Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KC6G03Z3M94JAFV8653XK6

Molly pressed her eye to the gap in the hedge, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Bill, the target is a bouncy castle, a pony, and a mountain of glitter-wrapped presents guarded by a pack of sugared-up six-year-olds. This is not a heist. This is a war crime." Bill squatted beside her, chewing a piece of grass. "Relax. Kids are just small, drunk people. They fall asleep in piles. We go in during the piñata phase, when everyone's chasing a cardboard donkey. By the time they notice, we're gone with the haul." Molly pulled back, fixing him with a look. "Oh, sure. And the pony? What's your plan for the pony, Bill? We can't exactly tuck a pony under our coats." Bill grinned. "We don't take the pony. We take the pony rides. Cash only. The mom's got a fanny pack loaded with twenties. Tag team: you distract her with a fake crying child, I grab the pack and the big LEGO sets. Then we exfil through the back gate." Molly blinked. "Fake crying child? Where am I supposed to get a fake crying child?" Bill shrugged. "There's a kid right there. The one with the juice box catastrophe. Borrow him for thirty seconds. He's already crying, it's practically passive income." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't just borrow a child. That's kidnapping, Bill. Slightly different crime. And what if he asks for the child back?" "He won't. Kid's got a juice-induced sugar crash coming. In five minutes he'll be a zombie. You'll be doing the mom a favor." Molly stared at him. "You've thought about this a lot." "I think about all my heists a lot, Molly. That's why I'm the brains." "Then brain, tell me about the presents. We're stealing presents from children. On their birthday. What's the exit strategy for that?" Bill waved a hand. "Themed. We're not stealing presents. We're relocating them to a more appreciative demographic. Me. I appreciate a good bouncy castle, but I can't fold one into a duffel bag. So, presents. Specifically, the ones in the gift tent. We swap them with empty boxes I brought. They open them later, find cardboard, think it's a prank. No tears." "Because kids love pranks. That's why they're so happy at funerals." "Exactly. See, you're getting it." Molly exhaled, a long, defeated breath. "Okay. Let's say I agree to this circus. What's my role in the present theft while you're doing the fanny pack grab?" Bill counted on his fingers. "You're the lookouts. You stand by the cake table, watching for any adult who looks like they might do parenting. If someone approaches, you trip over a lawn chair. Loudly. Create chaos." "Create chaos? This is a children's party, not a mosh pit. I'm not tripping." "Fine. Then you sneeze. A fake sneeze. Big one. Then when they turn to say 'bless you', I grab the gift table's corner piece. The one with the robot and the remote-control dinosaur." Molly paused. " have a fake sneeze?" Bill demonstrated. "Ah-AH-CHOO—" The sound was so violent a bird shot from a nearby bush. Molly ducked. "That was your plan? You scared a sparrow into cardiac arrest." "He'll be fine. He's young. So, you in?" Molly looked at the bouncy castle, at the pony, at the glitter pile. She sighed. "Yes. But if I end up arrested at a children's party, I'm telling them you were the pony."