Run: 2026-09-25-01M3CKHG4YZF1SYVT55GK8K86P

Molly adjusted her Santa hat in the dim glow of the alleyway. The distant sound of children’s laughter and party music drifted from the brightly lit house across the street. "Alright, Bill, you sure this is the right place?" she whispered, eyeing the inflatable reindeer tied to the mailbox. "Positive. The invite said ‘Gigantic Gift Extravaganza.’ That’s code for ‘free loot for us.’" Molly squinted. "You got the invite how, exactly?" "Stole it from a kid’s backpack at the mall. Kid was crying. Probably a sign." "Or a trap. What if there’s a cop there? Or worse—a mom?" Bill scoffed. "Moms are easy. You just compliment their casserole and they forget you exist." "Fair. But what’s the play? We can’t just waltz in." "Why not? We’re dressed like clowns. Well, you are. I’m in a reindeer onesie." Molly tugged at her oversized polka-dot bowtie. "This is a *jester* costume, Bill. And you look like a drunk elf." "Details. Point is, we blend. Kids love clowns. And reindeer. And free candy." Molly groaned. "We’re not giving out candy. We’re *taking* presents." "Same energy. Look, I’ll cause a distraction. You grab the goods. Classic." "How?" Bill grinned. "I’ll start a conga line." Molly stared. "A conga line." "Yeah. Kids go nuts for that. While they’re all snaking around the living room, you hit the gift table." "And if someone stops me?" "Say you’re the gift inspector. ‘Just checking for proper wrapping technique.’" Molly rubbed her temples. "You realize this is the dumbest plan we’ve ever had, right?" "Says the woman who once tried to rob a bakery by pretending to be a health inspector." "In my defense, that croissant *was* underproofed." Bill clapped his hands. "Focus. We go in, we grab, we go out. No kids get hurt. Except maybe emotionally when they realize Santa’s helpers are thieves." Molly sighed. "Fine. But if I get stuck explaining to a five-year-old why I’m stuffing a Barbie Dreamhouse into my pants, I’m blaming you." Bill adjusted his antlers. "Deal. Now let’s go make some memories." Molly grabbed his arm. "Wait. What’s the exit strategy?" Bill pointed at the back fence. "We jump." "It’s eight feet tall." "Then we *run* really fast before we hit it." Molly took a deep breath. "I hate my life." Bill patted her shoulder. "No, you don’t. You love the thrill." "Yeah, the thrill of not getting arrested." "Same thing." Bill grinned. "Ready?" Molly exhaled. "No. But let’s do it anyway."