Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATQEDS06R36F007XJQT1D1

The fluorescent lights of the Party Palace hummed overhead as Molly spread a crumpled napkin across the greasy hood of their stolen Honda Civic. On the paper, she'd drawn a meticulous diagram of the bounce house, the gift table draped in pastel tablecloth, and the emergency exit near the handicapped restrooms. Outside, the birthday banner flapped in the breeze, featuring a grinning dinosaur that seemed to mock them. Molly adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and clicked her pen three times, waiting for her accomplice to return from the reconnaissance mission. Bill stumbled back to the vehicle, nearly tripping over a discarded juice box. He was clutching a laminated party schedule he'd snatched from the hostess table, his face pale beneath the streetlight. The smell of cotton candy and desperation hung heavy in the humid air. "We're stealing presents from actual seven-year-olds, Bill," he said, staring at the crayon-drawn treasure map with genuine horror. "I have a mortgage." Molly didn't look up from her clipboard. "It's a Target gift registry. A Nintendo Switch and three LEGO sets. That's fifteen hundred dollars in merchandise." "And the getaway plan? We roll up screaming Surprise while some dad in cargo shorts tackles us?" Molly finally tapped the napkin with a manicured fingernail. "We don't scream. We blend in completely. I've got a Minnie costume." Bill rubbed his temples, leaving white streaks of sunscreen on his forehead. "You're thirty-four years old. The Minnie here is a college student." "I'm ageless. Look." She pulled a crumpled printout from her fanny pack, smoothing it against the metal car hood. "The party starts at two. Cake at two-thirty. That's our window." "The cake?" "We strike during the Happy Birthday song. Everyone sings off-key. It provides perfect cover." Bill leaned against the passenger door, which wheezed open with a rusty protest. "What about the children? There'll be kids there. Sticky toddlers who notice a woman stuffing LEGO into her fanny pack." "They'll think I'm a method actor," Molly said, adjusting her large foam ears with practiced precision. "I've practiced my laugh. It's high-pitched and distracting." "That's not reassuring." Molly grabbed a spiral notebook from the dusty glove compartment. "Phase one: I enter as Minnie, you wait by the pinata with the duffel bag disguised as a gift. Phase two: diversion." "Like a fire?" "No. A glitter bomb in my purse." She patted her sequined side. "I toss it near the cake table. Everyone sneezes. You grab the goods. Phase three: we meet at the dumpster." Bill stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. "You planned this down to the specific dumpster?" "I have a detailed spreadsheet." "It's a children's birthday party, Bill." "Exactly." She smiled, her eyes glinting with terrifying criminal ambition beneath the fluorescent lights. "Nobody expects a heist to happen at a kid's birthday. It's the perfect crime." Bill sighed, a sound of profound resignation, and reached into the backseat. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you." "Deal," Molly said, checking her watch with a manic gleam. "Put on this red clown nose." "Why am I a clown?" "If security stops me, you juggle while I make my escape." "This is Tuesday," Molly said, handing him the bright red foam nose. "Now we've got presents to steal."