Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPS95T0XK335DXBDS8XGVW

The neon glow of the *Happy Clown Pizza & Playland* sign flickered like a dying firefly, casting long, wobbly shadows across the alley where Molly and Bill crouched behind a suspiciously sticky dumpster. Molly adjusted her oversized rainbow wig—stolen from a Halloween clearance bin—and wiped a smear of face paint from her cheek. It was supposed to be a butterfly. It looked more like a crime scene. Bill, meanwhile, was struggling to zip up his rented mascot costume, a garish green dinosaur with one eye dangling by a thread. "I swear to God, Mol, if this thing gives me heatstroke before we even get inside, I’m blaming you." Molly ignored him, peering through a gap in the fence at the chaos unfolding in the party room. A horde of sugar-fueled seven-year-olds screamed in unison as a man in a clown suit juggled flaming torches with the confidence of someone who had either done this a thousand times or had no survival instincts whatsoever. "Perfect. Total anarchy. No one’s gonna notice two more freaks in the mix." Bill waddled closer, the dinosaur tail dragging through a puddle of questionable origin. "You call *this* a plan? We’re breaking into a kid’s birthday party. For *presents*." "High-end presents," Molly corrected, tapping her earpiece. "I hacked the RSVP list. We’re talking iPads, limited-edition sneakers, a freaking *pony*—" "A *what*?" "—okay, fine, the pony’s a lie, but there’s a drone in there worth more than your car." Bill’s one good dinosaur eye narrowed. "My car’s a classic." "Your car’s a death trap with a *For Sale* sign taped to the window." "Semantics." He adjusted the Velcro straps digging into his armpits. "Look, even if we pull this off, how do we fence a bunch of kid stuff? ‘Hey, pawn shop guy, check out this My Little Pony with the original receipt still taped to it’?" Molly grinned. "We’re not fencing them. We’re *regifting*." Bill blinked. "You want to *re-gift* stolen birthday presents?" "Genius, right?" She pulled a laminated guest list from her pocket. "Half these kids are from rich families. Their parents won’t even notice one less toy in the pile. We hit a few more parties, boom—free Christmas shopping." Bill rubbed his temples, or at least the spot where his temples would be if not for three inches of foam padding. "You realize we’re basically the Grinch, but with worse fashion sense." "Speak for yourself. This wig is *fierce*." Molly checked her watch. "Alright, clown’s about to start the cake ceremony. That’s our window. You cause a distraction—knock over a balloon arch, fake a seizure, I don’t care. I’ll hit the gift table." Bill sighed, resigning himself to his fate as the world’s least convincing dinosaur. "Fine. But if I have to listen to one more round of ‘Baby Shark,’ I’m turning myself in." Molly clapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into the dumpster. "That’s the spirit. Now go make some memories." Bill took a deep breath, adjusted his sagging eye, and waddled toward the back door, muttering, "I went to college for this."