Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8V2NF4XPV07B916S66QVB0

The rusted van smelled of cheap coffee and cheaper decisions. Molly spread a crayon-drawn map across the dashboard. "The target is a Chuck E. Cheese in the suburbs. Birthday party for a Timothy, age six." Bill squinted at the map. "Security?" "One harassed mother, a minimum-wage animatronic band, and a moat of plastic ball-pit balls. Our window is during the chaotic cake presentation." Molly tapped a star-shaped sticker. "We're professionals, Moll. This feels... small-time." "Small-time? Bill, have you seen the markup on branded plastic? That loot is pure, unguarded profit. We go in disguised as clowns." "I hate clowns." "You'll hate prison more. The key is the goody bags—distract with inferior candy, grab the main gifts. We're in and out before they sing the last verse of 'Happy Birthday.'" Bill sighed, the sound of a man defeated by his own life choices. "Fine. But if a kid cries, I'm not the one comforting it." "Noted. Now, practice your balloon animal. It's a dog or a sword. Nothing ambiguous."