Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9GP51X15NT8GGFNNV0Y9C

Molly leans against a scuffed playground fence, crumpling a neon children’s party flyer while Bill kicks a loose mulch chip at her feet. “Why a kids’ party?” Bill says. “Presents are unmarked, guards are overcaffeinated, underrested parents too busy breaking up tantrums to notice,” Molly says. “What about the hired clown?” Bill says. “Clown’s a part-timer who owes me $20—he’ll look the other way,” Molly says. “When’s the window?” Bill says. “Saturday, piñata time—chaos’s our best cover,” Molly says. “How we get in?” Bill says. “I’m the face painter, you’re the balloon guy—fake credentials I printed at the library,” Molly says. “What about the gift table’s tiny padlock?” Bill says. “I pick it with a lollipop stick—I practiced on my little cousin’s toy chest,” Molly says. “Where we stash the goods?” Bill says. “My oversized face paint kit has a secret compartment—fits small boxes, even a tablet,” Molly says. “What if a kid flags us?” Bill says. “Distract ’em with sparkly tattoos I swiped from the dollar store,” Molly says. “Exit plan?” Bill says. “Back gate, meets my bike cart—we ditch before the cake’s cut,” Molly says. “What if parents catch us?” Bill says. “Blame the clown—he’s got a petty prank rap sheet,” Molly says. “This is ridiculous,” Bill says. “Ridiculous but profitable—last party’s gift table had a brand-new gaming console,” Molly says.