Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8F4HMV6H6R2NWG30YQPZV

Molly adjusted her black ski mask, which kept slipping over one eye. "You really think a kids’ birthday party is our best target?" Bill, crouched behind a shrub, tugged at his too-tight jumpsuit. "Free rein, zero security, and a pile of unattended gifts! It’s like Christmas threw up in a bounce house." "Most of those gifts are toy dinosaurs and glitter glue, Bill." "So? Resell value’s low, but have you seen the resale market for unused crayons? Surprisingly niche." Molly sighed. "We’re not stealing glitter glue." "Who’s stealing? We’re *relocating* with intent to… appreciate." "Appreciate?" "Okay, maybe resell to a third-grade black market. Look, the clown’s on break, the parents are on wine time, and the piñata’s still full. We go in, swipe the loot, vanish like a dad at snack time." "And what about the kids?" "Kids love a good mystery! We’ll be urban legends. The Gift Goblins. Sounds better than ‘Molly and Bill, Cat Burglars.’" "That’s not even our name!" "Could be! Also, I brought the sack." Molly stared at the red velvet Santa bag he produced. "That’s from your apartment Christmas." "It’s festive! Adds authenticity." "You’re ridiculous." "And you love it. Now, ready? On three. One—" "Wait! I just saw a tiny child eating a cupcake with your face drawn on it. That’s ominous." "Even more reason to leave quickly. Two—" "Bill." "Three!" They lunged forward—only to trip over a rogue scooter and crash into a stack of juice boxes. The sprinklers activated. The music skipped. A toddler pointed and screamed, “Mommy! Santa’s fighting!”