Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD678AP7KGAPNFCYR8Y74TR

Molly leaned against a rusted dumpster, arms crossed. “Bill, you ready for the biggest score since they stole that ice cream truck?” Bill adjusted his ski mask, which was clearly too big for his head. “Are you *sure* this is a good idea? What if the parents catch us?” “Parents?” Molly snorted. “They’ll be too busy chasing their kids’ soccer balls into the street to notice. Besides, we’re not stealing the kids. *The presents are more valuable than the kids.*” Bill blinked. “That’s… dark.” “Dark? No, *clever*. Now, listen close. Party starts at three. We hit it right when the cake comes out—everyone’s distracted. You’re on distraction duty. I’ll grab the presents and meet you by the garage. We’ll use the Ford Econoline.” “The Econoline? That thing’s held together by duct tape and regret.” “Exactly. No one expects *that* to be a getaway vehicle. Now, what’s our exit strategy?” Bill pulled out a crumpled map. “Okay, so the fence is unlocked on the east side, but there’s a guard dog. I heard it’s a Chihuahua named Mr. Wuffles. Super aggressive.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Mr. Wuffles? That’s clearly a front. I’ve seen tougher stuffed animals at Toys ‘R’ Us. We’ll bribe him with a tennis ball. Or a squeaky duck. He’s a dog, not a FBI agent.” “Or we could just ignore him. Maybe he’s soft-hearted.” “Bill, we’re not here to make friends. Let’s move.” They crept toward the party house, a two-story colonial with balloons tangled in the eaves. Molly paused at the window. “See that? The living room window’s cracked open. We’ll climb in, disable the motion sensor with this EMP pen—” “The one that *also* disables our phones?” Bill hissed. “Temporary inconvenience. We’ll be out in ten minutes. Ten minutes to pocket a million dollars’ worth of action figures!” “Or… we could just wait until the parents leave. Then it’s just us and the kids.” “And the kids? They’re the *problem*. They’re sticky, loud, and they ask questions like ‘Why is that lady crying?’ We need a distraction. I’ve got it—fake pizza delivery. We’ll set off the garage door opener, make it look like a delivery truck, then bolt.” Bill frowned. “How do we fake a pizza?” “With a van. And a really convincing ‘PIZZA’ sign. I’ll handle the sign. You handle the… uh…” “The *what*?” “The… *delivery*.” “Ah. Right. I can do that. Just promise we’re not actually delivering pizza.” “Would I lie to you about pizza? Now hush, we’ve got a schedule.” They reached the house. Molly tested the window. “Sensor’s off. Let’s go.” Ten minutes later, they emerged with a duffel bag full of presents, a half-eaten cupcake, and Bill’s face smeared with frosting. “Well?” Molly asked. “Ate a cupcake?” Bill said, holding up the evidence. “A *sacrifice*,” she corrected. “For the cause.” “And there’s a note tacked to the front door. ‘Thanks for the pizza! —The Smiths.’” Molly grinned. “See? No one noticed.” They piled into the Econoline, Mr. Wuffles’s tennis ball tucked in Molly’s jacket pocket. “Next time,” Bill said, “can we rob a bank?” “Where’s the fun in that?”