Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AE9GFM992BVZMTTPXMGEK

Molly and Bill crouched behind a bush outside the bustling community center, their neon tracksuits screaming *we are not ninjas* louder than the children’s laughter inside. The party was in full swing—balloons bobbed near the entrance, and the sugar-fueled screams of a dozen three-year-olds carried across the yard like a war cry. Bill adjusted his "I ♥ Crime" baseball cap. "We go in, we grab the loot, we’re out before the piñata even gets a scratch." Molly squinted at the back door, which was propped open by a very suspicious-looking fire extinguisher. "Yeah, except for the fact that every parent in there is one bounced-check away from joining a militia. You see the dad by the snack table? Guy looks like he could bench-press a toddler." Bill waved a dismissive hand. "Pfft. We’re pros." Just then, a children’s choir erupted into "Let It Go," their high-pitched voices hitting frequencies usually reserved for dolphin communication. Bill’s confidence wavered. "Okay, new plan."