Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATRVD7XMNPRE8Z7FNPHPWT

The warehouse smelled like stale cigarettes, broken dreams, and the particular brand of despair that only comes from spending far too much time in industrial zones on the wrong side of the tracks. Molly sat cross-legged on a folding chair that had definitely seen better decades, methodically sharpening a butter knife she absolutely did not need for this particular job, the rhythmic scrape of metal against whetstone providing a soundtrack to their increasingly ridiculous planning session. Across from her, Bill paced in tight, agitated circles around a folding table that was currently serving as a shrine to childhood innocence, covered as it was with crayon drawings of unicorns, glitter art projects that had clearly taken hours to complete, and at least three juice boxes that had leaked into sticky puddles. "You're sure about this?" Bill asked, his voice carrying that particular tremor of a man who had seen things, terrible, unspeakable things, in his career as a professional thief. He picked up a juice box from the table, turning it over in his hands with the reverence usually reserved for Fabergé eggs. "These are children, Molly." Molly didn't look up from her knife, her focus absolute, terrifying. "They're rich children, Bill. Trust fund kids. The presents will be iPads!" "But they're six," Bill whined, tossing the juice box aside with a violence that sent it arcing through the air. It splattered against the corrugated metal wall with a wet slap. "Six-year-olds have reflexes like cats. Moms are ninjas with wine." "We're not stealing during the party," Molly said, finally meeting his eyes. Her gaze was terrifyingly focused, the kind of look that had once convinced a security guard to let them walk out of a jewelry store with a velvet bag full of diamonds. "We hit the gift table at 4:15. Cake's at four. Sugar rush. Chaos. We grab and go." Bill stopped pacing, his shoes squeaking against the concrete floor. "You've timed the sugar rush?" "I've done my research." Molly pulled out a three-ring binder from her tactical vest, the cover labeled Operation Tiny Humans in glitter pen that somehow seemed to mock the gravity of their situation. "There's a bounce house, a magician, a petting zoo. Pandemonium." "And if we get caught?" "Then we claim we're the entertainment." Molly stood up, smoothing her thief-camouflage hoodie, checking the straps of her utility belt with practiced efficiency. "Look, we've stolen diamonds. This is easy money. Kids have no security." Bill scratched his head, leaving a streak of warehouse dust across his sweaty forehead. "I still don't like it. What if there's a Batman piñata?" "They're in preschool. We need to be quick and morally bankrupt." "Morally bankrupt is my middle name." Bill grinned, adjusting his ski mask, which inexplicably had little cat ears sewn onto the top. "When do we go?" "Saturday. Nine AM. We dress as clowns." Bill's face fell, the cat ears drooping with him. "Clowns? Molly, I have a fear of balloons." "Then you're driving the van."