Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCSD4STSTDCBV47J18FG3Z8

Molly spread the map over the Honda’s hood, anchoring it with a coffee cup. "Target locked. Henderson house, tomorrow at two." Bill squinted through the streetlamp haze. "The dinosaur kid?" "Forty kids, one bouncy castle, fifteen grand in unopened Lego." She circled a room near the kitchen. "Gift table right there." Bill whistled. "That’s criminal plastic volume." "We’re not judging capitalism, Bill. We’re exploiting seasonal greed." He tightened his sequined vest. "There’s a moral line, Molls. Kids. Balloons." "The line’s the doorway. We cross it dressed as magicians." She tossed him a velvet cape. "You’re Wizzy. I’m silent, meaning I do the work while you pull foam rabbits from your hat." Bill grinned. "Mysterious. I can do that." "You can barely zip that vest, but sure." She loaded garbage bags into a rolling suitcase. "Party runs two to five. Parents flee by four. Our window is three-thirty to four-fifteen, during the puppet show." "We’re the puppet show?" "We’re the distraction, genius. You do balloons. I wheel in sound gear—actually our vault." She pointed to an icon near a ball pit. "Exit’s there. Smells like regret, but parents avoid it." Bill turned green. "Biological warfare zone." "Wear shoes." She slammed the trunk. "We bag the gifts, roll out, sell to Ohio." He went quiet. "We’re robbing children." "We’re liberating excess. Little Timmy has three iPads." "He what?" "Social media confirms it." Molly started the car. "Tomorrow: purple, lies, and every bow we can carry." Bill clutched his wand, a toilet plunger painted gold. "What about security?" "Grandma with a flip phone." "Dog?" "Plunger’s for distraction." Bill practiced, arms wide. "Abracadabra, restroom urgency!" Molly winced. "We’ll do prison with flair, at least." "Teamwork." "Yeah. Team heist." She pulled into traffic. "Don’t lose the hat." "Never."