Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09XSADCMEYTBHQ9ECBRPSS

The rain tapped against the grimy window of the safe house like a nervous drummer. Molly, wrapped in a stolen fur coat despite the summer heat, was bent over a blueprint of the party venue, chewing on the end of a felt-tip pen. Bill leaned against the radiator, one eyebrow raised as he counted stacks of bills like a casino cashier. "You sure this is the right place?" Bill asked, flipping a bill between his fingers. Molly didn’t look up. "Positive. Blue Banners Daycare—just off Pine. They’ve got a party every Saturday. Balloons, cake, the works. Security’s a joke. Two guys making minimum wage and a dead-eyed intern who texts instead of watching the door." Bill tossed a rubber band over the cash. "And the presents?" "Stacked in the back like they’re on display. I scoped it last week. Stuffed animals, bike helmets, iPads—last year they even had a *real* tricycle." She tapped the blueprint. "Kid’s birthday’s today. Room’s full of parents and sugar-high four-year-olds. We slide in, clean out the back, and vanish before anyone notices." Bill rubbed his temples. "We’re stealing *toys* from children." Molly snapped the pen in half. "Bill, we’re professionals. We’re stealing *from* children. Big difference." She reached into her coat and pulled out a plastic cup, filled with at least twenty keys on labeled rings. "I got duplicates of everything. Even the janitor’s keys—useful for a quick escape route into the alley." Bill stared. "How many keys *do* people lose at daycares?" "More than you’d think." Molly grinned. "I also have a distraction plan." "Oh, I can’t wait." She held up a small red box. "Smoke bomb disguised as a birthday sparkler. We light it near the front door, everyone runs outside, we walk in through the back like we belong. Voila—free loot." Bill groaned. "Sparklers *don’t* smoke like smoke bombs." "For someone who’s robbed banks, you’re being surprisingly anal about pyrotechnics." "That was a *metaphorical* explosion of lives being ruined!" Molly plucked a tiny stuffed dinosaur from the blueprint. "Look, we’ll leave something behind. A lollipop. A yo-yo. Something harmless so the kids think Santa forgot and just left them a treat." She tossed the dino onto the cash pile. "Deal?" Bill sighed, scooping up the cash and stuffing it into a gym bag. "I hate laughter. I hate children. Mostly I hate you. But fine. We do it your way." Molly clapped her hands. "Excellent! We go in at six-thirty, right as the cake comes out. Parents will be too busy singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to notice two well-dressed adults carrying out a wheelbarrow of toys." Bill zipped the bag shut. "Wheelbarrow?" "I forgot to mention that part?" Molly winked. "No canyon-like wheelbarrow holes, no hiking. Just smooth roll to the van. And if anyone asks, we’re volunteers for the ‘Gift-A-Kid’ charity." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "We’re not bringing the toys to charity. We’re selling them on the black market." "Details." Molly gathered her things, the keys jingling like a villainous wind chime. "Tonight, Bill, we’re Santa’s less festive cousins. Now move your stubborn ass—we’ve got a party to rob."