Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95J9X3B0SSW773AFC9573D

Molly squinted through the chipped binoculars, her knuckles white against the housing. Outside the van window, a bounce house shaped like a neurotic dragon wheezed in the suburban breeze, its yellow nylon skin rippling with the frantic energy of thirty over-caffeinated kindergarteners. It was the target. She lowered the optics and checked her stopwatch, feeling the familiar hum of adrenaline. "Talk to me, Bill. What’s the perimeter look like?" Bill wiped a smudge of mustard off his tactical turtleneck with a frayed napkin he had stolen from a nearby burger joint. He was currently peering through a periscope he’d fashioned out of two Pringles cans and a hand mirror, a device he claimed was superior to standard military optics. "We’ve got mid-level security. Three moms in LuLaRoe leggings and a golden retriever that looks like he knows too much." "The dog is a non-factor. And the main objective?" "The gift table is positioned behind the artisanal cupcake tower. We have a three-minute window between the arrival of the pizza and the singing of 'Happy Birthday.'" Bill checked the blueprints he had pulled from the city’s zoning department, which were mostly covered in purple juice stains and grease. He ran a finger over the scribbled map of the backyard, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he visualized the coming chaos. "I still don't like the clown." "The clown is our primary distraction, Bill. He does balloon animals and petty larceny." "But what if he gets stuck making a poodle? There’s a Lego Death Star in that pile. I can feel it." "Focus! You are the inflatable repair specialist. Your job is to create a diversion." "Should I trip into the cake?" Bill asked, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, sugary ambition that made Molly slightly uncomfortable. "No more cake incidents. You are to rupture the bounce house. While the children sink into the vinyl abyss, I make the grab." Bill sighed, looking a little disappointed about the lack of pastry-based chaos. He began to check his utility belt, which was mostly filled with beef jerky and a single roll of duct tape. "Diabolical. But what about the juice boxes? The sticky factor is high, Molly." "You’ll wear the blue booties. They look professional." "They look like I'm about to perform surgery on a toddler." "Exactly. Nobody questions a man in booties. It’s the ultimate urban camouflage." Molly grabbed her face-painting kit, checking the expiration date on the neon green glitter. She looked at Bill, who was now struggling to pull a tight spandex mask over his head, his ears getting caught in the fabric. The van was filled with the smell of cheap coffee and raw ambition. "Molly, do you think they have the gift receipts? If not, we’re just looking at a garage full of Paw Patrol merch." "The loot is secondary to the glory! We are the architects of the greatest toy redistribution in the tri-state area." "I just want the Lego set." "Get your mask on. The pizza guy is here." Molly slammed the van door shut, and they stepped out into the light.