Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPM09CK3RY06QVTZ18B5JS

The rain drummed against the roof of the stolen ice cream truck, a perfect disguise for their latest operation. Molly adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, even though the sky was the color of wet cardboard. Beside her, Bill fiddled with a pair of oversized clown shoes, his face scrunched in concentration. "You're not seriously wearing those, are you?" Molly asked, poking the shoes with a gloved finger. Bill grinned. "Disguises, Molly. We’re at a children’s party. If we don’t look ridiculous, we’ll stick out like a pair of sober adults." Molly sighed. "I’d rather stick out like a pair of sober adults. At least then we wouldn’t look like we’re auditioning for a circus act." "Trust me," Bill said, slipping the shoes on with a flourish. "Kids love clowns. They’ll be too busy laughing to notice us stuffing presents into our pockets." Molly eyed the giant bow tie he’d tied around his neck. "You look like a sad balloon animal." "Jealousy doesn’t suit you," Bill said, adjusting the tie. "Now, do you have the list of presents we’re targeting?" Molly pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. "Yep. The kid’s parents went all out. There’s a remote-controlled car, a robot kit, and—" she squinted at the paper, "—a stuffed unicorn that glows in the dark." Bill whistled. "That’s the big score right there. Imagine the resale value on that thing." Molly folded the paper back up. "We’re not reselling it, Bill. We’re donating it to a good cause." Bill blinked. "What good cause?" "The cause of me not feeling like a complete monster," Molly said. "We’re stealing from a bunch of five-year-olds. The least we can do is make sure the unicorn goes to someone who appreciates it." Bill shrugged. "Fine, fine. But we’re keeping the robot. That’s a solid investment." Molly rolled her eyes. "You’re impossible." Outside, the sound of children’s laughter and the faint strains of a kazoo band filtered through the truck’s walls. Bill cracked the door open, peering out. "Alright, the coast is clear. Let’s do this." Molly hesitated. "Wait—what’s our exit strategy?" Bill grinned. "We’ll blend in with the kids. If anyone asks, we’re just really tall, really awkward partygoers." Molly groaned. "That’s the worst plan you’ve ever had." "Nah," Bill said, stepping out of the truck. "The worst plan was the time we tried to steal a yacht." Molly followed him, muttering under her breath. "And yet, here we are, doing it again." The backyard was a riot of color—balloons, streamers, and a bouncy castle that looked suspiciously sturdy. A table groaning under the weight of presents sat near the back of the yard, half-hidden behind a giant inflatable castle. Bill nudged Molly. "See? Easy. We just walk up, grab the loot, and walk away." Molly eyed the table. "And the parents? The other kids?" Bill waved a hand. "We’ll distract them. I’ll tell a joke. You do your best impression of a confused giraffe." Molly glared at him. "I am not doing that." "Fine," Bill said, already striding toward the table. "But if this goes south, I’m blaming you." Molly sighed and followed, already regretting every life choice that had led her here.