Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ4C0F3KE9Y9TS2Z4WBF3W

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 clown costume, which was at least two sizes too small. The buttons on the polka-dot shirt strained like they were plotting an escape. "I swear to god, Molly," he hissed, "if one more kid asks me to make a balloon animal, I’m gonna *become* the balloon animal." Molly ignored him, peering through a gap in the fence at the chaos inside. A horde of sugar-fueled eight-year-olds shrieked as they hurled themselves into a ball pit the size of a swimming pool. A harried woman in a "World’s Best Mom" sash clutched a clipboard like it was the only thing keeping her from collapse. "Perfect," Molly murmured. "Total anarchy. No one’s watching the prize table." Bill craned his neck. "That’s not a prize table. That’s a *mountain* of unsupervised Lego sets and iPads." "Exactly. And in twenty minutes, it’s gonna be *our* mountain." She tossed him a walkie-talkie the size of a brick. "You distract the mom with your ‘award-winning’ magic tricks. I’ll handle the presents." Bill caught the device and groaned. "My magic tricks are *literally* just me dropping stuff." "You’re a *natural*." Molly grinned. "Now, remember—the second you hear me say ‘the piñata’s haunted,’ you pull the fire alarm." Bill’s eye twitched. "We’re stealing from *children*." "And *future* adults who will definitely grow up to be jerks," Molly said, adjusting her fake nose. "Now move. And for god’s sake, don’t let any of them hug you. That costume smells like regret and old hot dogs." Bill waddled toward the entrance, his oversized shoes squeaking with every step. Molly waited until he was inside before scaling the fence with the grace of a woman who had definitely done this before. The prize table was a treasure trove of parental guilt—glittery unicorn backpacks, remote-control cars, a suspiciously expensive-looking dollhouse that probably cost more than her rent. She was halfway through stuffing a shopping bag with loot when a small voice piped up behind her. "Are you the tooth fairy?" Molly froze. Slowly, she turned to see a tiny girl in a princess dress, her eyes wide with wonder. Molly’s brain short-circuited. "Uh. Yeah. *Totally.*" The girl gasped. "I lost a tooth *yesterday*!" "Great! Uh. Congrats." Molly frantically scanned the table. "Here, take this." She shoved a glow-in-the-dark fidget spinner into the girl’s hands. The kid’s face fell. "I wanted *money*." Molly’s walkie-talkie crackled. Bill’s voice, strained: "*Molly, I just set a kid’s hair on fire.*" She grabbed the girl’s shoulders. "Kid, run. *Run and never look back.*" Then she yanked the fire alarm.