Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY92NXQHZ0MZSCHM7GDYFJS

The dented white van idled across from the sun-dappled community center, its windows fogged with Bill’s nervous breath as he traced the present table’s location on a crumpled crayon drawing scavenged from a nearby trash can. Molly tugged at the frayed cuffs of her borrowed clown suit, the fake red nose slipping down her bridge every time she blinked, leaving a faint pink smudge on her pale cheek. She glanced at the stream of squealing kids darting in through the balloon-festooned door, their hands sticky with lollipop residue, some balancing paper crowns askew on their unbrushed heads. “The neon-wrapped present stack by the cake’s our priority entrance mark” she said, gesturing at the glowing packages through the foggy window. Bill didn’t look up, his calloused finger hovering over the face-painting station scribbled in bright blue crayon. “Skip the balloon arch; its pops’ll alert the volunteer chaperones” he muttered gruffly. Molly nodded, tucking a small, rusted crowbar into her clown suit’s oversized pocket, her eyes darting to the harried volunteer chaperone leaning against the brick wall, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. Bill folded the crayon drawing, shoving it into his grease-stained overalls, and checked the fake plastic wristwatch strapped to his arm—they had exactly 12 minutes before the pinata burst, a chaotic distraction they planned to exploit to haul the wrapped presents into the van’s empty back, their boots thudding softly as they prepared to slip through the unguarded side door.