Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95RT8P7QQ40Y6PSV9ZFFT3

Molly jabbed a decisive finger at the heavily annotated floor plan. The map, scribbled with crayon-colored arrows and cartoon clowns, was spread across their rickety card table, biscuit crumbs clinging to the edges. “Right, the target: the Montgomery estate tonight. Little Persephone’s ‘Enchanted Forest’ themed party.” “Persephone?” Bill choked on his lukewarm instant coffee, a sputtering sound of pure dismay. He wiped a hand across his mouth, leaving a faint streak of industrial-grade glitter. “Good Lord, Molly, what kind of child even answers to ‘Persephone’?” “The kind whose parents have entirely too much money. Which, for us, means *presents*.” Molly tapped a vibrant purple circle marked ‘Gift Grotto’, a section of the sprawling tent where a mountain of children's treasures was anticipated. “Estimated haul: fifty high-end toys and enough remote control cars for a small, chaotic Grand Prix.” Bill shivered, hugging his mug like a shield against the imagined horrors of the party. “But… a children's party, Molly? It’s a minefield of sugar-fueled toddlers. Stealing a Barbie Dreamhouse from a child who still believes in the Tooth Fairy?” Molly rolled her eyes, a gesture honed by years of Bill’s particular ethical quandaries. “Don’t be sentimental, Bill. Replacements will be had. It's a high-stakes challenge: navigating bouncy castles and potentially agitated petting zoo goats. The presents are just the appetizer. The real prize is the legendary 'Golden Unicorn' piñata." Bill blanched, his face losing its already meager color. “The piñata? Molly, that’s just cheap sweets and probably angry wasps.” “It’s not *just* sweets. It's the sheer audacity! Intel says it’s got a solid gold horn – a family heirloom. Our biggest threat? Bartholomew, the party clown.” Molly traced a crooked line, labeled ‘Sneaky Shortcut,’ from the back gate, past suspiciously manicured kale patches, towards the enormous striped marquee. Bill shuddered, a tremor evident in his entire frame. “Bartholomew? The one with the surprisingly accurate throwing arm?” “The very same. He’s near the present pile. Our plan requires precision, subtlety, and a robust disguise.” Molly pulled out a crude, deeply unsettling drawing of Bartholomew, all exaggerated shoes and an unsettling grin. “A robust disguise that won’t involve me in a frilly tutu, I trust?” Bill asked, eyeing the clown with a distinct unease, clearly reconsidering his career choices. Molly let out a short, mirthless chuckle, already adjusting invisible spectacles. “Better. You’re going as ‘Professor Poofle’, the esteemed bubbleologist. I’ll be your assistant, ‘Sparkle the Fairy’. Total immersion, Bill. Under a particularly robust bubble cannon demonstration, we acquire the goods. And the Golden Unicorn's horn.” Bill groaned, rubbing his temples with both hands, his professional dignity clearly crumbling. “Professor Poofle and Sparkle the Fairy. I knew I should have picked up advanced lock-picking instead of that intensive balloon folding seminar. Molly, are you absolutely sure this isn’t truly undignified?” “Undignified? Bill, we once stole a particularly rare vintage teapot from a cat show, involving a carefully orchestrated feline riot. Nothing is undignified when there’s a solid gold unicorn horn involved.” Molly stood up, already embodying her role, her voice a theatrical whisper. “Now, where did I put my industrial-strength glitter cannon?”