Run: 2026-03-18-01KM097ARSVEH87K8GP5WBCBSS

Molly adjusted the straps of her backpack, the sound of her fingers tapping against the material like a drummer warming up. Bill crouched beside her, his face half-lit by the flickering streetlamp outside the McAllister Community Center. The building was a squat brick box with balloons still clinging to the doorframe like stubborn decorations. "We go in through the kitchen," Molly said, unfolding a crumpled floor plan she’d ‘borrowed’ from the janitor’s office. "The presents are in the gym. According to this, there’s a back hallway." Bill squinted at the paper. "You got any faith in my lock-picking skills or are we just gonna waltz through?" "Let’s not get cocky," Molly replied. "And leave the waltzing to the kids." Bill smirked, tapping the crowbar tucked into his belt. "One thing first—do you smell that?" Molly took a deep breath. Sugar, frosting, and something suspiciously like cheap cologne. "Cake?" "More like a sugar trap," Bill muttered. "They’re feeding them. We break in during dessert, noise level goes up, panic goes down." Molly nodded. "Kids cry when cake time’s over. Easy cover." They approached the back door, Bill working the lock with the patience of someone defusing a bomb. The mechanism clicked. He pushed, and the door groaned open, releasing a wave of doomed Disco Inferno from the gym’s speakers. Inside, the scene was pure controlled chaos. Tiny humans in brightly colored shirts spun in circles, arms flailing as a man in a sequined shirt attempted to lead them in a conga line. A tower of presents sagged in one corner, wrapped in an alarming array of paper that looked like it had been attacked by a troop of glitter-covered wolverines. Bill’s eyes locked onto the haul. "That’s it—the one with the pirate chest design. Ronny’s birthday wish. We take that, it’s like taking candy from a baby except with more lawsuits." Molly grabbed his arm before he could bolt. "And the alarm system?" "Oh right." Bill patted his pocket, where a small black box blinked ominously. "Disable that, then we’re golden. Maybe silver. Maybe emerald—but only if they’ve got good taste." A child in a dinosaur costume careered into Bill, nearly knocking him over. He steadied himself against the wall, plastering on a grin. "Hey buddy, nice costume!" The child stared at him with the hollow gaze of a future con artist. "Where’s the piñata?" "Probably filled with regret," Bill muttered under his breath. Molly tugged him toward the gym door, where the candy chaos reached its crescendo. The piñata hung suspended like a piñata-shaped guilty conscience. "Three-minute rule," she whispered. "Grab and go. No souvenirs." Bill saluted, then froze. A woman in a sparkly vest approached, holding a tray of cupcakes like a peace offering. "What do we do?" Bill hissed. Molly grabbed a cupcake and shoved it into her mouth. "Pretend you belong here." Bill, caught between cupcake and crowbar, opted for both.