Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8P4BPMPEVZHW7VDBD84P8

The back alley behind the community center smelled like burnt popcorn and regret. Molly adjusted her ski mask, the elastic digging into her forehead like a disapproving parent. Bill fidgeted with the lockpicks, his breath fogging up the glass door behind them. "Alright, genius," Molly said, tapping her foot. "You got the lock, or are we just here to admire the view?" Bill squinted at the tumblers. "Give me a second. It’s not like I’ve never picked a lock before. Oh wait—yes I have. Multiple times. Including that one time at the bakery." "Which ended with you getting arrested for stealing a single croissant." "In my defense, it was *artisanal*." Molly sighed, peering through the crack in the door. "You know, if we’d just robbed a bank like normal people, we wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of *Toddler Town*." Bill finally twisted the pick with a satisfying *click*. "Normal people don’t have your *particular* brand of chaos in their lives, Molly. Also, banks have guards. This place has a guy in a lion costume who might or might not be armed." The door swung open, and they slipped inside. The community center’s main room was bathed in the sickly glow of a disco ball, spinning lazily above a sea of tiny chairs and abandoned juice boxes. A banner read: **"LUCY’S 5TH BIRTHDAY – PIRATES AHOY!"** Molly grinned. "Oh, this is *too* easy." Bill adjusted his own mask—a slightly crooked one with a mustache drawn on it. "Easy until we trip over a toddler’s toy truck and get arrested for *child endangerment*." A sudden *boom* echoed from the hallway. Molly froze. "Was that a cannon?" Bill swallowed. "Or a firework. Probably a firework." They crept toward the noise, dodging a pile of discarded party hats. The hallway led to a storage room, where a man in a pirate hat was struggling with a flaming cannon. Smoke billowed around him. "Uh," Bill said. "Maybe we should—" Molly lunged forward, snatching the cannon’s fuse. "Got it! Classic misfire. Happens all the time." The man turned, eyes wide. "You—you can’t just—!" Molly flashed her most disarming smile. "Relax, mate. We’re here to *help*. Right, Bill?" Bill nodded vigorously. "Yeah! We’ll just… disarm it. Safely. Very professionally." The man hesitated, then handed them a wrench. "Just don’t blow anything up." Molly took it. "No promises." They backed out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Bill exhaled. "Okay, new plan. We grab the presents, *fast*, and get out before the cake arrives." Molly smirked. "Or before the *real* pirates show up." Bill groaned. "There are *real* pirates?" Molly shrugged. "Wouldn’t put it past Lucy’s dad. Guy’s got a *sword* collection." They reached the party room just as the first gift was placed under the tree—a giant, glittery box labeled **"FROM UNCLE JACK (HE’S NOT REALLY YOUR UNCLE)"**. Molly’s eyes lit up. "Jack’s here?" Bill whispered. "Oh, he’s here," Molly said, already eyeing the presents. "And if he’s gifting, he’s *definitely* hiding something in those boxes." Bill groaned. "You’re not seriously considering—" "Bill," Molly said, already moving toward the tree. "We are *not* walking out of here empty-handed." Bill followed, muttering, "I *hate* my life." A tiny voice piped up from behind them. "Are you the pirates?" Molly turned to see Lucy, the birthday girl, clutching a plastic sword. Bill’s face went pale. "Uh," Molly said. "We’re more like… *aerialists*." Lucy tilted her head. "Aerialists don’t wear masks." Bill grabbed Molly’s arm. "We are *so* dead." Molly grinned. "Nah. We’re just getting started."