Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATQ3359PDS33MEC5K258EV

The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast long shadows across the alley where Molly and Bill crouched behind a stack of discarded party decorations. The scent of stale cake and balloon rubber lingered in the air, a reminder of the chaos they were about to unleash. Molly adjusted her black ski mask, the sequins she’d glued on for "flair" catching the light. "You sure this is the right house?" she whispered, eyeing the pastel streamers fluttering from the gutters. Bill squinted at the clipboard in his hands. "According to the invite, little Timmy’s birthday bash starts in twenty. Parents’ll be too busy herding sugar-crazed kids to notice us." Molly smirked. "So we’re just gonna waltz in, grab the loot, and vanish like a bad magic trick?" "Exactly. In and out before the piñata even gets a good whack." Bill tucked the clipboard into his belt. "You take the gift table. I’ll handle the goodie bags." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Goodie bags? Really? That’s where you draw the line at morality?" Bill shrugged. "A man’s gotta have standards." A burst of laughter erupted from the house as a clown honked a horn. Molly winced. "Ugh, clowns. I hate clowns." "Focus," Bill hissed. "We’ve got, what, fifteen minutes before the cake’s cut and all hell breaks loose." Molly cracked her knuckles. "Plenty of time. I’ll be the distracted parent, you be the guy who definitely belongs here." Bill nodded, straightening his tie—stolen from a dry cleaner last week. "And if anyone asks?" Molly grinned. "We’re the entertainment. Jugglers. Very bad jugglers." They crept toward the back door, the sound of children shrieking with delight growing louder. Bill tested the knob. Locked. "Or," he muttered, pulling out a bobby pin, "we’re the world’s most overqualified party crashers." Molly rolled her eyes. "Just pick the lock, Casanova." The lock clicked. Bill pushed the door open, and the noise of the party washed over them—laughter, music, the occasional scream of a child who’d had too much frosting. Molly adjusted her mask one last time. "Showtime." Bill took a deep breath. "Remember, no eye contact with the clown." Molly groaned. "You had to remind me, didn’t you?" They stepped inside, blending into the chaos like two more shadows in a room full of them. The gift table was a mountain of wrapped boxes, ripe for the taking. Molly sidled up to it, casually slipping a present into her bag. "This is almost too easy." Bill, meanwhile, had cornered a goodie bag and was stuffing it into his jacket. "Almost?" A balloon popped behind them. Molly jumped. "Okay, maybe *completely* too easy." Bill zipped his jacket. "Let’s go before we start feeling guilty." Molly smirked. "Speak for yourself. I feel great." They turned toward the door—just as the clown rounded the corner, honking his horn directly in Bill’s face. Bill froze. Molly grabbed his arm. "Run."