Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKADKZHQ3VHCVHCW3714PJ0

The balloons bobbed against the low ceiling of the rec center hallway, each one a rubbery sentinel announcing that somewhere nearby, frosting-fueled anarchy was underway. Molly pressed her back to the wall, hiding behind a poster of a cartoon dragon urging literacy with a heroic thumbs-up. Bill crouched beside the supply closet, balancing a duffel bag that clinked softly every time an ill-advised tool knocked against another. From inside the party room came the shriek of twenty children discovering either a magician, a spilled drink, or the existential horror of sharing. Molly whispered, "We are really doing this, Bill, a birthday heist tonight." Her voice had the strained cheerfulness of someone pretending to enjoy karaoke right before the high note. Bill adjusted his ski mask, which currently sported a glittery unicorn horn sticker. He said, "Relax, kids are the easiest marks in human history anyway." Through the cracked door, Molly could see a sea of paper crowns and superhero capes swirling around a folding table sagging under the weight of gift-wrapped tributes. She muttered, "You say that like they are not sugar-fueled chaos grenades." One particularly determined toddler was already testing the structural integrity of the cake with both hands, while a woman in a unicorn headband clapped gamely. Bill peered past her shoulder and grinned. "Compared to guard dogs, I prefer cupcakes and inflatable unicorns." He produced a folded schematic of the community center, printed on the back of a takeout menu because professionalism had limits. Molly tapped the smudged diagram. "Focus, mastermind; walk me through the plan one more time." Bill pointed at a rectangle labeled PARTY ROOM and then at a rounded blob in the margin that had three exclamation points and the word BOUNCY. He said, "Front door's a no-go; we use the bouncy castle instead." Molly stared at the doodled oval that was apparently their portal to crime. "You want me crawling through plastic like a deranged caterpillar." She imagined emerging into the middle of a conga line, draped in static-charged streamers and moral failure. Bill said, "Think of it as cardio with balloons and moral boundaries." Bill unfolded a second page, this one covered in arrows and an optimistic timeline that suggested they could be in and out in seven minutes. Molly said, "Pretty sure we abandoned morals around time you suggested glitter." From his coat pocket, he produced a small canister labeled CONFETTI DISTRACTION and shook it proudly, tiny flecks of sparkle already leaking onto the linoleum. "Glitter is distraction, Molly; they'll track sparkles, not missing presents." A distant chorus of Happy Birthday rose up, off-key and enthusiastic, the kind of sound that made adults smile and quietly reconsider life choices. "And what if some goblin cries weaponized tears at us." She watched as a small boy, denied a second balloon, detonated into a puddle of noise so profound even the clown flinched. Bill said, "Then you deploy the emergency cake slice; sugar stops sobbing." Molly eyed the Tupperware container in his bag, suddenly understanding. "You brought cake as a tactical bribe, not for friendship." He shrugged, already calculating icing-to-tear ratio. "I am not a monster; we steal, but we share." Somewhere in the distance, a piñata met its brutal, sugary fate. "Fine, generosity, where do we stash twenty-seven dinosaur gift bags."