Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFFK7EVTFWEGC1CD8VMAP4Q

Molly’s neon bedazzled fanny pack dug into Bill’s ribs as they crouched in a thorny rose bush across from a lime-green ranch house, where a first grader’s unicorn-themed birthday party blared a off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” A golden retriever trotted past, paused to squint at them like they were a pair of misplaced garden gnomes, then lifted a leg on the bush’s base before wandering back to the party. Bill swatted a mosquito off his neck, the too-tight polka-dot clown costume he’d rented riding up his hips, a mis-sewn whoopee cushion deflating with a high-pitched wheeze every time he shifted. “Quit squirming,” Molly hissed, peering through a gap in the bush’s leaves at the mountain of wrapped presents stacked by the back porch, glinting with shiny unicorn wrapping paper and crinkly dinosaur print. “You gonna blow our cover before we even make it over the fence.” “Blow our cover?” Bill whispered back, prodding the thorn that had just pierced his left butt cheek. “I’m wearing a clown suit that smells like old hot dogs, we’re hiding in a rose bush that’s actively trying to murder me, and we’re planning to steal presents from a bunch of 6-year-olds. What’s the worst that could happen? Somebody tase us with a glitter wand? I could just buy a Switch for $300, Molly, I have a Venmo. This is deranged.” “Deranged is wasting money on overpriced electronics when we can walk out of here with that same Switch, a brand-new Lego set, and enough sour candy to last us through our weekly D&D game,” Molly said, jabbing a finger at the pile. “I scouted this party for three days. The mom hires a teenaged babysitter to run party games so she can nap in the guest room. All we have to do is trigger my bubble machine distraction, sneak up to the porch, stuff the good stuff in my duffel, and vanish before anyone notices the ‘mystery clown’ left early. It’s foolproof.” “Bubble machine distraction?” Bill repeated, snorting so loud a group of kids playing tag glanced their way. “Those kids are gonna chase us down like we’re the piñata. Why not just bring a fake pizza delivery? That’s a normal distraction. Why a bubble machine?” “Because pizza’s boring, and bubbles bring joy,” Molly said, fumbling in her fanny pack for the machine’s controller. Before she could click the button, a pigtailed little girl in a unicorn horn headband wandered over to the bush, leaning down to stare at them. “Are you hiding from the balloon guy?” she asked, tilting her head. “He made a dinosaur balloon that bit my finger. It was cool.” Molly froze, then plastered on a wide grin. “We’re… present inspectors. Just making sure all the gifts are up to code.” The kid’s face lit up. “Cool! My mom said we’re gonna do a present opening in five minutes! You can come help pass them out!” She turned and yelled back toward the party, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Guys! The present inspectors are here!” Bill’s whoopee cushion went off again as he slumped deeper into the thorns, Molly’s controller slipping from her hand and triggering the bubble machine, sending a flood of iridescent bubbles billowing over the bush. A cheer went up from the party, and a group of kids came sprinting their way, screaming for bubbles. Molly groaned, thorns digging into her own shoulder as the first kid skidded to a stop in front of them, holding out a cupcake with rainbow frosting. “Want a snack, present inspector?” the kid asked. Bill reached for the cupcake before Molly could swat his hand away. “Yeah, actually. I do. This heist sucks, but this cupcake’s gonna rule.”