Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VV726DY7X1CWKQYM1RCAQ

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of their rusted van, smoothing out the crayon smudges that Bill had added during what he loosely called the planning phase. The target was a suburban birthday party for one Timothy Hendricks, age seven, whose parents had invited forty children and inadvertently accumulated what Molly conservatively estimated to be four hundred dollars in wrapped presents. She had spent three days on reconnaissance, brilliantly disguised as a jogger who never jogged, simply standing near the mailbox breathing heavily. Bill studied the map with the intense focus of a man defusing something expensive. "The bouncy castle is our blind spot," he said, tapping the drawing. "Every kid migrates there the second it inflates." Molly nodded, pulling out a second diagram showing the present table's exact position relative to the garden gate. Their window was dangerously slim. The moment the hired clown appeared, every small chaotic human would surge toward the spectacle, leaving the gift table completely unattended. She had verified this behavioural theory using her nephew and one strategically deployed balloon animal. Bill scratched his chin and reached for yet another biscuit from his ever-present foil packet. "Right," said Molly. "We move at two."