Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRJX2K791QP66BAZ3MEAAT

The community center’s gym was lit by a flickering bulb, casting long shadows over the birthday banners. Molly crouched behind a stack of folding chairs, her backpack humming with stolen gadgets. Bill slipped a rubber duck into his pocket, rehearsing the absurd plan that would make the kids chase a squeaky intruder. Hallway glowed with flickering lights, and scent of frosting lingered, reminding them why this heist felt like a adventure wild. “You really think a squeaky duck will distract a room full of five‑year‑olds?” Molly asked, her voice a hushed giggle. “Absolutely. The kids love anything that squeaks louder than the cake music,” Bill replied, tapping his finger against his pocket watch, which was really a cheap plastic toy. “If we drop through the vent, we’ll land right by the gift table before anyone spots us,” Molly whispered. “And the kids will be too busy hunting the duck to notice a couple of thieves,” Bill added. “You sure the rope can hold both of us? I don’t want to fall on the cake,” Bill asked. “It’s rated for a thousand pounds, and we’re only a couple of lightweight crooks,” Molly replied. Molly attached the rope to the vent hatch, whispering a quick prayer to the gods of mischief. The hallway outside was empty, save for a sleepy security guard snoring in a corner. “He’ll be out in five minutes, just as the kids start opening presents,” Bill noted. “Perfect timing. We’ll be in, grab everything, and vanish before anyone realizes the gifts are gone,” Molly agreed. Molly gave Bill a nod, and they slipped into the vent, the metal humming under their weight. The vent opened onto a balcony overlooking the party, a sea of colorful chaos below. “Watch out for the clown mural; the kids might think it’s alive and start a panic,” Bill warned. “A clown? I’ll just pretend it’s a statue and keep my hands on the sack,” Molly replied. Bill lowered himself, his feet landing silently on the carpet beside the towering gift table. The table overflowed with brightly wrapped boxes, each promising a new adventure for a child. “Let’s start with the biggest box; the unicorn is huge and worth a fortune,” Molly suggested. “And the candy jars—those are the real gold for a thief with a sweet tooth,” Bill added. Molly lifted the unicorn, its plush mane brushing against her cheek as she tucked it into the sack. Bill filled the sack with toys, candy, and a few extra trinkets he’d pilfered from earlier jobs. “We should also grab the photo booth props; the oversized sunglasses and fake mustaches will make perfect souvenirs for our next getaway, and they’re cheap enough to replace later anywhere again today,” Molly whispered. “We should also leave a note, something funny so the parents think it’s a prank,” Bill suggested. “‘Sorry, Timmy, the presents were too good to resist,’ signed by the ‘Great Gift Bandits’,” Molly wrote. They slipped back into the vent, the rope humming as they ascended toward the exit. Outside, the security guard yawned, oblivious to the heist unfolding just a floor above. “Mission accomplished. Let’s vanish before the kids notice their toys are missing,” Bill declared. They heard the distant giggles of children echoing through the hall, a reminder that their mischievous escapade was about to become the most ever talked‑about story of the neighborhood again today. The night swallowed their laughter.