Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08T13KFEJB6Q5TB9HBAFVA

The rain tapped a lazy rhythm against the alleyway dumpster as Molly wiped grease from her palms with a rag that had long since given up on cleanliness. Beside her, Bill adjusted the straps of his too-small elf costume with a grimace, the jingle bells on the hat he’d bought at the thrift store sounding like a dying wind chime. It’s perfect," Molly said, eyeing the back door of the community center bathed in the flickering light of a broken neon safety sign. The lock was a joke, the kind that surrendered to a credit card and a prayer. Bill snickered, the sound muffled behind his fake beard, and muttered about how he hadn’t signed up to dress like a reject from Santa’s workshop. Molly ignored him, already fishing for her lockpicks. The presents were waiting—stuffed pandas, glittery jewelry kits, and at least three tablets disguised as Elsa wands. They’d be rich before the confetti even settled from the opening act of some exhausted clown. The lock clicked. Bill’s bells jangled as he shoved the door wider, revealing rows of unwrapped toys and a stage set for painfully rehearsed renditions of "Baby Shark." Molly grinned, heist adrenaline coursing through her. Time to turn childhood joy into a deposit at the pawn shop.