Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5HHMNK04N9WV31BN6CJV4

The daycare’s back alley smelled like old milk and broken dreams. Molly adjusted her sparkly pink balaclava—because, honestly, if you’re robbing a kids’ party, you might as well look fabulous—while Bill crouched beside a dumpster, wrestling with a lockpick shaped like a unicorn. “Hurry up,” Molly whispered. “The piñata’s about to break, and after that, it’s presents o’clock.” “This lock’s tougher than a toddler on a sugar high,” Bill grunted, twisting the unicorn’s horn. “Who even puts a security system on a bouncy castle storage shed?” “People who don’t want their bouncy castles stolen.” “Good point.” There was a click, and the door creaked open to reveal a treasure trove of wrapped gifts, each more suspiciously shaped than the last. Molly scooped up a box that rattled. “Bingo. Legos. Do you know what these go for on the black market?” “Aren’t all markets black when you’re stealing from six-year-olds?” “Philosophy later, thievery now. Grab the big one—I bet that’s the tablet.” Bill hefted a glittery package the size of a toaster. “Why do kids even need tablets? Shouldn’t they be, I dunno, playing with sticks?” “Sticks don’t have resale value.” Molly dumped an armful of plushies into a sack labeled “SAND” (it had seemed ironic at the store). Then she froze. “Uh. Bill.” “What?” “We’ve got company.” A small figure stood in the doorway, clutching a half-eaten cupcake and staring at them with frosting-smeared judgment. Bill cleared his throat. “Hey, kiddo. We’re, uh... Santa’s interns?” The child blinked. “Santa wears red.” Molly nodded. “Right. But we’re on the *naughty* list branch. So we wear... pink.” The kid squinted. “You’re stealing.” “No, no,” Bill said. “We’re *redistributing*.” He held up a toy rocket. “This is going to a, uh, poor little boy in—where’s a sad place?” “Cleveland,” Molly supplied. The kid took another bite of cupcake, considering. “I’ll tell Miss Jenny.” Molly gasped. “Wait! What if we...” She rummaged in her sack and pulled out a squeaky giraffe. “Trade you this for silence?” The kid’s eyes widened. “And the rocket.” Bill sighed and handed it over. The kid stuffed both into their overalls and wandered off, muttering, “Weird Santas.” Molly wiped her brow. “Alright, new plan. We grab what’s left and bail before the juice boxes kick in.” Bill hoisted the sack. “Next year, let’s just rob a bank.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Molly grinned, adjusting her balaclava. “Banks don’t have goody bags.” And with that, they vanished into the night, leaving nothing but a trail of glitter and poor life choices behind them.