Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK22EFNEDWTCB6TEAQ969FB

The rain slicked the plastic clown face on the banner outside the community hall, making its painted smile look like a grimace of pure despair. Molly adjusted her black turtleneck, which was far too hot for the humid July evening, and peered through the binoculars at the side door. Bill stood beside her, chewing gum with an aggressive rhythm that suggested he was trying to solve a complex math problem in his head. He wore a ski mask despite the heat, sweat dripping down his nose, looking less like a master criminal and more like a confused bumblebee. "We go in low and fast," Molly whispered, her eyes never leaving the inflatable castle where a dozen toddlers were currently launching themselves into oblivion. "Grab the loot, hit the exit, vanish before the magician finishes his card trick." Bill spat his gum onto the wet pavement. "The magician is the wildcard. Magicians have sleight of hand. They could pick our pockets while we are robbing them blind." "Mageicians are harmless, Bill. Focus on the target." She pointed at the mountain of wrapped boxes stacked precariously near the punch bowl. "That is a goldmine of LEGOs, remote control cars, and probably enough cash in envelopes to fund our retirement in a small village in Peru." "Peru has llamas. I am allergic to llamas," Bill muttered, adjusting his mask which had slipped over one eye. "Also, have you considered the security? Those kids are vicious. They bite. I saw a documentary. One toddler took down a grown man over a juice box." "They are four years old, Bill. We are professional thieves. We have lockpicks, smoke bombs, and years of experience." "My last job involved stealing a rare coin from a museum. This involves navigating a room full of sticky fingers and screaming banshees," Bill argued, pacing a small circle in the mud. "What if they start crying? I cannot handle crying. It triggers my anxiety." Molly grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Pull it together. We wait for the cake cutting. That is the moment of maximum distraction. Everyone looks at the candles, we grab the bags, we are gone." "And the parents? There are thirty parents out there wearing name tags and holding wine glasses. They look tired but dangerous." "Tired parents are slow parents," Molly insisted, checking her watch. "In ten minutes, they sing Happy Birthday. That is our window." Bill sighed, the sound muffled by the wool mask. "I still think we should have targeted the bank. Banks do not have bounce houses. Bounce houses are death traps." "Stop complaining and check the lock on the side door," Molly ordered, pulling a set of picks from her belt. "If you hear singing, you move. No hesitation." "What if I get stuck in the ball pit?" Bill asked, his voice rising an octave. "It happens. People get lost in ball pits forever." "You will not get stuck. You will grab the big red truck and the dollhouse and you will run." "The dollhouse is heavy, Molly. It has furniture inside. Tiny furniture." "Then leave the tiny furniture. Take the structure." Bill nodded slowly, though he looked unconvinced. "Fine. But if a clown touches me, I am screaming." "No clowns inside. Just gifts," Molly said, creeping toward the door. "Stay close, watch the exits, and for the love of god, do not engage with the children." "They look right at you, Molly. They know things." "Move it, Bill. The singing is starting." The distant sound of off-key voices rose into the humid air. Molly picked the lock with a satisfying click while Bill hovered behind her, trembling slightly as the first verse of Happy Birthday echoed through the walls. They slipped inside, the chaos of the party swallowing them whole.