Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2DFH11G00V421ZSY2B007E

“You sure about this, Molly?” Bill whispered, crouched behind a hedge shaped like a rabbit. “This is a children’s party.” “Which means maximum distraction, minimal security,” Molly replied, adjusting her fake glasses. “Presents are stacked by the bouncy castle. We’re in and out.” “In and out of a party themed ‘Princess Sparklehoof’s Rainbow Quest’?” “Don’t judge the theme. Judge the loot. I saw the mother’s SUV. Top shelf.” Bill sighed. “And what’s my role?” “You’re ‘Uncle Gary.’ You get the kids hyped. I grab the bags.” “Uncle Gary? I don’t even have nieces. What if they ask me a question?” “Then say something about dragons and leave. Children love vague.” “They love specific. They love cake. I love not being arrested. Why can’t we do a retirement home heist?” “Because retirement homes don’t have twenty-five boxes of robotic unicorns.” Bill peeked over the hedge. A tiny child in a pink cape was staring at him. “Molly. There’s a witness.” “She’s four. Wave.” Bill waved. The child waved back. Then she pointed at the hedge. “The man is hiding!” “Brilliant,” Bill muttered. “I’m compromised.” “No, you’re ‘Uncle Gary, the sneezing clown.’ I told the mom you had a cold.” “I’m a clown now?” “You’re whatever gets us to the gift table. Now walk. Act stupid.” Bill stood, brushed off his knees, and trudged toward the party. A balloon arch flapped in the breeze. “Hello, small humans,” he said, voice cracking. A boy with a tiara frowned. “You don’t look like a clown.” “I’m a sad clown. It’s very avant-garde.” “Do you have a balloon giraffe?” a girl asked. “I have a balloon regret,” Bill said. “It’s similar.” Molly, already circling the pile of presents, gave him a thumbs up. She’d lifted the first box—a giant pink thing with a bow—when a woman in a party hat tapped her shoulder. “Oh! Are you from the party supply company?” “Yes!” Molly said, hugging the box. “I’m here to… consolidate the gifts. For safety.” “Safety?” “Tripping hazard. Children break bones. Then lawsuits. Then tears.” Molly nodded gravely. “I’m a certified Gift Prevention Specialist.” The woman squinted. “You don’t have a badge.” “It’s in my pocket. With my other fingers.” Bill stepped in. “She’s got a cold. Affects the badge-holding.” “Who are you?” the woman asked. “Uncle Gary. The clown. With the cold. And the bad knees.” The woman glanced at Molly. “You two seem…” “Brother and sister,” Molly said quickly. “Very close. Share a lock of hair. It’s touching.” Bill coughed. “Can we get to the safety consolidation? The bouncy castle is calling.” “Fine,” the woman said, but she didn’t leave. “I’ll supervise.” Molly smiled through clenched teeth. “Supervise away.” She dropped the box, nudged Bill. “Plan B,” she whispered. “We have a Plan B?” “We do now. Get the children to scream.” “What?” “Sneeze on the cake. Start a conga line. I don’t care.” Bill turned to the nearest kid. “Hey, who wants to see Uncle Gary do the ‘Frozen Flop’?” “No,” said the kid. “Too late,” Bill said, and dropped flat on the grass. A dozen children shrieked with joy. The woman ran to see if he was dead. Molly grabbed two boxes and bolted for the hedge. Bill scrambled up, gasping. “Did we get the unicorns?” “I got the unicorns. Run. I’ll meet you at the car.” “What about me? I’m surrounded by toddlers!” “Improvise,” Molly called over her shoulder. “And hide the cake.”