Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5N1VPNSC6CDMRQR7XKAKV

Molly leaned against the hood of their beat-up van, gazing at the brightly decorated house across the street. Streamers hung limply from the porch, and a giant inflatable unicorn swayed in the breeze. Inside, the muffled sounds of children’s laughter and screams of joy drifted out. She crossed her arms and sighed. "This has to be the dumbest plan we’ve ever come up with." Bill popped his head out of the van’s back doors, holding a clipboard and wearing a party hat crookedly perched on his head. "Dumb? This is genius! Kids’ parties are chaos. Parents are too busy chasing toddlers to notice two classy professionals like us walking in and walking out with the goods." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Classy professionals? Bill, we’re wearing disguises you made out of duct tape and cardboard. You look like a walking piñata." Bill adjusted his hat indignantly. "First of all, this is a *masterpiece.* Second, the disguise is just the icing on the cake. The real plan is flawless. Step one: blend in. Step two: grab the presents. Step three: profit." "Step four: get arrested," Molly muttered, pulling off a stray piece of duct tape stuck to her sleeve. "Bill, there are *parents* in there. Parents who will not appreciate us stealing their kids’ loot." Bill waved a dismissive hand. "Parents are easy. We’ll distract them with—" He paused, flipping through his clipboard. "Ah, yes, the secret weapon: a piñata filled with candy and glitter. Chaos ensues, we grab the presents, and boom. Perfect crime." Molly stared at him. "You’re bringing glitter into this? Do you *want* to leave an eternal trail of sparkles leading back to us?" Bill frowned, looking genuinely wounded. "Glitter is festive. Festive is inconspicuous. Besides, no one suspects the glitter-covered guy. It’s psychology." "Psychology? Bill, glitter is the herpes of the craft world. Once it’s on you, it’s *never* coming off." Bill shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Details, details. The point is, we’re pulling this off. Look, I even made us covers." He handed her a laminated ID badge that read, *Official Party Inspector.* Molly groaned. "Where did you even get these made?" "Kinko’s," Bill said proudly. "Told them it was for a school project. The guy didn’t even ask questions." "That’s because he thought you were a teacher, not a criminal." Bill ignored her, strapping the badge to his chest. "Alright, let’s go over the plan one more time. We walk in, pretend to be inspectors, make sure the piñata gets busted open, grab the presents, and head out. Simple." "Simple," Molly repeated dryly. "Except for the part where we’re stealing from children." Bill patted her shoulder. "Relax, Molly. Kids don’t even appreciate toys these days. They’re too busy on their iPads. We’re doing them a favor." "Yeah, sure," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "Because *we’re* the heroes here." Bill grinned. "Exactly. Now, let’s go crash a party." He adjusted his hat one last time and started toward the house, humming a jaunty tune under his breath. Molly hesitated, glancing at the house, then back at the van. She sighed. "I can’t believe I’m doing this." With a shake of her head, she followed Bill, muttering, "Kids’ parties. Glitter. What’s next, stealing from a nursing home?" Bill called over his shoulder, "Don’t give me ideas!"