Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ04NYG12WF1EAQ5QSPGF6R9

Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which were smeared with frosting from their cupcake recon. The streetlight flickered overhead, painting their stolen catering van in sickly yellow. "You're telling me we cased this place for three days to steal Paw Patrol lunchboxes and a used copy of Candy Land?" Bill smoothed his stolen postal worker uniform. His reflection in the rearview mirror looked like a traumatic birthday memory. "First off, it's Operation Punch and Pie. Second, the gift table's estimated street value is four hundred dollars. Maybe five if that bicycle is a Schwinn." "Four hundred dollars." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "We could be hitting the jewelry store on Fifth." "Jewelry stores have alarms. This place has a sleeping grandparent and a dad doing magic tricks." Bill tapped a crumpled drawing from the recycling bin and squinted. "According to this floor plan—sketched by a six-year-old named Dylan—the presents are staged in the living room, northwest corner, by the deflated dinosaur." "That's not a floor plan. It's a crayon massacre." "Art is subjective." He twisted a balloon animal into something vaguely threatening. "I go in as the entertainment. Distract the target audience with whimsy. Meanwhile, you slip through the patio—Dylan's map shows minimal resistance near the juice box station—and secure the payload." Molly stared at him, deadpan. "You honestly want me to rob children during musical chairs?" "I want you to liberate unwrapped assets during a structured play environment." Bill checked his watch. "The clown arrives in ten. We take his place. Classic Trojan Horse." "We don't even know the clown." "That's the beauty of it. Chaos is our costume." "You're completely insane." "I'm a professional. Bill, the party legend. I make epic balloon swords. I perform sleight-of-hand. When these sugar-crazed youths scream about cake, you—using gift bags as makeshift sacks—exfiltrate through the side gate." "What about the parents, Bill?" "One dad's three beers deep into barbecue techniques. The mom is issuing evacuation orders to the bathroom line. Security is compromised." He handed her a striped party hat. "Wear this. It obscures the face." Molly put it on, glaring. "If I get tackled by a seven-year-old ninja, I'm blaming you." "Fair enough. Cover is 'Happy Birthday.' If things go sideways, we blow these and blend into the conga line." Bill handed her a noisemaker. "There's a conga line?" "It's a party, Molly. There's always a conga line." He adjusted his red nose. "Now remember: grab, bag, and ghost. No Minecraft backpacks left behind, got it?" "You're enjoying this way too much." "Baby, I'm a thief. This is the only heist where if we get caught, they send us to the naughty corner." He opened the van door, straightened his polyester bow tie, and sniffed the air for cake. "Let's go steal some LeapFrogs and maybe a pinata."