Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8KD77D3F59J9Z16YAH6HF

The back alley behind the community center smelled like burnt hot dogs and regret, which was oddly appropriate given the situation. Molly adjusted the strap of her duffel bag—packed with lock picks, a crowbar, and a suspiciously large bag of gummy worms she’d "borrowed" from a convenience store—and squinted at the flickering neon sign above the party room window. *"KIDDIE KRAZY KARNIVAL!"* it read, complete with a cartoon clown that looked like it had been drawn by someone who’d never seen a clown before. Bill, crouched beside her, wiped his forehead with the back of his glove. "You sure about this, Mol? Last time we hit a kid’s event, we got chased by a six-year-old with a water balloon." Molly smirked. "That was one time. And also, you tripped over a balloon animal." "Fair. But this time, we’re talking *presents*. Like, actual, wrapped, under-the-tree presents. The kind with ribbons and probably some kind of stupid little toy inside." "Exactly. And those toys are *ours* now." Bill exhaled through his nose, the sound suspiciously like a deflating whoopee cushion. "You realize the parents are gonna notice a few gifts missing, right? Like, *a lot* of gifts." Molly tapped her temple. "That’s why we’re doing it *before* the party starts. The parents are all at the bar, drowning their sorrows in punch that’s definitely spiked, and the kids are still napping after their sugar coma from the cake. Easy peasy." Bill rubbed his hands together. "So, what’s the play? We just waltz in like we belong?" Molly grinned and pulled a lanyard from her pocket. "Better. I *do* belong." She held up a name tag that read *"Ms. Molly – Party Helper (Volunteer)"* in shaky marker. "I ‘volunteered’ to help decorate earlier. Turns out, the moms were so drunk they didn’t even ask questions." Bill stared at the tag. "You’re telling me you *volunteered* to be a party helper?" "In my defense, I thought it was a *real* job. Turns out, it’s just standing around holding balloons while people get hammered." Bill chuckled. "Alright, so we go in, grab the presents, and—" "—we’re out before the piñata gets smashed," Molly finished. "But first, we need to case the joint properly." She nodded toward the window. "See those two trees in the corner? That’s where the presents are gonna be. Underneath, wrapped in tinfoil like they’re afraid Santa’s gonna steal ‘em." Bill peered through the grimy glass. "You know, for people who *want* their kids to have fun, they sure don’t trust ‘em with normal wrapping paper." "Paranoid parents," Molly said with a shrug. "But it works for us. Less mess to clean up." Bill adjusted his cap, which was suspiciously shaped like a hot dog. "Alright, so we go in, grab the loot, and—" "—we split before the first kid wakes up and starts screaming about missing toys," Molly interrupted. "But first, we need to handle the *real* problem." Bill groaned. "There’s another problem?" Molly pointed to the window again. "The clown." Bill followed her finger to a sad-looking inflatable clown propped up against the wall, its painted smile peeling off like sunburnt skin. "That’s a *clown*?" "That’s *the* clown. The one that’s gonna be guarding the presents. Or at least, the one that’s gonna *look* like it’s guarding them." Bill blinked. "You’re telling me we have to deal with a *clown*?" "Not the clown," Molly clarified. "The *clown’s job*. Some poor sap’s gonna have to wear that thing all night, and let’s be real—if we’re wearing a clown suit, we’re *way* more likely to get caught than if we just walk in like normal people." Bill scratched his chin. "So… you’re saying we need a clown *distraction*?" Molly snapped her fingers. "Exactly. And I’ve got just the thing." She reached into her bag and pulled out a whoopee cushion. Bill stared at it. "That’s our distraction?" "Hear me out," Molly said, pressing the cushion to her chest like it was a sacred text. "We sneak in, plant this on the clown’s chair, and when some unsuspecting kid sits down—*POP*—sudden, inexplicable fart noise. Chaos ensues. We grab the presents. We’re out." Bill considered this. "You realize whoopee cushions haven’t been funny since, like, 1987?" Molly waved a hand. "Details. The point is, we create a diversion. And if all else fails, we just tell the kid it was *magic*." Bill sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for the clown." Molly clapped him on the back. "Deal. Now, let’s go rob some kids before they even know they’ve been robbed." They crept toward the back door, Molly’s shoes squeaking slightly with every step. Bill glanced back at the alley one last time, where the neon sign flickered like a dying dream. "Y’know," he muttered, "this is the weirdest heist I’ve ever been on." Molly grinned. "Welcome to the life, partner." She pulled the door handle—and froze. A child’s giggle echoed from inside. Molly’s eyes widened. "Oh, come *on*." Bill groaned. "Told you we should’ve waited." Molly took a deep breath, then pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. A single toddler in a superhero cape was waddling toward them, clutching a half-eaten cupcake. The toddler blinked at them, then grinned. "Hi!" Molly and Bill exchanged a look. "Uh," Molly said. "Hi." The toddler took a wobbly step forward. "You my friends?" Bill’s eye twitched. "We—uh—yes. Very much your friends." The toddler nodded sagely. "Good. ‘Cause I got a present for you." Molly and Bill locked eyes. "Oh?" Molly said carefully. The toddler held out a crumpled piece of paper. "It’s a *drawing*." Bill took it, unfolding it to reveal a stick-figure family standing next to a lopsided tree. At the bottom, in shaky letters, it read: *"For Bill and Molly. Happy Birthday."* Molly’s throat tightened. "Uh. Thanks, kiddo." The toddler beamed. "You wanna see my *other* present?" Bill and Molly shared a panicked glance. "Uh," Bill said. "Maybe later?" The toddler pouted. "But it’s *under the tree*!" Molly’s brain short-circuited. "The tree? Like, the *present tree*?" The toddler nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Come on!" Bill grabbed Molly’s arm. "Abort. Abort!" Molly’s mind raced. They were *this close*. But a toddler leading them straight to the presents? The toddler grabbed Molly’s hand. "Pwease?" Molly looked at Bill, who was already backing toward the door. "...Fine," Molly said, letting the toddler pull her forward. "But only if you promise not to tell anyone." The toddler gasped. "It’s a *secret*?" Molly and Bill exchanged a look. "Yeah," Bill said weakly. "A *very* secret." The toddler clapped her hands. "Okay! Let’s go!" And with that, Molly and Bill were led straight into the belly of the beast—right to the pile of presents they’d been planning to steal. Bill mouthed the words *"We are so dead"* as the toddler skipped ahead, chattering excitedly. Molly sighed, watching the presents glint under the party lights. "Well," she muttered. "At least the clown’s got competition."