Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7HJBQNSAMV6GXA013C0SC

Molly leaned against the splintered park bench, crumpling a hand-drawn map of the birthday party’s backyard fort into her jacket pocket; the distant shriek of a piñata swing made Bill’s jittery fingers fumble with his backpack zipper. “You got the diversion I asked for?” Molly said. “The whoopee cushion cannon? Yeah, but it keeps backfiring—sprayed me with confetti at the bus stop. Now I’ve got glitter in my socks that’ll take weeks to pick out.” Bill whined. “Quit whining. That cannon’s our only shot to distract the face-painting lady—she’s got a mean grip with that sparkly brush, remember last time?” Molly snapped. “How could I forget? She drew a unicorn horn on my forehead that wouldn’t wash off for a job interview. But wait—what about the party clown? He’s got a balloon animal sword that looks suspiciously sharp.” Bill said. “The clown’s a teen earning community service hours. He’ll bolt at the first sign of chaos. Our target’s the present pile under the oak tree—all wrapped in shiny paper, probably stuffed with gift cards and remote-control cars.” Molly explained. “Remote-control cars? I could keep one for myself—mine broke when I crashed it into a fire hydrant during the laundry mat heist.” Bill said. “No detours. We grab every present, stuff ’em into the laundry basket you brought, and escape via the slide tunnel in the fort. The parents are too busy arguing about the cake flavor to notice.” Molly said. Bill groaned, yanking the sparkly hat from his backpack and shoving it on his head; the glitter dusted his nose. “Cake flavor? What’s the drama there?” Bill asked. “Chocolate vs. vanilla. They’ve been bickering for an hour—you heard ’em when we scouted this morning.” Molly said. “Right, but what if a kid catches us? I don’t do well with crying toddlers—they make me panic and give away my snack stash.” Bill said. “Then don’t panic. If a kid comes over, tell ’em you’re the ‘present delivery fairy’s assistant.’ Use that hat.” Molly said. “That hat’s too small—it gives me a headache.” Bill said. “Tough. Also, avoid the piñata—some kid stuffed a water balloon in it last night, we saw it during scouting.” Molly said. “Water balloon? I hate getting wet on jobs—my mask gets soggy and slides off.” Bill said. Molly checked her watch, nodding toward the backyard where a group of kids began gathering around the piñata. “Then steer clear. Now, timeline: we strike in ten minutes, when the piñata’s cracked open and everyone’s diving for candy.” Molly said. “Wait—one last thing. Do you think any of the presents have bubble wrap? I love popping bubble wrap mid-heist—it’s my lucky charm.” Bill said. “I swear, you’re the most high-maintenance thief in the business. But yes, I saw three presents with bubble wrap peeking out. Now let’s move before you get distracted by a lollipop.” Molly said. “Fine, but if I get stuck in the slide tunnel, you owe me a giant lollipop after the heist.” Bill said. “Deal. Now hurry up—those parents are about to start a cake-themed yelling match, and that’s our cue to hit the cannon.” Molly said. Bill stuffed his hands in his pockets, the sparkly hat tilting over his eye, and followed her toward the backyard gate; a stray lollipop on the bench made his gaze linger for a split second before Molly elbowed him forward, her map now smoothed out in her palm as she pointed to the oak tree where the presents glinted in the sun.