Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94ZBC79Z4T7BQVZQ315XRN

Molly tapped a manicured finger against the shimmering, glitter-encrusted invitation. "Pony Princess Palace," she announced, her tone drier than a week-old birthday cake. "Tiffany's fourth. Pink explosion." Bill, her perpetually apprehensive accomplice, hunched over the sticky tabletop of their cramped apartment. He squinted at a blurry screenshot of the target venue on a budget tablet, a discarded party hat nearby hinting at previous, less successful, reconnaissance. "Pink explosion is mild, Molly. Look at that bouncy castle," Bill grumbled, tapping the screen with a trembling digit. "It's a reinforced bouncy fortress. We’ll be going in there blind, bouncing aimlessly." "It's for four-year-olds, Bill. Sugar is the threat, not security." "Precisely! High-stress, unpredictable! One wrong bounce, we're in unicorn cupcakes and sticky hands." He shuddered theatrically, adjusting his greasy spectacles. The thought alone made him break a sweat. Molly rolled her eyes. "Our target isn't the cupcakes, it's the presents. Operation 'Birthday Bandit' needs precision." She pushed a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs away. "Precision? With Mr. Giggles the Clown lurking? He juggles chainsaws, Molly. Actual chainsaws!" Bill’s voice rose dramatically, terror on his face. "Magic show, you nincompoop. They're plastic. Probably inflatable. Nobody brings real chainsaws to a four-year-old's party." "He has that look. That one-bad-balloon-animal-away-from- snapping look. What if he 'saws the uninvited guest in half'?" "Then we adapt. You distract him. Badger-shaped balloon. I'll sweep gifts." Molly sounded bored with the clown contingency. "A badger? Why?" Bill's voice was a blend of confusion and mild offense. "Obscure. Difficult. Buys time. Imagine his clown face: 'A badger? Sir, poodles and swords only!'" Molly stifled a giggle. "Sedative cookies? My old Aunt Mildred made a killer sedative shortbread back in the day." "No. Ghost-like. Ninja-like. Slip in, grab the boxes, slip out. Before Timmy's monster truck is noticed." "Truck might track us." Bill envisioned a tiny, noisy monster truck convoy breaching their perimeter. "Replace it with a sticky teddy. Parents look cheap." Molly confirmed, without remorse. Bill shuddered. "Monstrous. But effective. What about the parents? The Prosecco-fueled 'Party Patrol'?" "Unicorn Pinata Diversion. A small, accidental ignition. Mass hysteria. Filming flaming unicorn, we vanish." "Flaming unicorn? Genius! Or pyromaniac." Bill stared at her, genuinely impressed and slightly terrified. "Both, usually. Now, for your costume: giant chicken mascot. Nobody questions a giant chicken." "A chicken? Molly, I'm claustrophobic! A pigeon once thought I was turf encroaching!" Bill’s metaphorical feathers ruffled dramatically. "Details, Bill. Details." Molly waved a dismissive hand, already plotting the optimal entry for a large, feathery fowl. The heist of the year was set.