Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7XBHKWM96GRCTPK8KMKG4

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 a luxury they couldn’t afford—and eyed the half-eaten bag of chips between them. “You sure this is the right house?” she asked, crunching loudly. “Last time we hit a kid’s birthday, we ended up with a piñata full of *glitter*. Glitter, Bill. It got in my *hair*.” Bill adjusted the fake mustache he’d glued on (because apparently, a guy with a mustache was less likely to be questioned by a five-year-old). “I triple-checked. Mrs. Henderson’s kid, Liam, is turning seven. According to the neighborhood gossip—” “Who you got talking to *neighborhood gossip*?” “A guy at the gas station. He owed me twenty bucks.” “Since when do we take *loans* from gas station regulars?” “Since never, but he *really* wanted to know if I’d seen his cat.” Molly sighed, flipping through the stolen party invitation. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for the glitter.” Bill grinned, pulling out a lockpick set. “Relax. We’re not here for the cake. We’re here for the *presents*.” “Oh, I *love* the presents,” Molly said, rubbing her hands together. “All those tiny, expensive toys just sitting there, waiting for us. It’s like Christmas for thieves.” “Exactly. And since when do you not love Christmas?” “Since *always*. But stealing from kids? That’s next-level evil.” Bill paused mid-pick. “We’re not stealing from *kids*. We’re stealing from *parents* who spent way too much on overpriced plastic junk.” “Semantics.” “No, *morality*.” Molly rolled her eyes. “You’re such a softie. You ever think maybe we should just rob a bank?” “And miss out on all the *wrapping paper*?” She had to admit, he had a point. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m throwing you to the wolves.” Bill chuckled, kicking open the van door. “Deal. Now come on, before the cake gets eaten.” They crept through the Henderson’s backyard, dodging a trampoline and what looked like a very confused squirrel. The back door was unlocked—because of *course* it was—and they slipped inside, where the sounds of laughter and “Happy Birthday” filled the air. Molly pressed her ear to the wall. “Okay, so… how do we do this without getting noticed?” Bill pulled out a small device—a fake smoke detector. “Easy. We set this off, create a distraction, and then—” “You *brought a smoke alarm*?” “It’s not a *real* smoke alarm.” “It’s *still* a smoke alarm.” “It’s a *fake* smoke alarm.” “That’s *worse*.” Bill sighed. “Look, it’s either this or we have to explain to a room full of kids why we’re wearing ski masks.” Molly considered this. “…Fine. But if this thing doesn’t work, I’m blaming you for the glitter *again*.” Bill grinned, flipping a switch. The alarm shrieked to life, and within seconds, the house erupted into chaos. Molly grabbed a duffel bag. “Go! Go! Go!” They bolted through the living room, where kids were scrambling under tables and parents were yelling about “fire drills” and “where’s the extinguisher?” Bill snatched a stuffed dinosaur, Molly a toy robot, and they made a break for the door—only to skid to a halt as a very serious-looking boy in a superhero cape blocked their path. “You can’t take my presents,” he said, arms crossed. Bill blinked. “Uh. Kid, we’re—” “Thieves,” the boy said, nodding sagely. “I saw it on TV.” Molly and Bill exchanged a look. “…We’re *not* thieves,” Bill said weakly. The boy tilted his head. “Then why you got masks?” “It’s… allergy season.” The boy considered this. “My dad has allergies. He sneezes a lot.” “Exactly! Like *that*.” The boy nodded. “Okay. But you can’t take my presents.” Molly sighed, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. “How about we make a deal? You let us take *some* presents, and we’ll leave you this.” The boy’s eyes widened. “Twenty *dollars*?” “Yep.” He grabbed the bill, then paused. “But what about my *favorite* present?” Bill and Molly froze. “Uh,” Bill said. “Which one’s that?” The boy pointed to a small, wrapped box under the tree. “That one. It’s a *real* superhero cape. My dad got it for me.” Molly and Bill looked at each other. “…We’ll leave that one,” Molly said quickly. The boy grinned. “Deal.” As they bolted out the door, Molly tossed the twenty back into the van. “We’re *never* doing this again.” Bill adjusted his mustache. “Too late. I already told the gas station guy we’d be back next week.” Molly groaned. “You’re *insane*.” Bill just laughed, tossing a toy spaceship into the duffel. “And yet, here we are.”