Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA8432V7F6YDAAR32R7XW7

Molly crouched behind the azalea bushes like they’d offended her personally. Through the living room window, she watched a child in a paper crown sprint past a balloon arch, trailing a streamer like a wounded comet. The house pulsed with music that sounded like it had been composed by a committee of kazoos. Bill slid in beside her, smelling faintly of peanut butter and bad decisions. He held a clipboard with a hand-drawn map of the property, as if the suburban lawn were the Louvre. “We’re robbing a birthday party,” Bill whispered. “Just want to say that out loud.” “We’re liberating gifts from an unjust system,” Molly whispered back. “Also, your map has a dragon on it.” “That’s the trampoline,” Bill said. “It’s breathing out kids.” Molly adjusted her black beanie, which felt deeply overdressed for a yard full of bubble machines. “Focus. Presents are stacked near the dining room. We go in, grab everything, out in under three minutes.” “Three minutes?” Bill said. “That’s less time than it takes to untie one of those balloon animal knots.” “We’re not untieing balloons,” Molly said. “We’re not even touching balloons.” Bill tapped the clipboard. “According to my intel, there is a clown.” “A clown is not intel,” Molly said. “A clown is a variable,” Bill insisted. “Unpredictable. They can fit in small cars. They can make a flower squirt water.” “We can also fit in small spaces,” Molly said. “And we have a crowbar.” Bill peered through the bushes again. “The kids are doing… what is that?” “Pin the tail on the donkey,” Molly said. Bill frowned. “Why are they attacking a donkey?” “It’s a game,” Molly said. “Innocent. Pointless. Like your dragon-trampoline drawing.” Bill huddled closer. “Okay, okay. What’s the plan with the parents?” Molly tilted her head toward the patio, where adults hovered around a table of snacks, guarding a punch bowl like it contained state secrets. “We blend in. Act like we belong.” Bill looked down at his outfit: black hoodie, black jeans, black gloves. “I dressed like a shadow.” “Exactly,” Molly said. “Shadows belong everywhere.” “They also look suspicious near piñatas,” Bill said. Molly exhaled. “We enter through the side gate. You carry the big sack. I’ll sweep the gift table.” “The sack makes me feel like a cartoon burglar,” Bill said. “Should I go ‘nyeh nyeh’ while I tiptoe?” “Only if you want to be tackled by a six-year-old in a cape,” Molly said. “Those are the most violent demographic.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “What about the dog? I saw a dog earlier.” “Golden retriever,” Molly said. “It’ll help us carry things if we ask nicely.” Bill blinked. “Are you sure?” “No,” Molly admitted. “But I’m willing to gamble on the friendliness of a dog at a party with hot dogs.” Bill nodded, then paused. “Hot dogs. Do we have time for a hot dog?” “We are not pausing a felony for condiments,” Molly said. “Mustard is fast,” Bill whispered. “Relatively.” Molly peeked again. The gift pile was impressive—bright paper, shiny bows, a suspiciously large box shaped like a small appliance. She could almost hear the toys calling to be stolen, in their tiny plastic voices. “Here’s the twist,” Bill said. “The presents might have names on them.” “We’re not reading anything,” Molly said. “We’re grabbing and going.” “But then we might accidentally steal something labeled ‘To Grandma’,” Bill said. “That’s bad optics.” Molly stared at him. “We have no optics. We’re behind a bush.” Bill straightened. “Fine. I’ll be the distraction.” “You are always the distraction,” Molly said. “What’s your move?” Bill cleared his throat, gearing up like an actor about to ruin a play. “I walk in confidently and ask where the bathroom is.” “That’s not a distraction,” Molly said. “I ask loudly,” Bill said. “And with urgency.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need something that pulls the parents away from the gift table.” Bill brightened. “I could announce there’s a coupon for free wine in the garage.” Molly’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no wine.” Bill shrugged. “There’s never wine until there is.” Molly considered the snack table again. “Fine. You lure them. I loot.” Bill whispered, “Looting at a party feels so rude.” “Then think of it as regifting,” Molly said. “To ourselves.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Okay. On three.” “On three,” Molly agreed. “And Bill?” “Yeah?” “If you get trapped in a small clown car, I’m not coming in after you.” Bill swallowed. “Fair. But if I get offered cake, I might fold.” Molly smirked. “Try not to commit dessert-related treason.” Bill raised three fingers. “One…” Molly tightened her gloves. “Two…” Bill inhaled. “Three.” They sprinted from the bushes, two dark smudges racing toward a yard full of glitter and shrieking joy, as if joy itself were the alarm system.