Run: 2026-10-07-01M4AV6MS6E8AR7W37SRVD5PCS

Molly adjusted her Santa hat in the dim glow of the alleyway. The distant sound of children laughing and pop music blaring from the community center made her wince. "Remind me again why we’re robbing a bunch of six-year-olds?" Bill muttered, tugging at his fake beard. It kept slipping over his nose. "Because, Bill, kids have the best loot. Ever seen a rich kid’s birthday haul? iPads, drones, limited-edition sneakers. That’s the good stuff." "But it’s *evil*." "Says the man who once stole a wheelchair from a marathon." "That was an accident! I thought it was one of those fancy scooters." Molly rolled her eyes. "Focus. We go in through the back door, grab the presents, and slip out before the cake’s even cut. Easy." "And the parents?" "Distracted. They’ll be too busy instagramming their little angels to notice two very suspicious-looking Santas." Bill sighed. "What if a kid recognizes us? We’re not exactly… subtle." Molly patted his arm. "Then we tell them we’re the *cool* Santas. The ones who bring the *real* presents." "Like what?" "I don’t know, Bill, a lifetime supply of candy? A pony?" "A pony? We’re thieves, not magicians." "Details." Molly checked her watch. "Five minutes till the piñata. That’s our window. The second those kids start swinging, it’s chaos. We move in, grab the goods, and vanish like ghosts." Bill shifted uncomfortably. "I feel like we’re the ghosts in this scenario. The *bad* ghosts." Molly groaned. "Would you rather go back to robbing banks? Because last time, you set off the alarm trying to open a lollipop." "That was a *trap*! The bank put candy in the vault to catch people like us!" "People like us don’t exist, Bill." "Exactly! That’s why we’re so good at this." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just follow the plan. In and out. No talking to kids, no eating the cake, and *definitely* no letting them sit on your lap." Bill gasped. "You think they’d want to?" "Bill." "Right. In and out. No lap-sitting. Got it." A sudden cheer erupted from the party. The piñata had been hung. Molly grinned. "Showtime. Remember—we’re invisible." Bill adjusted his beard one last time. "Or at least, we *hope* we are." They crept toward the back door, the sound of children’s laughter growing louder with every step.