Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9XQGA375ZCQP8B6QENQSJ

The neon glow of the *Jolly Jamboree* banner flickered against the rain-slicked pavement as Molly adjusted her oversized clown wig, the elastic biting into her scalp like a betrayal. Bill crouched beside her, his fingers twitching over the lockpick set in his pocket—though he’d already picked the lock twice, only to realize the party was being held in a *mobile home*, which was currently parked on a slight incline and held together by hope and duct tape. “You sure this is the right place?” Bill muttered, peering through the grimy window at a room full of piñatas shaped like sad, deflated balloons and a cake that looked like it had been assembled by someone who’d never baked before. Molly squinted. “The intel said ‘last known location of the McAllister kid’s birthday.’ Also, the piñata’s got a *golden* fill—classic distraction tactic.” Bill exhaled through his nose. “Or classic *‘someone’s just really bad at hiding their valuables’* tactic.” A child’s giggle echoed from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of a balloon being popped. Molly’s stomach lurched—not from guilt, but from the sheer audacity of the noise. “Alright, new plan. You go in as the ‘mysterious ice cream truck driver,’ I’ll be the ‘lost balloon animal guy.’ We create a diversion, grab the presents, and—” “And what?” Bill hissed. “Waltz out like we didn’t just rob a room full of six-year-olds?” Molly grinned, tugging her wig lower. “Exactly.” She pulled a whoopee cushion from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. “Trust me.”