Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5X6GX3T2Y335J9S4FEFBB

The warehouse basement smelled of mildew and old cardboard, but Molly and Bill hardly noticed. They were hunched over a hand-drawn blueprint of Maplewood Estates, their latest—and strangest—target. "Lemme get this straight," Bill said, scratching his stubble. "We’re robbing a *six-year-old’s birthday party*?" Molly grinned, tossing a glittery party hat onto the rickety table. "Not just any six-year-old. Timmy Wellington III. His dad owns half the banks in the city." "Yeah, but—*presents*?" Bill flung his arms wide. "Last job was a diamond exchange!" "Mood rings and action figures ain’t our usual haul, sure," Molly admitted. "But think about it—kid that rich? His friends are bringing *gold-plated* LEGOs. Plus, it's a *soft* target. Cake coma, zero security, just a clown who smells like regret." Bill sighed. "Alright, fine. What’s the play?" Molly tapped the blueprint. "We go in disguised. You’re ‘Un uch’ Ch’les”—she coughed—“*Uncle Charles*, distant relative from outta town." "You want me to fake an accent?" Bill scoffed. "What accent? Just mumble and pat kids on the head awkwardly. Kid’ll buy anything if you’re holding cotton candy." Bill narrowed his eyes. "And you?" Molly twirled a pink feather boa around her neck. "I’m your lovely wife, *Barbara*. I’ll distract the parents with tragic stories about our fictional cat’s gluten allergy while you case the gift table." Bill groaned. "Any shot we skip the acting and just grab-and-go?" "Too risky. Security’s light, but witnesses are everywhere. Kids are like tiny drunk people—unpredictable and loud." Bill rubbed his temples. "Alright, fine. But what’s the exit?" Molly folded the blueprint with a flourish. "Piñata chaos. I’ll ‘accidentally’ knock over the cake right before presents. You grab the loot during the meltdown, stash it in a gift bag marked ‘TIM,’ and meet me by the bounce house." "And if someone notices?" "Please. Parents are either on their third mimosa or praying for bedtime. We’ll be in Fiji before they realize Timmy got two identical scooters." Bill stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "Worst comes to worst, I *can* outrun a six-year-old." Molly clapped him on the back. "That’s the spirit! Now c’mon—we gotta practice your ‘uncleMPa smile.’ It’s creepier than I remembered." Bill bared his teeth. "How’s this?" Molly winced. "…Maybe stick to the mThreshold." Outside, a car backfired, sending them both diving for cover. Bill peeked over the table. "We’re gonna get *destroyed* by actual criminals one day." Molly grinned. "Yeah, but not today."