Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK996QRFSP1JXN380AG15FY

Molly crouched behind the inflatables warehouse, peering at the glittering community center across the street. Streamers flapped like taunting flags. On the poster, cartoon dinosaurs promised cake, magic, and a frightening amount of supervision for anyone older than eight. "Molly, this is insane," Bill whispered. "They're seven." "Exactly," Molly said. "Low security, high sugar." He nudged his backpack, which jingled with lock picks, party hats, and a disturbingly realistic unicorn mask. Bill had robbed three banks, two casinos, and once, by accident, a monastery, yet nothing had terrified him like the sight of tiny shoes lined up outside a bouncy castle. "Clown lookout," Bill muttered. "Got it." They studied the layout: balloon arch, gift table, hired magician, roaming grandmother patrol. The presents towered beside a cardboard volcano, gleaming under layers of dinosaur wrapping paper, each one a small, glittering betrayal of capitalism. "No balloons," Molly added. "They squeak." Bill imagined himself tackled by twelve sugar‑addled kids wielding pool noodles. Professional reputation aside, he wasn't sure he'd survive the YouTube footage. "Focus." Molly traced their route in the dirt, smile razor sharp. Tonight, they weren't stealing jewels; they were stealing birthdays. The job suddenly felt smaller than the cake inside there.