Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ9557YZ4E74KW14WT75SGR1

The air in the garage hung thick, heavy with the scent of stale pizza crusts and the faint, metallic tang of desperation. Molly adjusted the beam of a powerful flashlight onto a crumpled blueprint – a child’s drawing of a house, smeared with what looked like juice. She tapped a particularly joyous squiggle labelled ‘FUN ZONE!’ with the tip of a screwdriver that had been subtly reinforced with steel. Beside her, Bill, a man whose ambition perpetually outstripped his comprehension, was meticulously polishing a rubber chicken with a silk handkerchief. "Alright, Bill, pay attention," Molly said, her voice low but tight, like a banjo string about to snap. "Operation 'Polka Dot Peril' is a go for Saturday. The target is the 'Bouncy Castle Bonanza' at the Henderson residence. Specifically, the loot room, which is the spare bedroom off the main hall. My intel says it’s overflowing." Bill paused, holding the rubber chicken aloft. "Overflowing, you say? Like, with… glitter? Or dreams?" "With presents, Bill," Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Actual, physical presents. Wrapped. Some probably expensive. Enough to make our retirement from this line of work significantly more comfortable. Now, Phase One: Distraction. You're on diversionary duty." "Ooh, diversion!" Bill hopped slightly. "Do I get the squirting flower? Or the oversized novelty glasses with the googly eyes I saw at the joke shop?" "Neither," Molly replied flatly. "Your role is critical. You will be disguised as 'Sir Reginald Fluffernutter,' a legendary children's entertainer who has mysteriously arrived… early. Your prop will be a giant, unwieldy, slightly deflated inflatable unicorn. Remember the choreography: a series of exaggerated stumbles, punctuated by fake coughs and the occasional misplaced bow. The goal is pure, unadulterated awkwardness. It needs to draw maximum attention while achieving precisely nothing." Bill nodded, a serious expression on his face. "Awkwardness. Right. So, less juggling, more existential dread? Got it. Will there be cake?" "No, Bill, there will not be cake," Molly said, her patience visibly fraying. "Unless you plan on *stealing* the cake, which is not part of this operation. While you're busy making the grown-ups question their life choices, I will be executing Phase Two: Infiltration. I'll use the ventilation shaft they conveniently left uncovered during that botched expansion last year. It leads directly past the snack table." "The snack table! Brilliant!" Bill’s eyes gleamed. "Will the ventilation shaft require any… specialized confectionery extraction techniques?" "No, Bill," Molly repeated, enunciating each syllable with exaggerated care. "It requires you to *stay focused*. My objective is the gift pile. I have a device that mimics a child’s giggle with remarkable fidelity; it should buy me precious seconds. Once the presents are secured into the reinforced duffel bag, I’ll signal you." Bill frowned, rotating the rubber chicken. "Giggle? What if they have dogs? Dogs hate giggling. It makes them suspicious." "We're not dealing with guard dogs, Bill, we're dealing with parents who want five minutes of peace. They'll be too busy trying to decipher your... narrative. Now, Phase Three: Extraction. Rendezvous point is the rhododendron bush by the garden gnome. The getaway vehicle…" "The ice cream truck?" Bill blurted, practically vibrating with excitement. Molly threw her hands up. "Yes, the ice cream truck, *stolen* from Gary's party last week, which we will *not* be painting over this time because Gary is already suspicious. And for the last time, Bill, no jingle. It's stealth mode. Vanilla. No sprinkles. Clear?" Bill chewed his lip, a conflict playing out on his face. "But… the jingle is its soul, Molly. Its very essence. You can't just… silence a jingle. It feels wrong. Worse than stealing the presents." Molly just glared, and the fluorescent tube above them chose that moment to flicker violently, casting their faces in a brief, stark silhouette that, for a mad moment, looked almost professional. Almost.