Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8WFHQA74Q6MKKFRB0JAEZG

Molly crouched behind a garden hedge shaped like a swan, which she found fitting given the direction her criminal career had taken. Bill was beside her, squeezed into a clown suit he had rented because the costume shop offered nothing else in his size. He smelled of greasepaint, anxiety, and a stale ham sandwich consumed hurriedly in the car. Beyond the fence, a birthday party operated at maximum destructive capacity. Children ricocheted off every available surface. Balloons popped with the cheerful regularity of distant gunfire. Near the back door, a folding table held the actual objective: forty-one presents wrapped in paper so aggressively bright it caused physical discomfort. Molly unfolded her planning sketch, which consisted predominantly of directional arrows and one very detailed drawing of a birthday cake she had no memory of adding. "Side gate, two-fifteen," she said quietly. Bill smoothed his orange wig with the quiet dignity of a retiring statesman. "What if a child speaks to us?" "Smile and keep moving." He had robbed fourteen locations in twelve years. None of it had prepared him morally for this specific assignment. He watched a toddler destroy a cupcake in one alarming motion. "I hate this job," he muttered.