Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK1ZWZYH305T2NVW7M2AVNR

The rain slicked the neon sign of Chuckles the Clown's Fun Palace, casting a sickly green glow over Molly and Bill as they crouched behind a overflowing dumpster. Bill adjusted his goggles, which were far too large for his face, making him look like a confused insect. "We are absolutely certain this is the right target?" Bill whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Positive," Molly hissed, checking her lockpick set for the third time. "Timmy Turner's seventh birthday. The kid's dad is a tech mogul. We're talking drones, tablets, and enough LEGO sets to build a actual fortress." "A fortress made of tiny plastic bricks that we will step on in the middle of the night and scream in agony?" Bill asked, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill. "Focus, Bill. We get in, we grab the loot piled under the tree in the main hall, and we get out before the magician finishes his dove trick. It's simple." "Simple? Molly, last week we tried to steal a vending machine and got stuck in the change return slot for four hours. I still have quarters in my pockets that rattle when I walk." "That was a tactical retreat, not a failure. Now, do you have the distraction device?" Bill reached into his trench coat and pulled out a squeaky rubber chicken the size of a toddler. "I feel ridiculous holding this." "You look professional. Hold it like it's a grenade. When I give the signal, you squeeze it three times rapidly. That draws the parents to the side entrance while I pick the back lock." "And if the clown sees me?" "Then you act like a lost uncle. Everyone ignores uncles at kids' parties. They're invisible. Now move." They crept toward the rear door, their footsteps silent on the wet pavement. Molly worked the lock with practiced ease, the tumblers clicking softly until the mechanism gave way. She pushed the door open just a crack, revealing a hallway decorated with streamers that looked like colorful intestines. "Do you hear that?" Bill froze, his hand tightening on the giant chicken. "Hear what?" "Music. It's... it's the Baby Shark song. On a loop. It's haunting, Molly. It's psychological warfare." "Stop whining and follow me. The gift table is just around the corner. Look at that mountain of wrapped boxes. It's beautiful." "It looks heavy. How are we supposed to carry all that? We didn't bring sacks." "We improvise. We stuff our jackets. We fill our pants. We become walking present dispensers if we have to." "My pants are already tight. If I stuff another iPad in there, I won't be able to run." "Then don't get caught. Remember, smooth criminal, not waddling penguin. Can you do this?" "I can try, but if I hear one more verse of that shark song, I might surrender voluntarily just to make it stop." "Less talking, more stealing. On my count. Three, two, one..." They burst into the room, only to stop dead in their tracks. Standing between them and the pile of gifts was a six-foot-tall animatronic pirate that suddenly jerked to life, its eyes glowing red. "Arrr, welcome to the party!" the robot boomed, its voice distorted and terrifying. Bill dropped the rubber chicken, which let out a pathetic squeak. "I told you. Fortresses. Traps. Pirates. I knew it." "Shut up and grab the LEGO," Molly commanded, diving behind a table as the pirate began to spray confetti like machine-gun fire. "This is still happening!" "My dignity is dead, Molly!" Bill cried, shoving a box of LEGOs into his waistband. "But the loot is mine!" "Run, you idiot, before the magician shows up with real rabbits!"