Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AHCG0BV8TX7M12QMKTRXN

Molly adjusted her clipboard under the dim glow of the van’s interior light, scanning her notes with a frown. "Alright, so the plan is solid. We go in as balloon animals, which, by the way, is genius." Bill tied a fake mustache around his face, messing up the ends as he tugged. "Genius? I’m a freaking zebra, Molly. A zebra. I don’t even know what a zebra is supposed to look like." He looked down at his striped onesie, arms outstretched in protest. Molly rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. "You’re a *disguise*, Bill. Quiet down before someone hears you complaining that you’re dressed like a horse that got hit by a truck." She tapped the clipboard. "We’ve got twenty minutes until the cake is cut. That’s our window." Bill finally got the mustache to stick, upside down over his lip. "Great, so we waddle in as balloon animals, stuff presents into sacks, and waddle out before anyone notices." He imitated a waddle for emphasis, the mustache flopping precariously. "Not *balloon* animals," Molly corrected, tapping the clipboard again. "We’re both *human* balloon animals. You’re a unicorn because your ego couldn’t handle being anything less." Bill gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest. "My ego? Look who’s picking out colors that match her soul—*mauve*, Molly. *Mauve*. Do you know what that says about you?" She ignored him, flipping through her notes. "Security’s got one guard patrolling the backyard. Easy to avoid. The side gate’s unlocked, but we’ll need to time it right around the cake song." Bill leaned back against the van’s wall, making the Velcro on his suit crinkle loudly. "And the presents? Where do we even put all this stuff? A wagon to haul it all out?" Molly shook her head. "No wagons. We’ve got these." She held up two large, child-sized backpacks with unicorn and zebra prints. "Small but high capacity. Plus, we look less suspicious if we’re not wheezing from overpacking." Bill eyed the backpacks skeptically. "Those won’t hold more than a toaster and some juice boxes. We’re talking action figures, dolls, *electronics*, Molly." She sighed and tossed a roll of duct tape into his lap. "Fine. We wrap gifts in place and carry them out piecemeal. It’s not glamorous, but it’s efficient." Bill grinned, already tearing off a strip of tape. "Wrap gifts like a toddler’s birthday piñata. I love it." He started winding tape around his hoof-glove like it was some kind of medieval gauntlet. "You ever think about how weird it is that we’re about to rob a room full of what’s basically trash?" Molly stared at him flatly. "The presents are worth thousands. That’s not trash, Bill." "Not *to us*," he corrected. "To those kids right now? It’s a *My Little Pony* lunchbox and a *Transformers* figurine. They’ll cry, sure, but only because their mom packed the wrong juice flavor." He paused. "Which, by the way, should be the *actual* heist. Stealing juice boxes and changing flavors ‘cause chaos." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We’re not stealing juice boxes. We’re stealing *stuff* so people can’t have it. It’s the same thing, but more professional." Bill shrugged. "More tragic." He checked his watch—a cartoon-character one that beeped obnoxiously when he pressed the nose. "Alright, Captain Killjoy, we got two minutes ‘til cake time. You sure this zebra stripe crotch is gonna blend in?" Molly yanked the Velcro on the side of his suit, adjusting it with a sharp tug. "Crime doesn’t have to be *fashion*, Bill." She handed him the backpacks. "Let’s go make some kids question capitalism."