Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYASQ104STW7ZS6R0Q69P2J

Molly hunched over the rickety kitchen table in their cramped apartment, a crumpled birthday invitation spread out like a treasure map. Bill paced behind her, twirling a lockpick between his fingers, his face lit by the glow of a flickering bulb. The air smelled of stale coffee and desperation. "Alright, Bill, listen up," Molly said, tapping the invite with a chipped nail. "This gig's gold. Rich kid's turning six at the McMansion on Elm Street. Presents piled high—bikes, gadgets, the works. We swipe 'em all, fence 'em quick, and we're sipping piña coladas in Mexico by next week." Bill stopped pacing, grinning like a kid who'd just discovered candy. "Presents from a kids' party? Genius, Mol! But how do we get in without some snot-nosed brat ratting us out? Or worse, that balloon-twisting clown spotting us?" She leaned back, crossing her arms. "Disguises, dummy. I'm thinking party entertainers. You be the magician—hat, cape, the whole schtick. I'll be the face painter. We mingle, wait for the cake chaos, then boom—into the gift room." Bill snorted, pulling a fake mustache from his pocket and slapping it on crooked. "Magician? Me? Last time I tried a card trick, I set the tablecloth on fire. Remember Auntie's wedding? But fine, what's the exit plan? Can't just waltz out with a wagon full of Barbies and Xboxen." Molly sketched a quick diagram on a napkin. "Back door through the kitchen. We rig a distraction—maybe spike the punch with something fizzy that makes the kids go berserk. While parents chase rugrats, we load up the van parked in the alley. Easy peasy." He chuckled, adjusting the mustache. "Spike the punch? You're evil. What if the clown's onto us? Those guys are sneaky, always watching with their creepy smiles. Or the birthday boy's dad—he's loaded, probably has security cams everywhere." "Bill, focus," she snapped, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "We case it tomorrow. Scout the layout, ID the guards—er, chaperones. I'll flirt with the caterer for intel. And no funny business with the piñata; that's our cover if things go south. 'Oops, must've thought it was full of cash!'" Bill struck a dramatic pose, waving an invisible wand. "Abracadabra, presents disappear! But seriously, Mol, what about the kids? They're tiny landmines. One screams, and we're toast." She rolled her eyes. "We'll be in and out before they notice. Charm 'em with tricks and paints. By the time they realize the toys are gone, we'll be ghosts. This haul's our ticket out of this dump." He nodded, enthusiasm bubbling. "You're right. No more scraping by. Imagine—us, living large off stolen teddy bears and trampolines. To the heist!" Molly clinked her mug against his. "To the heist. Now let's rehearse that magic act before you pull a rabbit out of your ass instead." As they dove into practice, laughter echoed, the plan solidifying amid the absurdity of swiping joy from tots. But in their world, it was just another score.