Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPH9F8NQ7XVGXPXCPD5E4S

Molly adjusted the glittery unicorn horn strapped to her forehead and squinted at the inflatable bounce house sagging under the weight of a dozen sugar-crazed five-year-olds. "You’re sure this is the target? Because I’m pretty sure we just robbed a daycare by accident." Bill, resplendent in a dinosaur onesie that made him look like a rejected *Jurassic Park* extra, scratched his chin. "Positive. Intel says the birthday kid’s dad is some tech bro who ‘disrupted’ the juice box industry. That’s where the real money is—organic, locally sourced, gluten-free loot." Molly groaned. "We’re stealing from a child’s birthday party to fund our *artisanal* crime spree. I feel like we’ve hit rock bottom." "Rock bottom has a minibar, Molly. And a bounce house." Bill nudged her toward the gift table, which was groaning under a mountain of beribboned boxes. "Look at this haul. That’s not wrapping paper—that’s *investment capital*." Molly plucked a gift bag from the pile and peeked inside. "Oh, for—this is a *subscription box* for ‘Mindful Mini-Moguls.’ It’s a coloring book and a coupon for a $200 ‘entrepreneurial mindset’ seminar." Bill’s eyes gleamed. "Even better. We’ll fence the seminar tickets to desperate parents. Boom. Secondary market." Molly tossed the bag back onto the table. "We’re monsters." "Monsters with *vision*," Bill corrected. "Now, here’s the plan: I distract the parents with my *legendary* balloon animal skills—" "You once made a balloon dog that looked like a sad sausage." "—and you swoop in, grab the gifts, and we meet at the van. Easy. No one suspects the guy in the T-Rex costume." Molly eyed the harried-looking moms sipping rosé from plastic cups. "What if they *do* suspect us?" Bill waved a dismissive hand. "Then we lean into the bit. ‘Oh, we’re just the *entertainment*—part of the *experience*.’ Works every time." Molly sighed. "Fine. But if I get arrested, I’m telling the cops you made me wear this unicorn horn." Bill grinned. "Deal. Now go—before the piñata gets hit. Last thing we need is a bunch of kids crying over spilled candy *and* stolen presents." Molly crept toward the gift table, dodging a rogue toddler wielding a foam sword. She was halfway through stuffing a particularly large box into her oversized tote when a tiny voice piped up behind her. "Hey. That’s *my* present." Molly froze. A small boy in a superhero cape stood there, arms crossed, looking suspiciously like a tiny, vengeful accountant. Bill, mid-balloon giraffe, glanced over and hissed, "Abort! Abort!" Molly pasted on a smile. "Oh, sweetie, this isn’t a present—it’s a *decoy*! The *real* present is… uh…" She scanned the table. "That one! The *big* one!" The kid’s eyes narrowed. "That’s just a box of diapers." Bill’s balloon giraffe deflated with a sad *pfffft*. Molly grabbed his arm. "Run." They bolted for the exit, dodging a rogue game of musical chairs and a very confused clown. As they tumbled into the getaway van, Bill gasped, "We’re never doing this again." Molly peeled off the unicorn horn and tossed it into the backseat. "Next time, we rob a bank. At least the tellers don’t judge you for stealing."