Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95RBHHZRRJRRZW978BQDAA

Molly adjusted the battered binoculars, the cracked lenses offering a magnified, slightly distorted view of suburban bliss. The Henderson residence glittered under the midday sun, its garden a verdant expanse punctuated by a violently cheerful bouncy castle – a colossal, inflatable amoeba threatening to engulf the manicured lawn. Through her optics, Molly catalogued the key assets: a churning mass of minuscule, sugar-fortified humans, a trestle table groaning under the weight of brightly wrapped potential. The air vibrated with the deafening symphony of innocent glee. She lowered the binoculars with a decisive click. Bill, perpetually preoccupied with the existential dread of a loose thread on his jumper, offered a vague grunt. Pilfering presents from a birthday party was a new low, even for him. The sheer volume of unopened gifts – a glittering pyramid of consumerist hope, promising hours of juvenile ecstasy – held Molly's professional focus. This wasn't about the thrill of priceless art; it was about liberating bounty, easily fenced, minimal forensic trail. The strategy: await the cake, the subsequent off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday' forming the sonic distraction for a smooth ingress and egress via the garden's service door. Primary, minor impediment: the aggressively cheerful gnome population stationed with unnerving precision along the path. Their painted smiles seemed to smuggle ceramic malice. Bill shivered, eyes flicking nervously towards the terracotta troops. "They’re watching us, Moll. Judging." Molly sighed, the sound a weary echo. "They’re glazed earthenware, Bill. Their allegiance is to mildew. My concern isn’t ceramic surveillance, but volatile children. What if impatience overrides politeness? We need a diversion." Bill’s eyes, usually dull, ignited with a peculiar spark. "Giant present costume! We burst in, yell ‘Surprise!’, then take them all!" Molly’s eye twitched. "Bill, your proposals possess a charming tendency towards the overtly theatrical. Remember the inflatable badger?" Bill winced. "It looked quite cuddly." Molly cut him off. "No giant novelty apparel, Bill. Nor 'Chainsaw Chuckles'. We employ... a more refined form of chaos." Bill leaned forward, intrigued. "Refined chaos?" Molly stated her revised plan with cool precision. "That vat of lukewarm, beige sludge. We wait for peak sugar frenzy. Then, amidst the maelstrom, a ‘tactical spillage’. A glorious, gooey cascade. They’ll be too busy navigating the terrain to notice the prize egressing.” Bill’s face illuminated with profound revelation. "Beige. It’s magnificent, Molly." Molly allowed a glimmer of satisfaction. "Artistry, Bill. Now, remember your role." Bill nodded. "No costumes. No clowns. No gnomes." Molly gave a curt nod. "Just the beige."