Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCY1FWEN41A4WPMPVCNHDY5

The neon glow of a bouncy castle spilled across the parking lot like a spilled milkshake of regret. "I still say we should have worn black," Molly said. Bill adjusted his glittery party hat. "Black is for funerals. This is a birthday." "We are not guests, Bill. We are professionals." "Professionals wear ties," he said, knotting a balloon animal around his neck. Molly stared at the garage door they had jimmied open. Inside, chaos reigned: streamers hung like defeated soldiers, and a clown-shaped piñata swung lazily from a ceiling fan. "Thirty gifts," Molly said. "Minimum." "Thirty? I counted forty-two. One of them is a bike with a basket. I need that basket." "You do not need a basket. You need focus." Bill pointed at a table groaning with wrapped boxes. "That box is vibrating. I think it's a puppy." "That is not a puppy," Molly said. "That is an overpriced drone. Now move." Bill shuffled forward, stepping on a squeaky toy that emitted a dying duck noise. "Shhh!" Molly hissed. "It was strategic camouflage!" They crept past a sleeping toddler on a beanbag chair. "Remember the plan," Molly whispered. "We swap every present with empty boxes filled with glitter and expired coupons." Bill pulled out a duffel bag. "My glitter is biodegradable. I have ethics." "Your ethics will get us arrested. The parents invited every single cop on the block because little Timmy is turning six." "I feel bad," Bill said. "You feel bad because you ate four cupcakes from the entry table. Give me a box." Bill handed her a wrapped package that read To Timmy From Grandma. "He will never notice," Bill said. "He will notice when he opens it and finds a single potato and a note saying crime pays." Bill giggled. "That is dark." "That is heist comedy. Now start wrapping." They worked in silence, except for Bill tearing tape with his teeth and humming the birthday song off-key. "Do you think the clown will wake up?" Bill asked. "The clown is a mannequin, Bill. You are frightened of a mannequin." "It blinked." "It cannot blink. It is plastic." "It blinked with judgment," Bill said. Molly stuffed the last real present into her sack. The bag smelled like chocolate and regret. "Time to go," she said. Bill looked at the vibrating box. "What about this one?" "Leave it. Even we are not that cruel." Bill lifted the flap. Inside was not a drone, but a life-sized cardboard cutout of a pirate. "We are leaving a pirate," Bill said. "That is a present too." Molly grabbed his arm. "If we stay one more minute, the parents will arrive with cake and Tasers." Bill nodded, clutching his balloon-animal necktie. "Next year, we steal the cake instead." "Next year, you wear shoes that do not squeak." They slipped out the garage door just as headlights swept the driveway. The bouncy castle deflated with a sad sigh behind them, and somewhere inside, a plastic clown stared into the dark with eyes that definitely, definitely blinked.<|end_message|>