Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7JHRA8QPZFN7BE1P4TQ54

The backseat of Bill’s rusted-out van smelled like stale coffee and regret, which, honestly, was an improvement over the last job where it had smelled like regret and *also* regret. Molly adjusted her ski mask—black, because subtlety was her middle name—and turned to Bill, who was fiddling with a half-eaten bag of chips like they were the keys to the vault. “You’re sure this is the right house?” Molly asked, peering through the cracked driver’s side window at the suburban nightmare across the street. Twinkling lights wrapped around a plastic dinosaur skeleton, and the faint sound of laughter and “Happy Birthday, Jimmy!” drifted through the open curtains. Bill crunched loudly. “Positive. Jimmy’s parents are *way* too trusting. Left the garage door open *again*. I swear, if I see one more ‘Welcome’ doormat with a name on it, I’m gonna scream.” Molly sighed, flipping through a stolen party invitation. “Jimmy’s turning seven. Seven. And his parents think a *children’s party* is the perfect time to leave their valuables unguarded? What kind of monsters are we dealing with here?” Bill grinned, his teeth glinting in the dim van light. “The kind that think their kid’s favorite toy is a *limited-edition Lego Death Star* and they’ll just *buy another one* if it gets ‘lost.’” Molly tapped the invitation against her knee. “You realize we’re stealing from *children*, right? Like, actual *kids* who probably cried when they picked out their own presents.” Bill waved a hand. “Pfft. Kids get over it. They’ll just ask for more. It’s the cycle of capitalism, Molly. You ever notice how every toy commercial ends with the kid getting *another* one? They’re *conditioned*.” Molly groaned, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know, Bill. This feels… wrong. Like, *really* wrong. What if Jimmy’s parents are *nice*? What if they *care*?” Bill leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Oh, they care. They care about their *stuff*. And right now, their stuff is all in one place, wrapped in shiny paper, just *begging* to be taken. It’s like a buffet, but for *moral ambiguity*.” Molly glared. “You’re a terrible person.” “And yet, here you are,” Bill said, nudging her with his elbow. “Admit it. You’re in this for the *chaos*. Imagine the look on Mrs. Thompson’s face when she realizes her *entire* present stash is gone. She’ll scream. She’ll cry. She’ll *blame the caterer*.” Molly smirked despite herself. “Fine. But if I see one sad little kid, I’m out.” Bill clapped his hands. “Deal. Now, phase one: we case the joint. Phase two: we *liberate* the loot. Phase three: we *vanish* like ghosts. Classic heist structure.” Molly checked her watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the cake’s cut. You sure you don’t want to, I don’t know, *apologize* to the parents first?” Bill gasped, clutching his chest. “And ruin the surprise? Molly, my love, some things are *sacred*. Like the sanctity of a poorly secured garage door.” Outside, a child’s giggle echoed through the neighborhood. Molly hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. But if I see a single *unopened* toy, I’m keeping it.” Bill grinned, popping the van door open. “Now *that’s* the spirit. Let’s go rob some *innocence*.” They slipped out, the night swallowing them whole as the sound of laughter and birthday chaos filled the air. Somewhere, a seven-year-old was about to have the worst day of his life—and Molly and Bill were *thrilled*.