Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFK74R0Y5FPDQHSHK14XHR9

Molly crouched behind the giant ceramic flamingo. "The clown's break starts in four minutes. You have the balloon animals?" Bill nodded, pulling a bundle of pre-inflated, slightly sad-looking poodles from his coat. "They're helium. Won't survive the night." "Perfect. Distract the parents. I'll handle the loot sack." She adjusted her ski mask, which was actually a child's dinosaur mask with the eye holes crudely cut larger. "Wait," Bill hissed, grabbing her arm. "What's the signal?" "The signal is me running out with a sack full of presents. Try to keep up." She peered around the flamingo. "Remember: smile, compliment the cake, then create chaos." "What kind of chaos?" "The fun kind! Confetti in the punch bowl. Maybe a pie. We discussed this." "I thought you meant a metaphorical pie!" "Bill. We're stealing from children. Nothing about this is metaphorical." She checked her watch—a plastic one from a cereal box. "Go. Go be charming." Bill straightened his tie. "I still think we could have just been guests." "And miss the artistry?" Molly grinned behind her mask. "This is about the craft." "The craft smells like baby powder and regret." "That's the smell of opportunity. Now *move*." Bill sighed, grabbed his sad poodles, and stepped into the light, his smile already looking slightly unhinged. Molly counted to ten, then darted toward the back door, her sack rustling like a very ambitious Christmas tree.