Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRQX0KA7SA78HB9TM9B98P

The old community center loomed under a flickering streetlamp, its parking lot littered with stray balloons and half‑eaten cupcakes from a previous event. Molly crouched behind a rusted trash can, her flashlight sweeping the perimeter while Bill leaned against a dented metal table, polishing a screwdriver that had seen better days. The scent of frosting lingered in the night air, a reminder that the children’s party inside would be a treasure trove of brightly wrapped chaos. Molly’s eyes glittered as she imagined the mountain of toys, plush animals, and glittering gadgets waiting to be liberated. “We’ll be the first thieves to ever steal a birthday cake and get away with it,” she muttered, half‑laughing, half‑serious. Bill chuckled, his grin widening at the absurdity of the job. He had never broken into a celebration before; his usual hauls were jewelry stores and antique shops. This was a new frontier, a heist with the most innocent of victims. The plan unfolded like a slapstick comedy. First, they would slip past the parents, who were distracted by a karaoke machine belting out “Let It Go.” Then, they would neutralize the party’s security—an over‑enthusiastic clown with a squeaky nose and a golden retriever that loved to chase socks. Finally, they would cart away every present, leaving only the empty boxes and a lingering scent of chocolate. Molly tapped the side of the building, listening for the muffled giggles and the occasional pop of a balloon. “The kids will be in the backyard, right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Bill nodded, his eyes scanning the hallway for any hidden cameras. “Exactly. We have a ten‑minute window before the cake is cut.” The clown’s red nose glowed faintly in the dim light, and the dog’s tail thumped against the floorboards. Bill slipped a tiny piece of cheese into his pocket, a distraction for the mut. “If we throw this, he’ll chase it and we’ll slip past,” he whispered. Molly laughed, the sound echoing off the plaster walls. “You’re a genius, Bill. A genius with a cheese‑loving dog.” They rehearsed their entry and exit, timing each step to the rhythm of a children’s song playing on a loop. The plan was simple, absurd, and oddly thrilling. The thought of walking out with a sack full of toys made Bill’s heart race faster than the drumbeat of a marching band. Molly checked the lock on the side door, a cheap padlock that could be pried open with a hairpin. “Ready?” she asked, her voice steady. Bill gave a solemn nod, his fingers tightening around the screwdriver. “Let’s do this,” he said, his tone a mix of excitement and mischief. The night was theirs, and the party’s loot awaited like a mountain of candy. As they slipped through the doorway, the world outside faded, replaced by the soft glow of fairy lights, the chatter of children, and the promise of a heist that would be remembered—if anyone ever bothered to remember a stolen birthday party.