Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B8MJM53XPQVD818ZVYAGX

Molly spread the invitation across their kitchen table like a military map. Glitter clung to her fingers. Beside her, Bill studied a photograph of the birthday boy with the professional concern he usually reserved for guard dogs. The boy wore a paper crown and held a suspiciously substantial plastic sword. “Eight years old. Thirty guests. That means thirty presents. We're finally robbing mathematically, for once.” “I don't like his eyes. He's seen things. Mostly cartoons, but things nonetheless, believe me.” Their previous operation had ended when Bill mistook a revolving door for an interrogation technique. This time, Molly insisted, they would avoid banks, jewels, and anyone carrying handcuffs. Children's parties offered softer targets, although Bill had pointed out that several children carried handcuffs too, often with disturbing confidence and badges. “We enter as entertainers. Nobody questions entertainers. They just hope they'll leave eventually, in peace.” “What kind of entertainers? Because my balloon animals always resemble medical diagrams of intestinal distress.” Molly produced two costumes from a shopping bag. Hers was a rabbit. Bill's was also a rabbit, but apparently one recently informed of a tax investigation. Its ears drooped over its face. Its stomach bore the embroidered words FUN UNCLE, which both thieves regarded as a setback for their credibility. “We collect the presents during cake. Everybody watches cake. Cake has excellent misdirection, very reliably.” “Then what? We escape carrying thirty boxes while dressed as rabbits? That's a parade, Molly.” Bill examined the gift list tucked inside the invitation. There were building blocks, dinosaur pajamas, a microscope, and something called Professor Slime's Deluxe Ooze Laboratory. He had expected electronics. Molly had expected cash. Neither had expected their criminal careers to hinge upon the resale value of prehistoric sleepwear for children. “Some children receive gold. I've heard stories. Rich families. Tiny bracelets. Really truly appalling taste.” “This invitation says bring socks for the shelter. We're planning to steal socks from orphans.” A silence settled between them. Somewhere upstairs, their landlord was attempting to fix a radiator by threatening it. Molly turned the invitation over. Bill was right. The birthday boy had requested donations instead of presents. Even his plastic sword suddenly seemed less menacing, more like standard equipment for defending decency. “Fine. We attend honestly. But I'm taking cake. Morality doesn't require skipping dessert for anybody.” “Agreed. And we bring socks. Apparently our first successful operation involves buying something legally, even.” They spent their remaining money on socks decorated with rockets. Bill insisted rockets made them premium merchandise. Molly insisted he stop calling charitable donations merchandise. By noon they stood outside the party, sweating inside their rabbit suits, holding a gift bag and radiating the dignity of criminals trying something unfamiliar. The birthday boy opened the door, considered them, and immediately assigned them to balloon duty. Within minutes, Bill's intestinal giraffes were the party's greatest attraction. Molly watched him accept a cupcake as payment. For once, nobody chased them. They had entered intending grand larceny and accidentally discovered an humiliating profession.