Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8YV5XZY6AM7NZ1R5FSZVT6

Molly hunched over the crumpled map of the community centre, tracing the route from the side door to the gift table with a chewed pencil. Bill leaned against the workbench, tapping his foot in time with the clack of the pipes overhead. “It’ll be a piece of cake, Bill,” Molly said, not looking up. “We slip in just after the clown starts juggling, then we load the loot into the wagon before the birthday kid even notices.” Bill snorted. “That clown juggles with swords, Molly. Last time we tried birthday chaos you nearly got a balloon animal lodged in your nose.” “Exactly why this will work,” Molly insisted. “Everyone’s distracted by death-defying rubber. We’ll be ghosts in the gift wrap.” Bill cracked his knuckles and pointed at the fire-exit rectangle on the map. “Ghosts still need wheels. I say we leave the wagon outside and just carry everything in pillowcases. Quicker getaway before the mums notice their donation boxes are empty.” Molly jabbed the pencil into the paper. “Pillowcases leave strings, Bill. Strings trip guards disguised as face-painting aunts. We stick to the plan: wagon rolls in, we roll out. Presents gone before they finish singing.” “Fine, but if one of those singing kids spots us, I’m blaming your wagon squeak,” Bill muttered. Molly finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “My wagon doesn’t squeak.” Bill shrugged. “It will after you stuff it with twenty Barbies and a rocking horse. Dead giveaway.” “Rattling Barbies are quieter than your snoring, so we’re covered.” Bill grinned despite himself. “Fair. Still, the plan needs one more detail: pretend we’re the entertainment. I’ll wear the spare clown wig. You flash that badge you lifted from the Piñata Inspection Office.” Molly laughed once, short and sharp. “Badge only works if I say ‘health inspector.’ Nobody questions a woman holding a clipboard and a megaphone.” Bill checked his watch. “Then we do it at three sharp. Clown starts sword-swallowing, we push the wagon through the emergency doors. Two minutes inside, three minutes to load, and we roll down the alley before anyone realises the rocking horse is gone.” Molly folded the map. “And if anyone yells thief?” “Then we yell louder that the pony ride is free. Those parents will trample each other to get their kids on an imaginary saddle.” “You’ve got a sick sense of opportunity, Bill.” “Keeps the presents coming, Molly.” They bumped fists over the workbench. Outside, a distant chorus of off-key happy-birthday singing drifted through the cracked windowpane, sounding like a warning and a cue all at once.