Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9M7Q0GYJK00SGW96AZDGK

Molly peered through the dusty blinds at the bouncing castle across the street. Balloons bobbed like happy little surveillance drones. Bill sat at the kitchen table, blueprint of the community center spread under a cereal bowl. “They’ve got a unicorn bouncy house,” Molly muttered. “We’re robbing a unicorn bouncy house. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” “I’m very proud,” Bill said. “Crime needs whimsy. Also, seven-year-olds get better presents than most adults. Look at that pile. It’s a loot mountain.” “You know what else seven-year-olds get?” Molly said. “Hysterical. Meltdowns. With tears. You remember my cousin’s birthday? I still have frosting trauma.” “Focus,” Bill tapped the blueprint. “Entry point: side door by the dumpsters. Time: cake-coma window, approximately fifteen hundred hours. Guards: one bored clown, three sugar-high parents, possibly a magician.” “A magician?” Molly frowned. “We’re not stealing from a magician. That’s like taunting fate. Or rabbits.” “Relax. Birthday magicians are just people who failed at card counting. Now, extraction route: we grab the presents, load them into the janitor’s cart, roll out like responsible adults cleaning up childhood joy.” “You really think anyone’s going to believe we’re responsible adults?” Molly asked. “I bought reflective vests,” Bill said, holding them up. “Reflective vests are like instant authority. You put one on, people assume you know where the fire exits are.” “Or that you’re about to fix the Wi-Fi,” Molly said. “Which, frankly, is the more heroic crime.” “Molly, stay on target,” he said. “We infiltrate during the piñata distraction. Everyone looks at flying candy, nobody looks at us liberating gift bags from capitalist toy oppression.” “Bill, we’re not revolutionaries,” she said. “We’re stealing Lego from second graders. Just own it.” “Fine. We’re monsters with excellent taste. Happy?” “Ecstatic,” Molly said. “What about the parents? They look like they do CrossFit and have opinions about screen time.” “That’s what the clipboard is for,” Bill said, waving it. “I walk in, I say, ‘Sorry, ma’am, city regulations say the presents display is a fire hazard.’” “‘A fire hazard?’” she repeated. “‘Made of wrapping paper and dreams?’” “Exactly,” Bill said. “I’ll say we’re relocating the presents to a safer, more… sprinkler-adjacent location.” “And when they ask for ID?” Molly asked. He paused. “I’ll… sigh heavily and complain about budget cuts. Nobody challenges a tired municipal worker.” “I challenge tired municipal workers all the time,” Molly said. “It’s my cardio.” “Then don’t,” Bill replied. “You, meanwhile, are on clown neutralization.” “I am not fighting a clown,” she said. “Last time I fought a clown, I lost a shoe and gained three therapy sessions.” “You’re not fighting the clown. You’re engaging the clown. Ask for balloon animals. Complicated ones. Like a balloon tax audit.” “Bill, if this clown can make balloon tax audits, we should be hiring them, not robbing them.” “Fine, ask for a balloon heist,” he said. “Point is, keep the clown busy while I relocate loot.” “And the kids?” Molly asked. “They’re short, but there are many of them. Like bees. Or interns.” “Children are easily distracted,” Bill said. “We just yell, ‘Who wants more cake?’ and run the other way.” “And what if they’ve already had cake?” she asked. “Then we yell, ‘Who wants MORE sugar?’” Bill corrected. “Honestly, have you never met a child?” “I try not to,” Molly said. “They’re like tiny drunk philosophers.” “Look, timetable,” Bill said. “At fourteen fifty, we approach. At fourteen fifty-five, piñata. At fifteen hundred, presents in the cart. By fifteen-ten, we’re gone, leaving only fond memories and a mysterious shortage of gift receipts.” “And if it all goes wrong?” Molly asked. “Then,” Bill said, “we blend in, sing Happy Birthday, and leave quietly with one gift each tucked under our reflective vests.” Molly stared at the unicorn bouncy house again. “You realize,” she said, “if we get caught, every parent here will put our faces on some kind of neighborhood watch WhatsApp forever.” “Worth it,” Bill said. “I saw three identical gift bags. That means at least three remote-control cars.” “You get sentimental about the weirdest things,” she said. “They’re not sentimental,” he protested. “They’re rechargeable. Now, vest up. We’ve got a date with destiny.” “And by ‘destiny,’ you mean ‘Spider-Man wrapping paper’?” Molly asked. “Exactly,” Bill said. “The most powerful paper of all.”