Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZCT1RY5PAWYNJ9EKCX3QY

The suburban backyard smelled faintly of overripe pineapple and desperation. Molly crouched behind a gargantuan inflatable slide that hummed with the electric breath of a trapped breeze. She adjusted her neon-green balaclava, which was inexplicably embroidered with a kitten holding a ball of yarn. Beside her, Bill wiped greasepaint from his knuckles, his tuxedo jacket strained at the seams from his inability to resist the buffet. They were not here for the cake, though the buttercream frosting beckoned like a siren. They were here for the loot. The mountain of glitter-wrapped blocks rested on a picnic table, unguarded behind a plastic fence adorned with streamers. A troop of toddlers swarmed the sandbox nearby, their shrieks piercing the humid afternoon like tiny, rhythmic sirens. Molly peered through the gap between the slide’s bouncy buttresses and counted the targets. There were at least forty wrapped boxes, enough to keep them flush until the next heist in the retirement wing. She nudged Bill, her eyes narrow and focused through the feline face mask. Grab the big silver one first. Bill checked his watch, squinted at the chaotic playground, and nodded with grim professionalism. Whatever you say, boss, he whispered. Stealth was impossible, but entitlement was their greatest camouflage.