Run: 2026-10-07-01M4AVG7B2M7VXR1EXNXFQE3DQ

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the wobbly card table, her finger tracing a jagged line toward the bounce house. The paper smelled like grape juice and ambition. Molly had drawn it herself during a stakeout, using a purple crayon she'd found in her pocket. "The vault is in the garage behind the petting zoo. We hit at 3:15." Bill squinted at the paper, adjusting his ski mask, which kept sliding down his nose. The fluorescent lights of the hideout hummed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. "You sure about this? These are kids' presents. One box has a Furby. I draw the line at Furby." "Exactly," Molly said, tapping the map with a leaky pen. "Nobody suspects a thing. We wear clown costumes and blend in. When Mrs. Henderson opens that garage door—" "Juice boxes," Bill interrupted, his voice cracking with moral outrage. "You want me to rob a six-year-old? I have a nephew." "It's not robbery if they haven't unwrapped them yet," Molly said, pouring coffee into a chipped mug that read WORLD'S OKAYEST THIEF. "Think of the haul. Legos. A gaming console. We could fence those." "What do you think we're doing?" Bill demanded, standing up and knocking over his chair. "We're not monsters." Molly leaned back, crossing her arms over her tactical vest. Her tactical vest was covered in patches from previous jobs, including one that said "Ask Me About My Feelings." "Since when? Remember the parade float?" "That was art," Bill protested. "This is larceny against minors who believe in Santa." "Fine," Molly sighed, standing up. "Stay here. I'll go alone. I'll tell the crew you grew a conscience." Bill's shoulders slumped like a deflating balloon animal. He had been looking forward to this job for weeks, ever since he'd seen the invitation on the community bulletin board. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through photos of expensive watches. "Okay. But puppies stay. Crying kids mean abort." "We're not taking the puppies." "I know. But I'm saying it to commit." He zipped up his duffel bag with a sound like a sad trombone. "What's the exit strategy? Through the hedge maze?" Molly grinned, revealing a gap-toothed smile that suggested years of questionable decisions. "Through the ball pit. The balls are buoyant with stolen Legos." "And if a child grabs my leg?" Bill asked, his eyes wide. "You kick," Molly said simply. "Hard." Bill nodded slowly, as if this were a reasonable professional hazard. "Should we bring the crowbar? The thermal drill?" "Absolutely not," Molly said, checking her watch. "We're using gift bags. Scoop presents into totes and waddle out like tired parents." "That's clever," Bill admitted. "Thank you." Molly grabbed her grappling hook. "We move in twenty minutes. Red nose. Non-negotiable." Bill touched his nose, where a cheap plastic clown nose already sat, slightly askew. "I look ridiculous." "You look employable," Molly said, shouldering her bag. "Let's go steal some joy, Bill."