Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5H05A8JWN1WWWGZ85HZFK

**Scene: The Great Birthday Heist** Molly adjusted the fake mustache she’d glued above her lip and peered through binoculars at the suburban house across the street. Balloons bobbed in the yard, and a clown twisted a green balloon into a sword for a shrieking six-year-old. She grimaced. Bill crouched beside her behind a hedge, squinting at his notepad. “Alright, listen up. Here’s the plan. We blend in as—get this—*parents*.” Molly lowered the binoculars. “Parents.” “It’s genius! Who suspects parents at a kid’s party?” Bill beamed. Molly stared. “You look like someone who got lost on the way to a biker rally.” Bill glanced down at his leather vest and fingerless gloves. “This is my *blending* outfit.” Molly sighed. “We need disguises. Yours is jail, mine is actually convincing.” “Fine, fine. New plan.” Bill ripped a page from his notepad. “We go in as caterers.” “Do we *look* like we know how to work a tray of mini hot dogs?” “Okay, then, clowns.” “Too obvious.” “Mime?” “Hate mimes.” Bill groaned. “Fine. Your turn, thief extraordinaire.” Molly smirked. “Easy. We’re the entertainment—the *magic* team. Kids love magic. And magic involves *misdirection.*” Bill blinked. “You’re suggesting we *steal* all their presents *while doing magic tricks?*” “Exactly.” Molly pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled them dramatically. “We dazzle ‘em with flair, plant the idea of a ‘wishing box’ for presents, and *poof*—gifts disappear.” Bill scratched his chin. “That’s… terrifyingly devious. I like it.” Molly handed him a top hat and cape. “You’re the assistant. Try not to trip on stage.” Bill jammed the hat on his head. “Assistant? I’m the star!” Molly snapped her fingers. A pigeon flew out of Bill’s sleeve. He yelped. “Wha—*where did that—?*” Molly grinned. “Star material here.” Bill glowered but adjusted his cape. “Alright, Houdini. Let’s scope the loot.” Molly pulled out a crumpled invite. “Piñata full of candy, stack of presents by the fireplace, and—” “Wait.” Bill pointed. “What’s *that?*” A massive, pristine stuffed giraffe leaned against the gift table. Molly’s eyes gleamed. “That’s our centerpiece. The golden goose.” Bill swallowed. “That’s bigger than my escape routes.” “So improvise.” Molly stood, dusting off her sequined sleeves. “Alright—crowd work first, then the ‘wishing box’ bit. Kids put gifts in, we ‘make ‘em vanish.’” Bill gulped. “And when the *real* parents notice?” Molly shrugged. “We vanish too.” He sighed. “Remind me why we’re robbing a six-year-old’s party?” Molly adjusted her fake mustache. “Because banks have security. Birthday parties have juice boxes.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Profound.” “Now go—distract the clown. I heard he does funny voices.” Bill groaned but jogged toward the party, cape fluttering wildly. The clown turned, startled. Molly took a deep breath. “Showtime.” With a flourish, she pulled a bouquet of balloons from her sleeve and strolled toward the chaos. Somewhere behind her, Bill screamed as the clown sprayed him with a seltzer bottle. Perfect misdirection.