Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB2W3H1MJPRFZ0ZD87WVWA

The neon sign outside the *Whimsy Wonderland* toy store flickered like a drunk firefly, casting a sickly glow over the parking lot. Molly adjusted her sunglasses—even though it was dusk—and leaned against the hood of Bill’s beat-up van, which smelled suspiciously like last night’s takeout and regret. Bill kicked a pebble down the street, then sighed. "Okay, so the plan is still to break into the *kids’ birthday party* at the community center?" Molly crossed her arms. "Yeah, Bill. The plan is *still* to steal all the presents before the parents even realize they’re missing. Which, by the way, is why we’re not calling it a ‘heist.’ We’re calling it a *gift exchange.*" Bill groaned. "A gift exchange where we take *everything* and leave them with a single deflated balloon and a note that says *‘Happy Birthday, you broke people.’*" "Exactly." Molly grinned. "And we’ll be long gone by the time the first kid starts crying over their missing LEGO set." Bill rubbed his temples. "What’s the security like? I saw a security guard outside the toy store earlier." Molly waved a hand. "Pfft. He’s the kind of guy who’d fall asleep if you handed him a cupcake. Besides, we’re not breaking into the toy store. We’re breaking into the *party.*" Bill’s eyes widened. "Ohhh, you mean the *actual* party? With the *actual* kids?" "Yep." Molly popped the P. "And here’s the thing—kids are *terrible* at security. They’ll either be too busy opening presents to notice us, or they’ll think we’re part of the entertainment." Bill shook his head. "You’re insane." "Brilliant," Molly corrected. "So here’s how it goes: I’ll distract the parents with a fake ‘lost puppy’ story while you slip in through the side door. Once inside, you grab all the presents—*everything*—and we meet back at the van. Then we split the haul before the cops even show up." Bill frowned. "What if someone *sees* us?" Molly smirked. "Then we tell them we’re the new clowns. Kids love clowns. Parents *hate* clowns. Perfect cover." Bill stared at her. "You’re *not* serious about the clown thing." "Wouldn’t you rather be arrested for *clown-related crimes* than *grand theft present*?" Bill sighed, defeated. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you." Molly grinned. "Deal. Now, you ready to make some *very* happy kids *very* unhappy?" Bill adjusted his gloves. "Let’s do this."