Run: 2026-10-06-01M48VKB7KVR222YNG46ER6PMS

The community center's back room smelled like stale coffee and broken dreams, which Molly found fitting given what they were about to do. Bill sat on a folding chair that groaned beneath him, studying a crayon-drawn map of the Chuck E. Cheese birthday party happening upstairs in forty minutes. "Thirty-seven kids," Bill said, tapping the paper. "Minimum. Plus parents. Plus that animatronic rat." "Don't call him that." "I'm calling him what he is. A rat. A robot rat. A—" Bill waved his hand dramatically, "—a nightmare of fur and pizza grease." Molly leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You're scared of a birthday party." "I'm scared of children, Molly. There's a difference." He stood, pacing now, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. "Do you know what they do to you? The noise. The sticky. The—" he shuddered, "—the singing. They sing, Molly. Off-key. For hours." "That's why we go in during the pizza break. Everyone's distracted. Cake comes out, we're gone." She pushed off the doorframe and moved to the table where they'd spread their equipment: two backpacks, a grappling hook made from a coat hanger and dental floss, and a jar of peanut butter labeled "emergency distraction." Bill picked up the peanut butter. "You tested this?" "I tested it on my neighbor's golden retriever. Worked perfectly." "That's a dog." "That's a creature with a brain. Children are basically the same thing with worse manners." Molly grabbed her own backpack and checked the straps. "Look, Bill. This is the job. The Henderson kid's turning eight. His parents are loaded. We're talking a gaming console, maybe a tablet, possibly—" she lowered her voice, "—cash in the card." "Cash in the card." "People still do that. Old people. Rich old people who don't trust banks." Bill nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense. "And you're sure about the window?" "The window's on the second floor, bathroom. I checked last Tuesday when I 'accidentally' attended a party as a 'concerned aunt.'" She made air quotes. "The janitor leaves it cracked for ventilation. I left him five dollars and a Werther's Original. He thinks I'm his new girlfriend." "That's... actually brilliant." "That's actually creepy. But effective." Molly checked her watch. "Twenty minutes. We move through the kitchen, up the stairs, bathroom window, roof access, down the other side, grab the presents from the party room, back up, out the window, gone." "And if we encounter a child?" "Peanut butter." "And if we encounter the rat?" Bill's eyes met hers, serious now. "Then we improvise." They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their ridiculous plan settling between them. Somewhere upstairs, a child began to cry. Then another. Then a third, building to a crescendo of small-town tragedy. "Sounds like the party's started early," Bill said. "Sounds like we should go." Molly opened the door. The hallway stretched before them, fluorescent lights humming, the sounds of chaos growing louder. She looked back at Bill, who was adjusting his collar with trembling hands. "Remember," she whispered. "No sudden movements. No eye contact. And if anyone asks, we're with the entertainment." "What entertainment?" "The balloon animals. We're very good at balloon animals." Bill followed her into the hallway, and together they walked toward the sound of children screaming with joy, two thieves bound for a birthday party, armed with nothing but dental floss and poor life choices.