Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5T6N7P513PEKS4BY85MN0

The basement of Molly’s apartment smelled like stale pizza and bad life choices. Bill sat on a folding chair, hunched over a hand-drawn map of the neighborhood, while Molly paced, her boots scuffing against the concrete floor. “Alright, genius,” Molly said, tossing a crumpled party invitation onto the table. “How do we pull this off without getting tackled by a bunch of sugar-crazed six-year-olds?” Bill squinted at the map, tapping a finger on a poorly drawn stick-figure house. “Simple. We go in as clowns. No one questions clowns.” Molly stopped pacing. “Clowns? You’re kidding.” “Dead serious. Clowns are like ninjas at kids’ parties. Invisible menace.” “Bill, I once saw you cry because a pigeon stole your sandwich. You’re not clown material.” He waved her off. “Irrelevant. The point is, we blend in, grab the loot, and bounce before anyone notices.” Molly sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. But if one of those little gremlins asks you to twist a balloon animal, we’re screwed.” Bill grinned. “Already thought of that. I’ll just hand them a deflated balloon and say, ‘It’s modern art.’” Molly groaned. “This is why we don’t get invited to parties.” Bill ignored her, unfolding a second sheet of paper—a crude diagram of the target house. “Okay, so presents will be piled near the cake. We’ll need a distraction.” “What kind?” “I was thinking… a piñata emergency.” Molly stared. “A what?” “We rig the piñata to explode. Kids lose their minds, parents panic, and while everyone’s screaming, we grab the goods.” “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” “It’s genius!” “It’s arson.” Bill scoffed. “It’s *controlled* chaos.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are *not* setting a piñata on fire.” “Fine, fine. Backup plan: we hire a pony.” “A pony.” “Yeah. Kids love ponies. We show up with one, cause a stampede, and—” “Where, exactly, are we getting a pony?” Bill hesitated. “...Petting zoo?” Molly threw her hands up. “I’m surrounded by madness.” “Look, do you have a better idea?” She paused, then smirked. “Actually, yeah. We go as magicians.” Bill blinked. “Magicians?” “Yeah. ‘Pick a present, any present!’ And then—poof—they’re all gone.” Bill considered it. “That’s… not terrible.” “I know. And if we get caught, we just say it’s part of the act.” Bill grinned. “Molly, you devious genius.” She shrugged. “Just don’t screw up the disappearing part.” “No promises.” The two clinked their coffee mugs together in a toast. The heist was on.