Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPMRSRJRZAT8R5X9FB3DFF

Molly adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose and squinted at the brightly colored banner fluttering in the breeze. "You sure this is the right place, Bill? It looks like a rainbow exploded on a cupcake." Bill, balancing a stack of stolen party invitations, flipped through them with practiced ease. "Positive. The kid’s name is Timothy. Rich parents. Expensive presents. And—" he grinned, "—a security system that’s about as tough as a marshmallow." Molly crossed her arms. "You’re telling me the only thing standing between us and a mountain of toys is a seven-year-old and his parents?" "Exactly. And parents are *terrible* at security. They’re too busy taking pictures of their kid blowing out candles to notice a couple of professionals casing the joint." Molly smirked. "Professionals? Bill, last week you tried to pickpocket a nun and ended up donating twenty bucks to the church." "Details," Bill waved a hand. "Besides, this is different. We’re not just stealing from kids—we’re *liberating* their gifts from the clutches of overindulgent capitalism." Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, so now we’re Robin Hood? Last I checked, you sold your stolen goods to a pawnshop for beer money." "Semantics," Bill said, adjusting his fake mustache. "The point is, we go in, we grab the loot, and we’re out before the cake’s even cut." Molly sighed. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you. And I’m telling them you’re my *very* irresponsible uncle." Bill gasped, clutching his chest. "You wound me. I’m *offended* by that accusation." "Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with before I change my mind." They approached the house, where a cluster of children shrieked and chased each other with inflatable hammers. Bill nudged Molly. "See? No security. Just chaos." Molly eyed the front door. "And how exactly are we getting in? We can’t just waltz in like we belong here." Bill pulled a crumpled party hat from his pocket and plopped it onto his head. "We blend. You’re the birthday kid’s mysterious aunt. I’m the weird uncle who shows up unannounced." Molly groaned. "You’re the weird uncle who shows up unannounced *and* smells like cheap cologne." "Confidence, Molly. It’s all about confidence." Bill straightened his hat and marched toward the door. Molly hesitated, then sighed and followed. Inside, the house was a whirlwind of noise and confetti. Balloons bobbed in the air like colorful, deflated spies. Bill grabbed two cups of punch from a passing tray and handed one to Molly. "See? Easy. Now, where’s the present table?" Molly scanned the room. "Over there. Under the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign that’s clearly been stolen from a discount store." Bill nodded approvingly. "Good eye. Now, we just need a distraction." Molly sipped her punch and nearly spat it out. "Ugh. This tastes like liquid sugar and regret." "Focus," Bill hissed. He spotted a group of kids huddled around a piñata. "Perfect. You go create a diversion. I’ll handle the heavy lifting." Molly groaned. "You mean *I* create a diversion while *you* handle the heavy lifting?" "Teamwork, Molly. It’s what makes us great." Molly muttered something unflattering under her breath but marched over to the piñata. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, children. I think I see a *ghost*." The kids gasped and turned. Molly pointed dramatically at the window. "Right there! It’s wearing a sheet and holding a—oh no, it’s coming this way!" The children shrieked and scattered. Bill, seizing the moment, darted toward the present table. He stuffed a wrapped box under his shirt, then another, and another, until he looked like a very lumpy reindeer. Molly rejoined him, panting. "Did you get everything?" Bill patted his stomach. "Like taking candy from a baby. Or in this case, *from* babies." Molly shook her head. "We’re terrible people." Bill grinned. "But we’re *happy* terrible people." He adjusted his hat and headed for the door. "Come on. Let’s go sell some stolen toys to a guy who definitely doesn’t ask questions." Molly sighed and followed. "Next time, we’re robbing a bank. At least they don’t have piñatas."