Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEFT6MC3RGACJ6Q00S6QYQ

Molly peered through the chain-link fence, her eyes narrowing as she counted the brightly wrapped gifts on the picnic table. "Fifty-six presents, dead center. Remember, we scan for cameras, disable them, and then they're ours." "Gotcha, boss," Bill smirked, their crocodile smile stretched wide. "Any idea who sends that many presents?" Bill patted her pocket nervously, feeling the cold metal of the laser-pick. Molly turned, clicking her tongue. "It's not like kids to get presents. This big length neck man, Frank, does it to "even the score" at his daughter's parties. He's been stirring up in my turf again. I'm gonna show him a better way to 'even out'." She nods, satisfied. He stared back at her, jaw tight. "Damn hypoglycemic Father Gator." They checked their phone. Clear. Molly's gloved finger flew out, and her 3-D printable replica FX gun flashed in the light. Bill jiggled around, then nodded. "Ah! Right!" Molly twisted her mouth as the transport tube lurched. She took a moment to re-restructure her thoughts. Bill recommends a barricade, in front of the gift table, in case of any, ah... 'fall out.' With hungry smiles and plans in order, The pair pushed off the fence.