Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ777BTFSJMDF5YAXKEQSQ1B

The cardboard box smelled faintly of damp cereal and despair. Molly crouched behind the dumpster, adjusting her visor with one gloved hand. Bill fumbled with a zip-tie and a half-eaten granola bar. They were currently operating out of a commercial alleyway three blocks from the Miller residence. The target was a sixth birthday, specifically the fully unwrapped gift mountain awaiting its young master tomorrow morning. Rain began to patter against the pavement. Molly checked her chronometer. The alley was empty except for a stray cat and a discarded soda can. She adjusted her grip on the duffel bag. Bill wiped his palms on his jeans. The plan required absolute precision. One wrong step and the whole operation collapsed. They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the distant hum of traffic. Molly finally broke the quiet. She pointed toward the fence. Bill nodded slowly. They prepared themselves for the climb. The weather forecast promised clear skies by evening. They needed to move quickly. The neighborhood was notoriously well lit. Security cameras glared from every corner. But timing would compensate for poor lighting. Molly tightened her boots. Bill checked his pockets for tools. Everything was accounted for. They were professionals. This was merely a tedious exercise in patience. The presents would not steal themselves. They waited patiently for the exact moment. The clock ticked loudly. The air grew heavy with anticipation. Every second counted. Rain continued falling. Puddles formed near the curb. They checked their watches again. The wind picked up. Cold wind whistled past quietly. Streetlights flickered on. Look at that landscaping, Bill said. Those bushes are practically screaming today. They are not screaming, Molly replied. They are hydrangeas. Wind speed is negligible. We walk in at two fourteen. I hate that you are right, Bill muttered. The getaway cart is parked behind the truck. Perfect. Speed is secondary to discretion. We grab the tech first. Small things are dead weight. Dead weight might be valuable, Bill argued. Collectibles sell for hundreds online. We are not stealing collectibles, Molly snapped. This is a professional extraction. We need to be out before six. Six is tight. Six gives us forty minutes to load and exit. I say we stretch it. The guard is a retired accountant named Gerald who naps. We move on schedule. Pack the duffels. I would never touch the fondue fountain, Bill lied. This job goes exactly as planned. No alarms. Drama is already happening, Molly noted. They forgot the punch bowls. The parents are distracted. We have our window. Window is open, Bill confirmed. Should I bring the ladder? The folding step stool. The ladder is too obvious. Leave the trowels. Noted. Step stool only. I will remember the trash bags. Actually, toss the wrappers in the neighbor bins. We need plausible misdirection. You are enjoying this far too much, Molly said, finally standing. Let us move now. Do not trip. Enthusiasm is my greatest asset, Bill said. Next to my moral compass. Just walk, Molly replied. Do not make eye contact with mascots. Never seen mascots before, Bill muttered, already scanning the yard. This is absolutely glorious.