Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRX8ERWVSGZK7H5RREKTGR

Inside the dimly lit van smelled of stale pizza and cheap cologne. Outside, a suburban cul‑de‑sac glittered with balloons and a banner that read “Happy Birthday, Timmy!” Molly perched on the edge of the driver’s seat, her hair a tangled mess of neon hair ties. Bill lounged in the back, munching on a half‑eaten donut and tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel. Molly glanced at the crumpled flyer she had snatched from the community bulletin board. “The party’s at 3 p.m.,” she whispered, “and the parents will be distracted by a magician’s rabbit.” Bill chuckled, “A rabbit? That’s the most predictable distraction since the clown’s squeaky shoes.” He pulled out a sketch of the house, circles and arrows doodled in a frantic hand. The plan was simple: slip in through the open garage, grab the gift table, and disappear before the cake was cut. Yet the reality of sneaking into a room full of squealing kids made Molly’s stomach flutter like a trapped bird. “Molly, do we have a getaway car?” Bill asked, eyes scanning the street for any sign of a police cruiser. “We’ll use the van,” she replied, tapping the steering wheel. “It’s already here, and it looks like a moving billboard for ‘We love parties.’” Bill raised an eyebrow. “What about the kids? They’ll scream.” Molly smirked. “We’ll wear clown masks. It’s a classic. And we’ll bring a bag of confetti to blend in.” The two thieves exchanged a conspiratorial grin. They slipped on oversized gloves that squeaked with every movement, and Bill strapped a tiny speaker to his belt that played a loop of circus music. “Okay, the lock on the garage is a cheap keypad,” Molly said, pointing at the metal plate. “We have a universal code: 1234.” Bill stared at the keypad, then at the party décor. “What if they change the code?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Then we’ll improvise. I have a set of lock‑picking tools hidden in my shoe.” They practiced the motion of opening the garage, the sound of the latch echoing in the cramped space. The van’s engine hummed, a low growl that seemed to urge them forward. “Remember, we only take the presents, not the candy,” Bill reminded, his voice a mix of seriousness and mischief. Molly nodded, “The kids will think the gifts vanished like magic. We’ll be legends in the underground community of ‘gift thieves.’” The van pulled up to the house, the sun casting long shadows across the lawn. The front door opened, and a chorus of giggles spilled out. Molly and Bill slipped out, their clown masks glinting in the afternoon light, ready to turn a birthday celebration into a heist comedy. They slipped into the backyard. Bill nudged a stray balloon, letting it drift like a tiny spy. “Do you think the kids will notice us?” he whispered, scanning the guests. Molly chuckled, “If they do, we’ll claim we’re part of the entertainment—a clown act with a twist.” Night hummed with mischief.