Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9AHXW8MZNG81EZ78M936W

The neon glow of a flickering *Open* sign cast long shadows across the sidewalk as Molly adjusted the brim of her too-tight baseball cap, squinting at the three-story mansion ahead. "Alright, Bill," she muttered, "if we’re doing this, we do it right. No last-minute panic when the kid in the red shirt starts juggling flaming torches." Bill, perched on the fire escape like a disgruntled raccoon, adjusted his gloves. "Relax, Molly. I’ve got the distraction covered. The kid’s got a *serious* sweet tooth. I’ll bribe him with a handful of gummy worms, and by the time he’s licking his fingers, we’ll be in and out like ghosts with a side of glitter." Molly rolled her eyes. "You’re telling me you’re going to *blackmail* a six-year-old with candy? That’s not a distraction, that’s a war crime." Bill grinned, dangling a suspiciously large bag of gummy bears from his pocket. "Nah, just a *temporary* alliance. Besides, if he tells his parents, I’ll just blame it on the raccoons. They’re *always* stealing stuff." Molly sighed, pulling out a tiny lockpick set from her boot. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for not bringing enough duct tape. And also for that time you tried to hotwire a go-kart with a toaster." Bill waved a hand. "Details. The real question is—how do we get past the *security*?" He gestured toward the two burly men in matching "Party Patrol" vests lounging by the front door, sipping lemonade like they’d already won the game. Molly tapped her chin. "Easy. We don’t. We go in through the *kids*." She pointed at the backyard, where a dozen wide-eyed children were already tearing into their presents like they’d never seen a box before. "Those little monsters are our ticket. I’ll blend in as the ‘cool aunt’ who ‘forgot her phone,’ and you can play the ‘lost uncle’ who ‘just needs to borrow the Wi-Fi for one second.’" Bill groaned. "I *hate* pretending to be family. Last time I did that, I had to explain to a toddler why I wasn’t actually his ‘big brother’ who ‘forgot to shave.’" Molly smirked. "Just smile and say you’re ‘on a *very* important mission.’ Works every time." Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, but if I have to listen to another kid ask me if I’m a ‘ninja,’ I’m quitting." Molly clapped him on the shoulder. "Deal. Now let’s go steal some toys before the parents realize their kids are basically living in a Walmart." Bill adjusted his cap, then paused. "Wait—what if the presents are *already* gone? What if this is some kind of trap?" Molly shot him a look. "Bill, if this were a trap, we’d be in a *very* small, very dark room right now with a sign that says *‘Congratulations, you’re the bait.’* Now move it. The cake’s probably already been cut, and I *need* that frosting." Bill sighed, then hopped down. "Fine. But if we get arrested, I’m suing for emotional damages." Molly grinned. "No promises." And with that, they melted into the crowd of giggling children, already plotting their next move—because in heists, the real treasure was never the presents. It was the chaos.