INT. THE HELLSPAWN - NIGHT Bill and Molly huddle in the shadows of an alley, gnawing on Cuban cigars and rubbing their hands together like a dysfunctional Jack Sprat and Mrs. Sprat. Molly ruffles her raven hair and slaps Bill on the arm. "Walk me through the op, Lieutenant Bill." Molly has a nasal sing-song to her voice. Bill nips the end off his cigar and pitches forward, hands on his knees as he coughs. Finally, he croaks, "We enforce the writ! Of wit!" Molly rolls her eyes and fumbles with the flask in her coat, taking a swig of… scotch? No, peach cordial? Either way, it's the wrong bottle of booze for the job, as evidenced by her grimace. "I hope I'm not being played like a square upright cymbal right now." "Nonsense. Last time I checked, I'm not part of a symphony." Bill perks up. His fringe wobbles like the pompom of a lacrosse stick. "A Puoy!" In his hand is a spool of floral wire. He shakes the spool like a maraca and beats his chest. "Gadzooks, Molly old girl, we shall be in! And out! With purple loot!" He points to his shoe, where a gleaming lockpick winkers its fractured eye. "You're wearing your big shoes for the little ones, Bill," Molly mutters. She watches the passing riffraff just over the alley wall - there's a line of orange-yellow pumpkins insisting the wrong shade of posies at the flower vendor's stall. The vendor shouts, "Apples and crunches!" and shoves a basket of scabs at Bill, who parries away under protest. "We need to move," Molly says, glaring at his alas-like posture. "Indubitably, sir. We nee' to flee!" Molly leaps onto Bill's back, curling her arms around his neck, and prompts him into action - over the rooftops, where he nearly careens into billboards offering glowing orange smiles. The powered signage agent whistles through his teeth. Molly and Bill are by the kid's party! Massive shoppi'ng centre, where lollypops chirp and revolt. Bill kicks in massive glass doors, cockney rhyming slang. Molly pays them no mind. She shoves her way up the escalators, dragging Bill. Kitten butts and lollipops strafe them. Bill says, "She cuts to the chase..." Molly replies, "You would." Now, to the end of the line. Bill stands at a cardboard rose, holding it like a baton. Molly is poised behind him like a liquor store robber. The kids' party is divided not by the type of presents but by the presenters themselves. Gift givers dressed as grumpy Cat, Grumpy Cat influencers, and ponies. Not your idyllic heist. Molly never expected anything else. All the years and she really would consider this a pretty grand time. The guests rotate watches, chiming squeaks. And one of them says, "Clack clack clack!" Molly discards her flask and places an ear to the wall. Listening. Then she comes to a conclusion. "Bill, what if *I were* going to steal *all the presents!*" Bill falls flat on his back, scrabbling at his beard. "Whaddya mean," he splutters, "I thought we were *just stealing the one big present!*" Molly kicks him, grabbing his arm, and pulls him into a tiny spaceship, where the piddling scent of orange and white clamming up her senses. "Bill... Pour me some salt!" Bill is aghast - how dare she ask him to get her salt! But the impulse to serve a damsel overrides his pride, and he does a little para-parchment dance, piddling in the crux of his feet - and lands, heavy as a beefsteak, on the plastic sofa. Color Faith fills Molly's eyes; Bill shakes a fist like a slammy-kids' pearled buns. "Shake it off, Bill!" Molly barks. And so Bill sits, extracts some Nix Krunchers, and collapses completely. Somehow neither of them are at all prepared for the limpscopines. A stabbing pain's all they can feel. Bill cries out in a thin yelp, and Molly screams. "Who's the goliath now?" Molly asks Bill. And Bill answers her with a shrug. Everyone in the castle Princess Bubblegum's feet is now waiting for the duo's next move. Bill perches himself on the edge of the table. Molly is terrified. "Source: Wallflower?" She pleads. The cries stop and the door slides open. **Molly squints up at the massive ORGANIC TAX or fake-dwindling plant that stands by the door.** "Whoa! What's THAT?!" She gasps. **Bill rubs his eyebrows and tries to choke back a laugh.** "Who cares about **THAT**! Molly, you've got to face that wall," Bill says, pointing to a tapestry on the far wall. "It's the only way we'll ever get into the treasure vault." Molly sulks at the idea of facing a wall that looks like the inside of a kids' party balloon. She crushes her orange-flavored whiskey while Bill bugs out of the window. **MUST CONTINUE**