Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07CPM48DKP1WZT8W8C2NJ2

Molly adjusted the straps of her backpack, the zipper threatening to burst under the weight of stolen candy and a single, suspiciously large inflatable T-Rex. Bill flicked his lockpicks into place with the grace of a man who had recently given up on monogamy, then grunted as the blast door groaned open. The hallway beyond smelled like juice boxes and betrayed parental promises. "You really think they keep the good stuff in the main hall?" Molly whispered, her boots squeaking against the balloon-strewn carpet. Balloons that, upon closer inspection, had been aggressively licked by something small and peanut-brained. Bill didn’t answer. He was too busy admiring the cake table, a fortress of frosting and glitter with a single, naive police officer figurine standing guard. Molly elbowed him in the ribs. "Focus. We’re here for the presents, not your midlife crisis." Beneath the glittering wreckage of a piñata battle, they found the treasure chest—a locked plastic bin labeled with a Sharpie's desperate hope: "GIFTS FOR THE CHILDREN, UNLESS THEY CRY TOO MUCH, THEN NOT." Bill produced a pair of novelty scissors, the kind with plastic eyeballs that popped out and screamed, and wiggled them meaningfully. Molly sighed just as the fire alarm began its cheerful chirp, likely triggered by the officer figurine’s violent overthrow. "You triggered it?" Molly hissed. "I thought that was part of the plan." "It was the part where we left before getting caught."