Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95RGVK4MY2JB1F203SS8V2

Molly adjusted her binoculars, the cheap plastic digging into her eye sockets. Below them, in the manicured backyard of a surprisingly large suburban house, a riot of primary colours was unfolding. A bouncy castle the size of a small hatchback listed precariously, spewing giggling children into the mid-afternoon sun. Streamers drooped from improbably high trees. "Alright, Bill," Molly whispered, her voice a low, gravelly rasp that she’d cultivated after watching too many old detective movies. "Phase one: Infiltration. The target is locked. A veritable cornucopia of… brightly wrapped fiscal obligations." Bill, who was attempting to balance a half-eaten hot dog on his nose, let it tumble into the grass. "Fiscal obligations? Are those the little cake-pops with the sugary hats? Because I've been thinking about those." Molly’s eye twitched. She lowered the binoculars with exaggerated care. "Focus, Bill! We're not here for confectionery. We're here for the motherlode. Boxes. Bags. The loot." She gestured vaguely towards the house, where a woman with terrifyingly bright pink hair was wrangling a small, screaming entity draped in a superhero cape. "Think of it as... acquiring underdeveloped assets." Bill nodded, finally catching on. "Right. Loot. So, how are we getting in? Through the doggy door? 'Cause I saw a little terrier, looked like he could be bribed with a bit of cheese. Very friendly, that one." He mimed offering a slice. "The doggy door is a tertiary option, reserved for emergencies or if the primary ingress fails," Molly recited, ignoring the cheese gesture. "We go through the back patio door. It's electronically locked, but I've got the bypass." She produced a small, blinking device that looked suspiciously like a souped-up TV remote. "Electronic lock? On a *kid's* party?" Bill’s eyes widened, looking genuinely concerned. "What if it’s like, voice-activated? 'Open sesame, happy birthday!' And then it just sings them a song instead of opening? We can't steal presents if the door starts a sing-along, Molly." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. The sound of a kazoo orchestra briefly drowned out her response. "It's a standard deadbolt with a Bluetooth module, Bill. Not a sentient serenade machine. Once inside, find the main gift repository. Usually the living room or dining table. You handle crowd diversion." "Crowd diversion? You mean like a… surprise party? Jump out, yell 'Surprise!' and while they're screaming, I grab the presents?" Bill’s grin was wide and hopeful. "No!" Molly hissed, a frantic edge creeping into her tone. "You create a *distraction*. A tactical diversion. Maybe spill a drink. Loudly compliment the balloons. Anything to draw eyes away from the prize. Think 'controlled chaos', not 'unwanted guest'." Bill considered this, stroking his chin. A particularly loud shriek of joy emanated from the bouncy castle. "Oh. Right. So, if I… accidentally… knock over the giant inflatable unicorn? Is that too much diversion?" Molly sighed, the pneumatic release of a deflating balloon. "Just don't get caught, don't get glitter on my blueprints, and for the love of all that is holy, don't eat the evidence." She pulled her binoculars back up, her focus returning to the brightly coloured chaos. "Let's move when the ice cream truck arrives. Maximum distraction."