Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94J69A0V6HH6CE3HEZB9SB

Molly peered through the rain-streaked window of the abandoned ice cream truck. Across the street, a modest suburban house pulsed with the garish glow of party lights. Balloons, a veritable armada of them, bobbed defiantly in the humid Saturday air. A faint, high-pitched warbling – the undeniable sound of children’s music – drifted over. "See him?" Molly whispered, nudging Bill with her elbow. "Roger that, Commander. Target acquired," Bill breathed, his eyes wide behind cheap binoculars. "The birthday boy. Little Timmy. Four years old, according to the intel. Definitely has the primary haul in his sights. Looks like a Giga-Robot X-9000." "Forget the robot, Bill. We're here for all of it. The big haul. The mountain of tiny plastic and questionable electronics." Molly tapped her chipped fingernail against the dashboard. "Plan's simple. We wait until the cake ceremony. Everyone crowds around the sugary monstrosity. That's our window. You create a diversion – the standard siren prank, remember? I slip in the side door, load the presents into the decoy stroller, and we’re gone." Bill lowered the binoculars, a troubled frown creasing his forehead. "A decoy stroller? Molly, that feels… inefficient. And what about the stealth aspect? I was thinking more along the lines of a miniature drone delivery system. We just zip it in, grab a few key items, and zip out. Minimal physical presence required." "A drone? Bill, we're stealing presents from a seven-year-old's birthday party, not disarming a nuclear warhead. We don't have a drone! We have a stolen ice cream truck and a pram." "Yeah, but what if they see us? What if Timmy cries? That would be bad, Molly. Very bad. He’s probably got a high-pitched wail. The kind that curdles milk and shatters glass. Think about the collateral damage." Bill shivered dramatically. "We need a better disguise. I was thinking, why don't we go as clowns? Big shoes, red noses, painted smiles. They’d never suspect the clowns." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Clowns. Bill, you want to break into a house and steal presents dressed as FUCKING CLOWNS. They’ll think we’re just party entertainers who’ve gone rogue." "Exactly!" Bill clapped his hands, then remembered the binoculars and fumbled them. "It's the perfect cover! They'll just think it's part of the show! Maybe we can juggle the presents as we go! That’d be a real showstopper!" "You're not juggling anything, Bill. And we are not going as clowns. We are going in as the night. Silent. Unseen. With a stroller." Molly sighed, turning back to the house. "Focus. Once you trigger the alarm – the *right* alarm this time, not the smoke detector last Tuesday – I go in through the kitchen. Bags are in the back. You wait by the truck. Got it?" "Got it. Distraction, infiltration, acquisition, exfiltration. Standard op. But one more thing," Bill said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Should we… should we leave a little something behind? You know, for Timmy? A single, solitary Lego brick, perhaps? As a calling card?" Molly just stared at him, the warbling birthday song suddenly sounding like the most terrifying thing in the world.