Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1BNB14Z6TJ8RET14Q6GM4

The rain slicked the cobblestones as Molly and Bill crouched behind a oversized inflatable dinosaur, its plastic skin squeaking under their weight. The target was the Johnson residence, currently hosting a chaotic sixth birthday bash for little Timmy. Inside, the glow of colorful streamers danced against the windows while the muffled sounds of twenty sugar-high children screaming created a perfect acoustic cover. "This is insane," Bill whispered, adjusting his black ski mask which kept slipping over his eyes. "We are professional thieves. We have hacked banks. We have liberated diamonds from museum lasers. And now we are here to rob a toddler." Molly glared at him, her eyes sharp behind her own mask. "Do not underestimate the loot, Bill. That pile under the tree is pure gold. Lego sets, gaming consoles, tablets. Do you know how much a sealed PlayStation five goes for on the black market? It is enough to retire to a small island where no one asks about our past." "But they are children," Bill hissed, peeking through a gap in the dinosaur's tail. "There is a clown in there. A literal clown with a unicycle. If he sees us, he will honk that horn and the whole neighborhood will descend upon us." "The clown is drunk on punch," Molly countered, pulling a roll of duct tape from her utility belt. "I watched him trip over his own shoes ten minutes ago. He is non-operational. Now, focus. The plan is simple. We wait for the cake cutting. When everyone sings, we slip in through the pet door, grab the big bags, and vanish before the first candle is blown out." Bill shook his head, looking miserable. "I feel sick. My mother raised me better than this. She taught me to share, not to steal birthday gifts from six-year-olds." "Your mother also thought you were an accountant," Molly snapped. "She does not need to know. Think of the money, Bill. Think of the beach. Think of never having to eat instant noodles again because we spent our last dime on bad intel." "I just think there is something deeply wrong about stealing a stuffed unicorn," Bill muttered, shifting his weight. "What if a kid cries? What if I have to look a crying child in the eye while I take their dream toy?" "Then you wear the mask tighter and move faster," Molly said, checking her watch. "They are lining up for the song any second now. Get ready to sprint." "If we get caught, I am telling them it was all your idea," Bill whispered urgently. "I will say you forced me. I will say you threatened to hide my favorite socks." "Less talking, more thieving," Molly commanded as the first notes of Happy Birthday drifted through the open window, slightly off-key and full of enthusiasm. "On my mark. Three, two, one." They moved like shadows, or at least like two very clumsy men trying to be shadows. They squeezed through the small doggy door, scraping their elbows on the frame. Inside, the air smelled of frosting and despair. The mountain of wrapped boxes loomed before them, a glittering testament to consumerism. "Grab the big ones first," Molly ordered, shoving a massive box labeled 'Super Racer Track' into her duffel bag. "Leave the books. Nobody pays for books." "This feels like a low point," Bill groaned, stuffing three tablets into his jacket. "Even for us." "Silence," Molly hissed. "The singing is stopping. Move it!" They scrambled back toward the door, bags bulging, just as the room erupted into cheers. They froze. A small voice piped up from the corner. "Mommy, where did the bad men go?" Molly kicked the doggy door open. "Run, Bill. Run like the wind!" They tumbled out into the rain, leaving the inflatable dinosaur deflated and the party in confusion, their pockets heavy with stolen joy and their consciences lightly burdened by the absurdity of it all.