Bill. The cake is a diversionary tactic for the children. Our target is the… mountain of goodies. Intel suggests a new gaming console, enough LEGO to build a small nation, and at least two interactive dolls that sing vaguely unsettling nursery rhymes.” “Can we keep one of the dolls?” Bill’s voice was earnest. “Little Tilly back home would love one. She’s been asking for a singing, unsettlingly cheerful doll for ages.” “No, Bill, we can’t keep anything,” Molly snapped, her voice sharper than usual. “We’re professionals. We fence the goods, split the proceeds, and pretend this never happened. Your role is simple: Projectile Party Favors. The moment the piñata drops, you create a diversion by enthusiastically flinging temporary tattoos and those little plastic kazoos into the crowd. The parents will be too busy avoiding airborne novelty items to notice the… professional gift relocation.” Bill’s chest puffed out. “Projectile Party Favors! My specialty! I can do a triple kazoo toss, easy. What about you?” “I’ll be the ‘Delivery Driver’s Assistant’ who ‘accidentally’ backs the van up to the patio door and loads the haul. Swift, silent, and surreptitious. Think of me as a very efficient gift-wrapping service with a criminal record.” Molly adjusted her dark, nondescript jacket. “The window is narrow, Bill. Piñata impact at 7:15 sharp. We’re in and out before the ‘Happy Birthday’ song even finishes its first verse in four-part harmony.” Bill rubbed his hands together, a wide grin stretching across his face. “7:15. Piñata. Tattoos. Kazoos. This is going to be the best party ever, Molly!” Molly stared at him, a grim sort of affection in her eyes. “For them, perhaps not. For us, absolutely. Now, let’s go over the escape routes. The one involving the petunias is tricky, but highly effective.”