Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07FPYH7CWYJ5ZC9NXWESSP

Molly adjusted her tiny elf hat and squinted at the party invitation. "You sure about this, Bill? Stealing presents from a kids' party isn't exactly the safest score." Bill rubbed his hands together, his Santa beard dangling crookedly. "Relax, Molly. Everyone knows kids get too many toys. This is just redistribution of wealth. Besides, who’s gonna suspect *old Saint Nick* of knocking over their own party?" Molly groaned. "You are *not* Saint Nick. You’re a 45-year-old guy in a fake beard with a mullet." "Details!" Bill grabbed a bag labeled *LOOT* from behind a bush. "We go in, we grab the good stuff—video games, tablets, maybe even that fancy doll Suzie’s been begging for—and we’re out before the punch bowl hits the floor." Molly peeked through the window. "There’s, like, twenty kids in there. Balloons, streamers, *a piñata*—how do you plan to pull this off without getting eaten by a horde of sugar-crazed eight-year-olds?" Bill grinned. "I brought these." He held up a handful of glow sticks. "Kids go nuts for glow sticks. Toss ‘em in the air, and while they’re distracted, we sweep in. Classic distraction tactic." Molly sighed. "You’re the worst Santa this side of the North Pole." "Best worst Santa," Bill corrected, tying his beard tighter. "Ready?" Molly grabbed her candy cane lockpick. "No. But let’s do it anyway."