Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA0ZP17AB6S78CDH1N4T31

The neon glow of a flickering *Open* sign cast long shadows across the sidewalk as Molly adjusted the brim of her too-tight beanie, squinting at the three-story mansion ahead. "Alright, Bill," she muttered, nudging a wad of gum into her cheek, "we’re talking about a *children’s party*. Like, what’s the worst that could happen? A kid in a unicorn onesie screaming at us?" Bill, perched on the fire escape like a disgruntled raccoon, swirled a cigarette between his fingers. "The worst? You forget we’re not here for the cake. We’re here for the *toys*." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "And if we’re lucky, the parents’ll be so busy watching their kids eat cupcakes, they won’t notice us piling out with a shopping cart full of LEGO, Nerf guns, and whatever the hell that *fidget spinner* thing is." Molly grinned, pulling a pair of kid-sized gloves from her jacket pocket. "You ever think about how ridiculous it is that we’re about to rob a party where the *biggest* prize is a $20 action figure?" She held up a tiny, stolen keychain from a previous job—a plastic knight on a dragon. "This is *Peak Capitalism*, Bill. Kids are being groomed to believe their happiness is tied to some plastic dude with a sword." Bill scoffed, kicking a loose brick loose from the railing. "Yeah, well, at least they’re not groomed to believe in *us*. Unlike some people I know." He shot her a look, but Molly just laughed, already climbing down the ladder. "Alright, plan," she said, landing in a crouch by the front door. "We go in through the kitchen. There’s always snacks there. And if we’re *really* lucky, the parents’ll be in the backyard, too busy judging each other’s Pinterest-perfect decorations to notice us." Bill adjusted his wire-frame glasses. "And if they *aren’t* in the backyard?" Molly shrugged. "Then we improvise. Maybe we pretend to be a *very* enthusiastic ice cream delivery guy. Or a *very* confused clown." She paused, then added, "Or we just tell them we’re here to *return* the presents. ‘Oops, wrong house!’" Bill groaned. "You’re terrible at this." "Yeah, but I’m *good* at it." She knocked on the door, then immediately stepped back like she’d just been burned. "Come on, let’s go. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a *very* specific vision of how this ends, and it doesn’t involve me getting tackled by a kid in a superhero cape." Bill sighed, following her into the dim hallway. "You know, for a woman who’s robbed banks, you’re *terrified* of kids." Molly shot him a look. "Kids are *wildcards*, Bill. They don’t play by the rules. They scream. They cry. They *glue things to your face*." She held up a hand. "And also, I *love* kids. But not *right now*. Not when I’m trying to steal their toys." Bill chuckled, pulling a small, child-sized backpack from his bag. "Fair enough. But if we’re caught, I’m blaming you for not bringing enough candy to bribe them." Molly grinned. "Deal. Now let’s move. The presents aren’t going to steal themselves."