Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ953RHAN1KC06TJB0CHXYPA

The fluorescent light above flickered erratically, casting warped shadows across Molly’s determined frown. She tapped a stubby pencil against the crumpled blueprint of the Oak Tree Kids’ Community Hall, a document that looked suspiciously like a child’s drawing of a blocky house with a flag on top. Outside, the distant echo of shrieking glee and a tinny rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ served as their grim soundtrack. Beside her, Bill hummed tunelessly, shifting his considerable weight from one foot to the other. A faint smell of stale crisps and desperation clung to him, a familiar bouquet. Molly smoothed a crinkled corner of the paper. The grand hall, supposedly a bastion of childhood joy, was about to become their personal treasure vault. It wasn't the crown jewels, or a Faberge egg, but a mountain of brightly coloured cardboard boxes, tied with ribbons that shimmered with the promise of new plastic monstrosities. The ‘Little Learners’ Annual Fun Day’ was their target. A veritable smorgasbord of unattended bounty, ripe for the plucking by those with nimbler fingers and fewer scruples than a kindergarten teacher. "Alright, Bill, focus," Molly muttered, her voice low and raspy. "Phase one: infiltration. The main doors are too obvious. Too many parents milling about, likely armed with smartphones. We bypass them. We go through the side entrance by the bins." Bill stopped humming. His eyes widened like saucers. "The bin entrance! Ingenious, Moll! Like a shadow, slinking through the refuse of society! Should I wear a disguise? A bin-man outfit? I saw one at the prop shop down on Elm Street, looked very authentic. Crinkly plastic, probably smells real. It had this fantastic dent in the helmet." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture of profound weariness that had been honed over years of working with Bill. "No, Bill. You're not wearing a bin-man outfit. It would draw more attention than a glitter bomb. We're going in as guests. I’ve got the invites. ‘Plus one’. Easy." "Plus one! Brilliant! So I'm your utterly essential plus one. My role is crucial," he boomed, puffing out his chest, nearly knocking over a stack of empty fizzy drink cans. "Distraction? High-energy entertainment? I can juggle. I’ve got a routine involving rubber chickens and… well, mostly rubber chickens. It’s a crowd-pleaser, trust me." "Your role is to carry the bags," Molly stated flatly, pointing at a worn duffel bag slumped near Bill’s feet. "And try not to make eye contact with any of the small, sticky humans. Minimum interaction. Maximum present acquisition. The main haul will be in the annex room. The parents usually leave them there before the craft session, under the watchful, but ultimately gullible, gaze of Mrs. Higgins’ assistant. They think it’s ‘safe’.” "The annex!" Bill whispered, awe creeping into his tone. He leaned closer, his breath smelling faintly of mints and anticipation. "A den of untold treasures! Do you think there'll be, like, a remote-control car? Or maybe a giant inflatable dinosaur with working sound effects? Imagine!" "Probably," Molly sighed, already picturing the inevitable chaos. "Just grab and go. We’re in and out before the cake is cut. And for the love of all that is holy, Bill, no rubber chickens. We need stealth, not a circus act. Now, the layout is simple: kitchen to the left, main hall straight ahead, annex through that door. Easy pickings."