Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BBW728XQVX7CM3SSBFW59

Molly spread a crayon map across the kitchen table. Bill studied it with the grave expression of a man confronting a particularly vindictive restaurant menu. "The target is a seventh birthday party. We go in, collect every present, and leave before anyone notices. Absolutely no improvising with the balloon animals." Bill tapped the drawing of a pony. Its smile looked judgmental. He had once been bitten by a horse and remained suspicious of smaller versions. "Why is there a pony? You said security would be minimal. A pony is basically a guard dog with hooves and a deeply troubling haircut." Molly turned the map upside down, which made the pony resemble a chandelier. She preferred problems that could be solved through rotation rather than negotiation. "It's decorative. Focus, Bill. We're arriving as entertainers. I'll handle the children, and you'll handle the presents. Can you convincingly portray a magician without crying?" Bill opened his battered suitcase. A rubber chicken emerged first, followed by three scarves, a bent wand, and the weary smell of disappointed community centers. "I can make a coin disappear. Admittedly, it stays gone because I swallow it. The doctor called that less an illusion and more financial mismanagement." Molly pinched her nose. Outside, an ice cream truck played a cheerful tune that somehow made their enterprise feel both more sinister and less professional. "Nobody swallows anything. Especially evidence. These presents could be valuable. Tablets, consoles, fancy building sets. Children today have better investment portfolios than our accountant, Gerald." Bill extracted the invitation from his pocket. Glitter settled over the map like festive fallout. He read the bottom line, then slowly raised one eyebrow. "Small complication. It says gifts are being donated to the animal shelter. We're not robbing rich children, Molly. We're robbing homeless kittens wearing imaginary mittens." Molly stared at the invitation. Her criminal resolve had survived alarms, police dogs, and prison porridge, but kittens introduced an entirely unreasonable new ethical dimension. "That is manipulative wording. Kittens don't need consoles. Unless there's another page explaining everything. Read it carefully, Bill. We mustn't abandon crime over poor typography." Bill unfolded the second page. A photograph showed the birthday girl holding a kitten with one ear. Even the rubber chicken appeared embarrassed by association. "The presents are blankets, food, and medicine. Also, she drew us a welcome picture. Apparently her mother actually hired entertainers. Our names are spelled correctly." Molly sat down harder than intended. Somewhere beneath her professional dishonesty lived a small, inconvenient conscience, now scratching at the door and demanding kitten food. "Fine. Revised plan. We enter the party, protect every present, and perform competently. This isn't charity. It's reputation management. And we're charging extra for glitter." Bill brightened and lifted the wand. It snapped immediately. Molly regarded the pieces, then the chicken, calculating how much dignity could fit inside one suitcase. "Excellent. One final question. If the pony attacks, am I allowed to vanish? Because that's my strongest trick, provided nobody expects me to come back."