Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08SZMVF2J101CQ6S1JNE50

The rain pattered against the windshield of the rust-bucket van, its interior smelling faintly of old pizza and cheaper life choices. Molly pored over her clipboard while Bill drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his knee bouncing like a jackhammer. Bill wiped a smudge off the foggy window and squinted at the house across the street. Strings of white lights outlined the windows, and the unmistakable sounds of a children’s party leaked out—laughter, shrieks, the occasional blast of a party horn. "Three o’clock mark," Bill said. "Adult supervision officially checked out. Time to strike." Molly didn’t look up. "Timing’s not the issue. It’s the piñata. You can set your watch by when that thing gets introduced." She tapped her pen against the clipboard. "We hit right after cake but before piñata. That’s our seven-minute window." Bill grinned. "Seven minutes to clean out a kid’s entire birthday haul? We’re basically Robin Hood, but with less stealing-from-the-rich." "Not stealing at all," Molly corrected. "Borrowing. Temporarily redistributing wealth." "Semantics." Bill gestured vaguely. "So we go in the back door, right? Kid left it open when he ran out with those balloons that’ll probably haunt him for life?" Molly adjusted her sequined beanie—World’s Okayest Thief—and finally looked up. "Correct. Back door’s our E-ZPass to Crime Boulevard." She pointed to the map on the dashboard. "We exit through Mrs. Henderson’s yard—" "Wait, the woman with the watering can cannon?" Bill interrupted. "She’s got a garden hose and cataracts," Molly said. "Anyway, we hop the fence, cut through her rhododendrons, and meet the van on Maple Street." Bill rubbed his hands together. "What’s the backup plan? Engine doesn’t start? Glitter bomb goes off prematurely?" Molly’s eye twitched. "Backup plan is Mrs. Henderson’s scooter. Top speed: five miles an hour, but it’s got style." Bill laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat. "I love it. Breaking into a children’s party, making off with enough toys to start a black-market daycare, and escaping on a motorized wheelchair. This might be our proudest moment." Molly checked her watch. "Go time in five. You ready to go commit a felony?" Bill cracked his knuckles. "Ready to redistribute some joy." They pulled on their ski masks, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the rain just as another child’s shriek of delight pierced the night. Mission accepted.