Run: 2026-03-18-01KM090BBN63FA8CZGSZN67D9A

Molly adjusted her rainbow-colored ski mask in the rearview mirror of their battered getaway van, watching Bill wrestle with his toddler-sized overalls. "You look ridiculous," she said, grabbing a handful of glitter from the console to dab under her eyes like war paint. Bill tugged at the straps, the overalls straining against his beer gut. "I look like what a professional nanny would look like if she moonlighted as a bouncer. These suspenders alone would make a bank vault door blush." Molly snorted, tossing him a pacifier. "Put that in your mouth and stay cute. The hostess already thinks we're the entertainment. You're a clown dad who lost a bet with his wife." Bill popped the pacifier in, immediately looking like he'd been replaced by a zombie toddler. "Now I just need to forget how to count past 10 and we're golden. But seriously, the loot is just sitting there? No security? No motion sensors? No… guard dogs with suspiciously elegant collars?" Molly rolled her eyes. "It's a children's party, Bill. The only security is a guy named Kip who falls asleep by midnight and a single mom named Jess who checks the bathroom every hour because she's terrified someone will steal the balloon animals." She tossed him a pair of inflatable bat wings. "Here. Perfect for hiding weapons." Bill held them up. "I'm going to look like a deranged Batman rejected by Gotham City." "Exactly. You're not a clown dad anymore. You're a tragic superhero here to make the kid’s birthday memorable—not in the ‘your presents were just robbed’ sense." Bill wiggled into the wings, the plastic crinkling like cheap fireworks. "Alright, let's review. We get in, we stuff our goody bags with anything that isn't nailed down, we make a dramatic exit, and at no point do we—" "At no point do we get caught," Molly finished. "We've scoped this place three times, Bill. Unless a kid starts interrogating us about Minecraft tier lists, we're golden. And even then, I'll distract them with a made-up theory about why the Hulk’s pants size changes." Bill adjusted his bat wings nervously. "You think the parents will notice the haul is missing by morning?" Molly grinned. "Nah. They’ve got phones full of videos, a fridge stuffed with casseroles from well-meaning relatives, and a toddler who will cry over not getting the exact green dinosaur she *demanded*—not missing. By the time they realize, we'll be sipping margaritas in Mexico under names like Ricardo and Señora Fluffy McSnackFace." Bill winced. "That’s the worst alias I’ve ever heard." "It’s thematic! Now let’s go. Kip’s about to start his 8pm Snack Time parade, and I want to be front row to steal the big stuffed unicorn while everyone’s distracted by cupcake crumbs." Bill sighed, waddling toward the house with the enthusiasm of a man marching to his own execution. "If I get stuck in this outfit forever, I’m haunting you in your sleep." Molly skipped beside him, clutching their goody bags. "Then I’ll invest in good earplugs. And a bodyguard. Probably named Kip."