Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ASJ4QVGTBDE8XWSQ21MCV6

They sat in the back of Bill's dented minivan, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and crumpled suburban maps. Molly spread a blueprint across her knees—technically, it was a crayon drawing of a bouncy castle on construction paper. "We're doing this," Molly said, tapping the paper with a tactical pen. "Timmy Henderson's seventh birthday party. Twenty-three presents according to the registry. LEGO sets. A tablet. Possibly gift cards if the Hendersons are feeling generous." Bill adjusted his tactical vest, which was currently being used to smuggle three juice boxes and a granola bar. "Molly, we're professionals. We've hit banks. We've infiltrated casinos. Last month we stole forty thousand dollars from an artisanal cheese shop in Portland." "This is a target of opportunity," Molly insisted, her eyes gleaming with criminal intent. "Low security. High reward. Plus, the cake is chocolate fudge." "There's a bounce house," Bill said, his voice trembling slightly. "Do you understand what that implies? Those things have industrial-grade fans. One wrong move and I'm sucked into a polyester vortex while thirty children scream my name." "Disguise is paramount," Molly said, pulling a sequined tutu from her duffel bag. "I'll be the children's entertainer. You be the magician." "I don't know magic." "You know misdirection. Last Tuesday you hid a parking ticket by making a balloon animal shaped like a police officer. It worked perfectly." Bill considered this. "That was a different caliber of criminal enterprise." "We're evolving, Bill. The big scores are drying up. Corporate security is too tight. But children's parties? Every Saturday. Unattended gift tables. Parents distracted by cheap sangria. It's an untapped growth market." "We are going to steal birthday presents from actual children, Molly." "Technically, we're redistributing wealth to the economically disadvantaged," Molly said, adjusting a plastic tiara. "Besides, have you met Timmy Henderson? Absolute spoiled brat. His parents bought him a pony last year. A live pony, Bill. The kid doesn't need another ninety-dollar LEGO Death Star." Bill sighed, checking his watch. "Entry at two PM. We pose as the 'Science Guys from the Museum.' I bring the baking soda volcano. You bring... whatever it is you usually bring to these things." "Enthusiasm," Molly said. "And lockpicks disguised as party favors." "What about the security detail?" "Minimal. One dad in khakis who will be distracted by the grill. One mother doing the 'wine mom' thing near the Pin the Tail station. And Mrs. Henderson herself, who possesses the situational awareness of a distracted goldfish." "What if we get caught? What's the exit strategy?" Molly smiled, sharp and predatory. "Then we pivot. We become the magicians we pretended to be. We pull a rabbit from a hat. We make the stolen goods disappear into the audience." "You cannot actually pull a rabbit from a hat." "I'll learn tonight," Molly said. "YouTube tutorials." The van door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. A small girl in a princess dress stood on the curb, clutching a juice box and staring up at them with enormous eyes. "Are you the Science Guys?" she asked. Bill and Molly froze, mid-breath. "We're... rehearsing," Molly said smoothly, her smile fixed in a rictus of terror. "For the party. Later." The girl nodded solemnly. "My brother Timmy is turning seven today. He has a Nerf gun. And a tablet. And a bike." Molly's eyes widened with predatory calculation. "Tell us more about this bike." Bill grabbed her arm. "Molly." "I'm conducting reconnaissance," she whispered fiercely. "Professional development. Networking."