Run: 2026-09-25-01M3CKCNYYPNX5FTAX5D7YB796

Molly adjusted her Santa hat in the dim glow of the alleyway. The distant sound of children laughing and pop music blaring from the community center made her wince. "Remind me again why we’re robbing a bunch of six-year-olds?" Bill muttered, tugging at his fake beard. It kept slipping over one eye. "Because, genius, kids have the best loot. Ever seen a parent skimp on birthday presents? No. They go all out. Video games, bikes, the latest gadgets—all in one convenient, poorly guarded location." Bill scratched his chin, dislodging the beard entirely. "Yeah, but what about the parents? They’re not exactly pushovers." Molly smirked. "Please. They’ll be too busy instagramming their little darlings smashing cake into their faces to notice two very convincing mall Santas." Bill picked up the beard and held it at arm’s length. "I look like a disgraced elf." "You look like a man who’s about to get rich off a room full of unsupervised LEGO sets." Bill sighed. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you. And also, I’m not going down for stealing a My Little Pony." Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You’d steal the teeth out of a baby’s mouth if it meant a quick buck." "Only if they were gold teeth." Molly checked her watch. "Five minutes till the piñata. That’s our window. Soon as the kids swarm it, we slip in, grab the presents, and slip out. Easy." Bill frowned. "What if there’s a gift receipt in every box?" "Then we return them for cash. Duh." Bill rubbed his temples. "This is the lowest we’ve ever sunk." Molly grinned. "No, the lowest was that time you tried to sell a guy his own car back." "In my defense, he *did* look like he’d had a few." Molly clapped him on the shoulder. "Focus. We go in, we grab, we go out. No distractions." Bill nodded, then paused. "What if a kid asks for a present?" Molly’s grin turned sharp. "Then you tell them Santa’s workshop is unionizing and the elves are on strike." Bill blinked. "That’s… actually not bad." Molly adjusted her hat again. "Told you. Now let’s go make some dreams come true. For us." Bill took a deep breath. "I hate my life." Molly patted his arm. "No, you don’t. You love it. Admit it." Bill sighed. "Fine. But if I have to listen to one more round of ‘Baby Shark,’ I’m turning myself in."