Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95G8E9SP5NA0TSYQ0DH7FG

Molly adjusted the focus on her battered binoculars, her gaze sweeping over the manicured lawn. Balloons bobbed like cheerful, doomed spirits, and the faint scent of artisanal sausage rolls wafted on the breeze. Children, a shrieking, pastel-clad mob, chased each other around an inflatable dragon. “Right then,” Molly whispered, her voice a low rasp. “Phase One complete. We’ve scouted the perimeter, identified the principal, and confirmed the target’s primary objective: maximum present accumulation.” Bill shifted uncomfortably behind a rhododendron bush, his borrowed tweed jacket snagging on a branch. “Are we sure about this, Mol? It’s Little Archie’s third birthday. There’s a clown. A… a *real* clown.” Molly sighed, lowering the binoculars. The distant sound of a kazoo pierced the air. “Bill, we’ve cased nuclear silos and art museums. A fête for a toddler hardly qualifies as high-stakes. The clown is a diversion. The parents are distracted by the sheer inevitability of projectile juice boxes. The presents, however, are a vulnerable, unattended treasure trove waiting to be liberated.” “But… kids,” Bill whimpered, eyeing a particularly loud child attempting to eat a streamer. “They have that… purity. It’s wrong.” “Purity?” Molly scoffed. “His parents probably spent a fortune on that plastic monstrosity he’s wearing. We’re just redistributing wealth, Bill. From the overindulgent to the… opportunistically inclined. Besides, think of the swag. Rumour has it little Archie’s got the latest ‘Glo-Worm 5000’ and a miniature hoverboard that actually hovers enough to escape a nursery.” Bill paled. “A hoverboard? Oh, no. That’s for professionals, Mol. We’re more of a… ‘grab a few handbags and melt away’ kind of outfit.” “Nonsense. You’ll provide the diversion. When the father – the one trying desperately to juggle a camera and a squeaky toy – takes his eyes off the pile for a nanosecond, you unleash Operation: Confetti Cannon.” “Operation Confetti Cannon? What does that involve?” Bill asked, already looking terrified. “You throw that bag of actual confetti we bought at the party supply store into the air. As soon as it starts falling, I move. They’ll blame the wind, the dragon, or that dreadful clown. This is our moment.” Molly grinned, a flash of gold tooth. “It’s elegant, it’s swift, and it targets the most ethically ambiguous loot imaginable.” “And the exit? If the clown sees us?” “Clowns are notoriously bad at distinguishing faces once they’re inside that makeup. We’ll be ghosts. And if not, well, you always have your convincing portrayal of a runaway bouncy castle to fall back on.” Molly nudged him. “Now, get ready. The kazoo solo is building. That’s our cue.” Bill swallowed hard, glancing from the chortling clown to the shimmering tower of presents. "Right. Confetti. For the children."