Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY820TKTPPFVZ5HFNY8GYZ6

The backseat of Bill’s rusted-out van smelled like stale coffee and regret. Molly adjusted her ski mask, the elastic digging into her forehead as she leaned forward, her breath fogging the cracked windshield. Outside, the neighborhood glowed with the sickly orange of streetlights, casting long shadows over the row of suburban houses. One of them—number 47—was currently hosting the annual "Superhero Smash-Up" birthday party for little Timmy, whose parents had somehow managed to spend more on presents than their mortgage. Bill turned the key in the ignition, and the engine coughed like a man who’d given up on quitting smoking. "You sure about this?" he muttered, eyes flicking to the van’s rearview mirror where a half-eaten burrito sat like a judgmental witness. "Kids’ parties are a minefield. Balloons, glitter, *emotional damage*." Molly pulled a compact mirror from her jacket pocket and checked her teeth. "Relax, Bill. We’re not here to hurt the kids. Just their *stuff*." She snapped the mirror shut. "Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Some kid cries? Big deal. Their parents will just buy them a new action figure tomorrow. Meanwhile, we walk out of here with enough plastic soldiers to open a toy store." Bill adjusted his own mask, which had slipped down to reveal a single, skeptical eyebrow. "You’ve watched too many movies. Real heists don’t involve glitter cannons." "Since when do *you* care about realism?" Molly reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of candy wrappers, which she began unraveling with practiced ease. "You’re the guy who once tried to pick a lock with a butter knife because ‘it looked like it might work.’" "That was *one time*!" Bill protested. "And it *did* work! Sort of. The lock *did* open. It just also opened the door to the *entire building* because the knob was loose. We had to climb out a window like a couple of—" "Like a couple of *thieves*?" Molly grinned. "Exactly. And now we’re doing it *right*." She tossed the candy wrappers into the cup holder and pulled out a small, clear baggie filled with what looked like tiny, colorful rocks. "Behold: the world’s most boring distraction." Bill squinted at the baggie. "Are those… Skittles?" "Skittles, gummy worms, and three half-melted lollipops I found in the dumpster behind the gas station." Molly wiggled the baggie. "We toss these near the presents, the kids go nuts, parents are too busy herding chaos to notice us, and—*bam*—we’re out like bandits." Bill exhaled through his nose, long and slow. "You realize this is the most elaborate plan we’ve ever attempted, right? No guns, no explosives, just… *candy*." Molly clapped him on the shoulder. "That’s the spirit! Low risk, high reward. And if it goes wrong, we’ll just tell the cops we were looking for the kid who stole Timmy’s favorite stuffed dinosaur." Bill blinked. "We don’t even *have* a stuffed dinosaur." "Yet." Molly checked her watch. "We’ve got twenty minutes until the cake is cut. Let’s move before the parents remember they’re supposed to be supervising." Bill groaned, but he killed the engine. "Fine. But if I get arrested for ‘suspicious loitering near a children’s party,’ I’m telling them you *started* it." Molly grabbed the baggie and hopped out of the van, landing in a crouch on the sidewalk. "Deal. But if you get caught, I’m keeping the Lego set." Bill followed, muttering under his breath about "amateur hour" and "questionable life choices." As they crept toward the house, the sound of laughter and shrieks spilled out the front door, mingling with the distant *boom-boom-boom* of a toy drum set. Molly paused, pressing her ear to the screen door. Inside, a kid in a cape was attempting to "punch" a piñata shaped like a robot. It swung wildly, raining crushed candy and plastic eyes onto the carpet. A parent sighed in the background, already reaching for her phone. Molly turned to Bill, her eyes bright. "Now’s our chance." Bill glanced at the baggie in her hand, then at the open door. "You’re *sure* this is gonna work?" Molly grinned. "Cross my heart. Now toss the candy." Bill hesitated, then hurled the baggie into the living room with the force of a man who had long since accepted his fate. The Skittles scattered like colorful landmines across the rug. A beat of silence. Then— "WHOA. IS THAT A RAINBOW IN THERE?!" Molly didn’t wait to see the chaos unfold. She was already slipping through the door, Bill hot on her heels. Inside, the room had descended into controlled anarchy. Kids were diving for the candy, parents were diving for their phones to call the other parents, and the piñata—now missing an arm—swung crazily as a child in a Spider-Man mask attempted to "rescue" it. Molly spotted the presents immediately: a mountain of wrapped boxes under the tree, glinting with ribbons and bows. She grabbed Bill’s arm and yanked him toward them. "Move fast," she whispered. "Before someone notices we’re not here to *play*." Bill nodded, already tearing at the wrapping paper. "You take the left side, I’ll take the right. And if anyone asks, we’re *totally* here for the cake." Molly snatched a wrapped present off the top of the pile and held it up. "This one’s got *action figures* in it. Jackpot." Bill was already stuffing his jacket with boxes. "I call dibs on the remote-control car." "Bill, there’s *kids* in here!" "Exactly! They won’t miss it!" He grabbed another box and froze as a small voice piped up behind them. "Hey. You’re not supposed to be touching those." Molly turned slowly. A girl in a princess dress stood there, arms crossed, her dark eyes sharp behind a pair of glasses. She looked to be about eight, but she had the no-nonsense glare of someone who’d seen too much. Bill swallowed. "Uh. Hi. We’re, uh… helpers?" The girl didn’t blink. "You don’t look like a helper." Molly crouched down to her level, pulling out her most charming smile. "You’re right. We’re *secret* helpers. Like, *very* secret. Top-secret. Like, if we told you what we were doing, we’d have to, like, *kill* you." The girl stared at her. Then, after a long moment, she nodded. "Okay. But you have to help me with my piñata first." Bill groaned. "Molly, we don’t have—" Molly grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the piñata, which was now lying on its side, its robot face staring blankly at the ceiling. "Deal. But we’re *not* sticking around for the cake." The girl grinned. "Cool. I was gonna eat it anyway." Bill opened his mouth to protest, but Molly was already pulling him toward the back door. "Come on. We’ve got a van to load." As they slipped out into the night, the sound of kids laughing and candy crunching followed them, along with the distant *boom-boom-boom* of the drum set. Bill glanced back at the house, then at the van, where the first of their loot was already being stashed. "Next time," he muttered, "we hit a *bank*." Molly tossed him a wrapped present. "Where’s the fun in that?"