Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK2KEMZZQGK2VA6CTNV7MX4

Molly adjusted her black beanie, pulling it low over her eyes as she peered through the binoculars at the brightly lit suburban house. Streamers fluttered in the breeze and a massive inflatable castle bounced gently in the front yard. Bill stood beside her, chewing on a toothpick and looking deeply unimpressed by the target. "This is it," Molly whispered, lowering the glasses. "The Johnson residence. Birthday central. There are enough gifts in that living room to fund our retirement for a decade." Bill spat the toothpick onto the pavement. "You want to rob a six-year-old's birthday party? Have you lost your mind, Mol? We are professional criminals. We hit banks, we hit museums, we hit high-end jewelry stores. We do not hit Pin the Tail on the Donkey." "Think about the logistics, Bill," she insisted, grabbing his arm. "Security is non-existent. The parents will be distracted by cake and singing. The kids will be sugar-crashed or running around screaming. It is the perfect storm of chaos." "The perfect storm of ethical bankruptcy is what it is," Bill grumbled, crossing his arms. "What if we get caught? 'Breaking and Entering: The Toddler Edition.' The headlines will kill us. 'Thieves Steal LEGO Sets and Sock Puppets.' I will never live it down." Molly rolled her eyes and pulled out a crudely drawn map of the house. "Nobody is going to know it was us. We go in, we grab the big boxes, we leave a thank you note signed by the Easter Bunny, and we are gone before the first balloon pops. It is genius." "It is insane," Bill countered, pointing a gloved finger at the inflatable castle. "Look at that thing. That is a bounce house, Mol. If we trip over that, we break a leg. Then we get arrested by a cop who is probably wearing a party hat. Do you want to explain to a judge why you were trying to steal a karaoke machine from a kindergartener?" "The karaoke machine is secondary," she snapped. "Focus on the main prize. The giant teddy bear. I saw it through the window. It is huge. It probably has cash stuffed inside from grandparents who don't know what to buy." "Grandparents give cash in cards, not inside stuffed animals," Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "And even if they did, is it worth the moral weight of making a child cry on their special day? Imagine the scene. Little Timmy runs into the room, sees the empty space where his robot dog used to be, and just collapses in tears. That image will haunt me forever." Molly grabbed his shoulders and shook him slightly. "Stop thinking about Timmy! Think about us! We need this score. Our last job went south because that alarm system was updated. We are broke, Bill. We are eating instant noodles for dinner. Do you want noodles, or do you want steak?" "I want steak," Bill admitted reluctantly, his shoulders slumping. "But I also want to sleep at night without dreaming of crying children." "Then we do this," Molly said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "We wear the clown costumes. Nobody suspects the clowns." Bill stared at her in horror. "Absolutely not. I am not wearing a clown suit. That is where I draw the line." "Fine," she huffed, turning back to the house. "We wear the mascot costumes instead. The giant banana and the hot dog. You be the hot dog." "I hate you," Bill muttered, though he started checking his lockpick set. "I really, really hate you. But pass me the banana suit."