Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFCBQ7X33C9PYPS0EPSCWC

It was a bright Saturday morning. In the back of a rented minivan, Molly and Bill were hunched over a laminated map of the community center, its neon streamers and balloon arches mocking their intentions. The target: the annual "Super Sparkle Party" for kids aged four to eight, a treasure trove of wrapped gifts piled high on a stage. Their plan, such as it was, hinged on a daring blend of distraction, misdirection, and a stolen clown costume. The minivan smelled of stale coffee and cheap pizza, a testament to their last three heists. A battered cooler stuffed with sandwich wrappers lay open on the floor, and a tangle of wire, a pair of bolt cutters, and a plastic cape from a dollar store glimmered in the morning light. Molly had drawn a hasty sketch of the party layout, marking the kitchen entrance in red and the gift table in blue, while Bill had doodled a stick figure juggling balloons, a nod to the clown they planned to impersonate. They had rehearsed their lines until they sounded like a commercial, each phrase punctuated by the pop of soda can. The radio played a muffled pop song about birthday parties, and they both sang along, their voices confident. Their gear was modest, but their ambition was large, and the promise of untouched presents made their hearts still race today. Molly tapped the map with a finger. "We go in through the kitchen, right?" she whispered. Bill grinned. "Only if you can convince the caterer you're actually the new juice sergeant." Molly rolled her eyes. "I've got the perfect disguise. A glittery apron and a fake smile." Bill chuckled. "Alright, but what about the presents? They're stacked like a Jenga tower. If we grab them too early, the kids will notice." Molly leaned in. "We wait until the cake is cut. Parents will be busy. That's our window." Bill nodded. "And the exit? The back door leads to the parking lot, but there's a security camera." Molly pulled out a small device. "I borrowed Jake's signal jammer. It fries the feed for ten seconds. Enough time for us to slip out." Bill whistled. "Impressive. Remember, we can't take everything. The oldest kid gets a Lego set might be too heavy." Molly smirked. "We'll leave the biggest ones. The toddlers won't notice a missing doll or two." Bill raised an imaginary glass. "To the unsung heroes of petty larceny." Molly clinked his imaginary cup. "To not getting caught." They both laughed, the minivan shaking with their mirth. The plan was absurd, the odds questionable, but the promise of a haul worth more than a few birthday cards spurred them on. As they drove toward the venue, the sun glinted off the balloons, and somewhere inside the hall, a troupe of clowns was already practicing their act, blissfully unaware that two opportunistic thieves were about to turn their celebration into the ultimate heist. Bill glanced at the rearview mirror. "We need a quick getaway."