Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8QM8KYYZR7H7QPX8PVRN4

The rain hammered against the window of the abandoned laundromat where Molly and Bill had set up their command center, which was really just a folding table and a stolen corkboard covered in photographs of a suburban backyard. "So let me get this straight," Bill said, squinting at the blueprint Molly had drawn in crayon. "We're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party." "Not robbing," Molly said, offended. "Liberating. Those presents don't belong to anybody yet. They haven't even been opened." "That's literally the definition of belonging to someone, Molly." "Semantics." She jabbed a finger at the crayon map. "Here's the plan. Bounce house is the primary distraction. Once it deflates—" "Wait, you're planning to deflate the bounce house?" "I brought a knife." "You brought a *knife* to a *children's* party?" "For the bounce house, Bill, not the children. Try to keep up." Molly rolled her eyes and continued tracing the crayon lines with her finger. "While everyone's screaming about the bounce house, we slip in through the side gate dressed as clowns—" "Absolutely not. I refuse to be a clown." "You already refused to be a magician, a piñata, and 'the guy who brings extra napkins.' We're running out of costume options, Bill." "Because none of those are *jobs* people have! Why can't we just be caterers?" "Because caterers don't carry sacks, and we need sacks for the presents." Bill dragged a hand down his face. "Fine. Fine! I'll be a clown. But I'm not doing balloon animals. I don't know how to make balloon animals." "Nobody's asking you to make balloon animals, Bill, we're stealing presents, not running a kiddie side business—although," Molly paused, tapping her chin, "that's actually not a bad cover." "No. Absolutely not. I am not learning balloon animals for this heist." "You could learn one. Just a dog. Everyone loves a balloon dog." "I once tried to make a balloon dog and it exploded and a toddler cried for forty-five minutes. I still have nightmares." Molly sighed dramatically, the sound echoing off the empty washing machines. "Fine, no balloon animals. Focus. Once we're inside, you grab the presents from the gift table, I create a diversion by pretending to be the entertainment—" "Pretending to be *what* entertainment?" "I don't know, I'll figure it out! Maybe I'll juggle." "Can you juggle?" "How hard can it be? It's just throwing things and catching them, occasionally." "That's not juggling, Molly, that's just *panic*." "Same thing, different name." She rolled up the blueprint and tucked it under her arm like a general preparing for war. "The point is, by the time anyone notices the presents are gone, we'll be three blocks away splitting the loot." Bill stared at her for a long moment. "We are going to prison for stealing a seven-year-old's Nintendo Switch." "We are going to prison for stealing a seven-year-old's *joy*, Bill. Get it right." Molly grabbed her coat off the chair. "Now go find us some clown shoes. Preferably ones that don't squeak. I want this to be a *quiet* heist."