Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATQQRRNA4EBQAE21QBA40X

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 distant laughter of children and the tinny music of a calliope drifted from the brightly lit community center across the street. Molly adjusted her black ski mask, the sequins she’d glued on catching the light. "You sure this is the right move? Stealing from kids feels a little low, even for us." Bill scratched his chin, his own mask—a repurposed clown nose and fake mustache combo—already slipping. "Low? Molly, we’re not stealing from the kids. We’re liberating those presents from the clutches of capitalism. Besides, have you seen the price of LEGO sets these days? This is practically a public service." Molly sighed. "Fine, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you. And if there’s a piñata, I call dibs on the candy." Bill grinned. "Deal. But first, we gotta get past the security guard. Guy’s built like a bouncy castle and probably just as full of hot air." Molly peeked around the corner. The guard, a hulking man in a too-tight polo shirt, was currently engaged in a heated debate with a six-year-old over whether unicorns were real. "He’s distracted. Now’s our chance." Bill nodded. "I’ll create a diversion. You slip in and start loading up the sack." Molly raised an eyebrow. "What kind of diversion?" Bill pulled a kazoo from his pocket. "The kind that haunts a man’s dreams." Before Molly could protest, Bill took a deep breath and let out a loud, off-key rendition of "Baby Shark." The guard’s head snapped toward the sound, his face twisting in confusion. The six-year-old, now thoroughly convinced unicorns were the least of her worries, took the opportunity to bolt. Molly didn’t wait. She darted across the street, slipping through the side door Bill had "accidentally" left unlocked earlier that afternoon. The party was in full swing—balloons bobbed, cake crumbs littered the tables, and a mountain of wrapped presents sat tantalizingly under a banner that read "Happy Birthday, Timmy!" She grabbed the first box, gave it a shake. "Ooh, heavy. Probably a board game. Or a brick. Kids love bricks." Bill appeared beside her, kazoo still dangling from his neck. "Less talking, more stealing. We’ve got, what, five minutes before the guard realizes unicorns aren’t the real threat here?" Molly stuffed the box into her sack. "Relax. We’ve got this. Just like the time we stole the mayor’s prized garden gnome." Bill groaned. "Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that thing’s eyes." Molly smirked. "Admit it. You miss him." Bill opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of approaching footsteps cut him off. They froze, sacks half-full, as the guard’s shadow loomed in the doorway.