Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7QGV8EVPAV6J4QYMXKA1R

The neon sign outside the *Whimsy Wonderland* party venue flickered like a drunk firefly, casting a sickly glow over the parked cars. Molly adjusted her sunglasses—though it was dark—and nudged Bill with her elbow. "You’re staring at the cake like it’s the last slice of pizza on Earth." Bill wiped imaginary crumbs from his chin. "It’s a *three-tiered* chocolate wonderland. With sprinkles that look like they were hand-painted by a toddler who just discovered glitter." He sighed. "And the kids are *already* tearing into the good stuff. We’re gonna be late." Molly grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Good. The later we start, the more time we’ve got to case the joint. Also, the more time the parents have to get drunk and forget their kids are running around with a piñata full of loose change." Bill groaned. "You’re evil." "Just efficient." She pulled out a blueprint rolled tight like a burrito. "According to my sources—aka that one guy at the bakery who owes me twenty bucks—there’s a side door by the restrooms. It’s got a magnetic lock. Easy pickings." Bill snatched the paper, squinting. "You sure? Last time you ‘cased’ a place, we ended up in a *daycare’s* freezer section." Molly rolled her eyes. "That was *one time*. And it was *their* fault for leaving the door unlocked. This place has security cameras, but they’re all focused on the main entrance. The side door’s blind spot central." Bill tapped the paper. "And the presents?" "Stacked like Jenga towers in the corner of the ballroom. Wrapped in *expensive* paper. Probably gold foil or something. I already checked the security logs—no one’s been in there since setup. It’s a ghost town." Bill rubbed his temples. "We’re stealing from *kids*." Molly gasped, clutching her chest. "Bill! That’s *not* what we’re doing. We’re stealing from *parents* who bought these things. The kids get the leftovers—like the broken toys and the half-eaten cupcakes. It’s *capitalist punishment*." Bill stared at her. "You’re a menace." "To the system." She grinned. "Now, do we go in now, or do we wait for the parents to pass out from the punch?" Bill checked his watch. "The punch’s got vodka in it. They’ll be out by midnight. We’ve got *three hours*." Molly whooped, pumping her fist. "Then let’s move. But if we get caught, I’m blaming the sprinkles." Bill groaned. "You’re *insufferable*." Molly winked. "And yet, you love me." Bill sighed, but his lips twitched. "Just don’t let me get caught with a cupcake in my hand." Molly adjusted her mask—just a silly clown nose she’d swiped from the party’s face-painting station. "No promises." They slipped into the shadows, the distant sound of laughter and squeals following them like a bad omen. Molly nudged Bill again. "You ready?" Bill took a deep breath. "For the greatest heist in children’s party history?" Molly grinned. "Let’s do it."