Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD69X9ARA5TS3CFPJHAHG8E

Molly paced behind the dumpster, her finger tracing the edge of a crumpled blueprint. “Okay, so here’s the plan: we hit the Henderson mansion at six, right when the birthday girl blows out her candles. Distraction first—Bill, you know clowns? Get a balloon animal for the lookout.” Bill leaned against a fire escape, arms crossed. “Clowns are a *terrible* distraction. They’re already here. Mrs. Henderson hired three of them. That’s like, a 300% redundancy factor.” “Redundant is reliable,” Molly said, unrolling the blueprint. “We need chaos. Maybe I’ll start a food fight with the cupcakes. You know, fake blood and all.” Bill snorted. “You’ll get arrested before we get the presents. The parents will think it’s a *real* food fight. We need stealth, Molly. Like… like ninjas. Or — ” He paused. “Or party planners. We dress up, get hired as decorators. Walk in, swap the presents with ours, walk out. Easy.” “Party planners? Bill, they’ll ask for IDs. And what if someone asks for a password?” “Password?” He blinked. “Molly, every job needs a password. We’ll say it’s ‘Happy Birthday.’” “Disaster,” she muttered. “What if they ask for a *real* password? What if they say, like, ‘Unicorn?’” “Unicorn’s fine. Now stop overthinking. We’ll need ropes, glitter bombs, and Squeaky,” he added, nodding toward a rusted fire escape. “He’s our lookout. Probably.” Molly winced. “Squeaky? Last time he was a lookout, he screamed at a butterfly and gave us away.” “That butterfly had *flying skills*,” Bill defended. “Look, we’ll bring him snacks. Maybe a juice box. He’s five, Molly. Juice boxes are his kryptonite.” “And the presents? How do we move them?” Bill pulled a duffel bag from his coat. “We’ll carry ‘em. Or, uh, stuff them into a unicorn floatie. You know, for dramatic flair.” “A unicorn floatie? In a *mansion*? They’ll have a pool ladder!” “Not if we block it with a cake display. And speaking of cakes—” He pulled out a photo of a chocolate fiasco from last week. “We’ll dump a fake one in the kitchen. Distraction #2.” Molly squinted at the blueprint. “What about the parents? What if they catch us?” Bill smirked. “We’ll tell ‘em we’re from the ‘International Society of Overly Enthusiastic Party Crashers.’ Very convincing name. They’ll probably ask for our autographs.” “Autographs? Bill, we’re thieves.” “Thieves with flair.” He tossed her a glitter bomb. “Now, rehearsal tomorrow? Same time, same dumpster.” “And if Squeaky fails again?” “Then we blame the butterfly.” They paused as a delivery truck rumbled past. Molly folded the blueprint. “What if the parents *are* the butterfly?” Bill grinned. “Then we’re doomed.” They melted into the shadows, Molly clutching the glitter bomb, Bill adjusting his Party Planner badge. The unicorn floatie, suspiciously large, waited in the van. “Next time,” Molly said, “can we rob a bank? Less cake, more loot.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Bill laughed. “Now let’s go ruin some kids’ lives. For charity.”