Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DACD8DKVF3FX34AW1DV4N5

The van smelled of stale popcorn and bad decisions. Molly spread the blueprints across the dashboard while Bill squinted through a pair of novelty clown glasses he had insisted were "tactical." Across the street, balloons bobbed against the front window of number 14 Maple Lane. Inside, a child shrieked with joy, and the sound rattled both thieves like a gunshot. "Forty-two presents," Molly whispered, tapping the floor plan. "Living room, under the tree." Bill nodded solemnly and scribbled something on his palm with a marker. "And Doug," she added. He frowned. "Who's Doug?" "The magician. Don't ask." Bill shuddered and wrote DOUG in capital letters, then underlined it twice. They slipped out of the van. Bill clutched a sack big enough to hold a small pony, and it jingled suspiciously with every step. At the gate, Molly plucked a rubber chicken from his coat pocket and held it up between two fingers. "We agreed no props." "It's not a prop," Bill said. "It's a distraction." Molly sighed, tucked the chicken back into his pocket, and led the way toward the side door. A hand-painted sign hung above it in dripping purple letters: WELCOME PIRATES! Molly stared at it, then at Bill, who was already checking his reflection in a garden gnome. "This feels like a bad omen," she muttered. "Everything feels like a bad omen when you're robbing toddlers," Bill replied cheerfully. "Pass me the lock picks. And stay away from the cake."