Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95RQ0RZZYJT9BX8JNV13EH

The surveillance van smelled of stale cheesy puffs and unwashed dreams. Molly squinted through binoculars at the primary objective: a lime-green bouncy castle inflating in the backyard of forty-two Maple Drive. She adjusted the focus dial, watching a middle-aged man struggle to ignite a charcoal grill. The neighborhood was quiet, blissfully unaware of the tactical strike about to occur. Bill was meticulously checking the tension on industrial-grade grappling hooks, despite the target house being a single-story ranch with no elevations. He struggled to pull spandex clown pants over his cargo shorts, his face turning purple from the physical exertion. Remind me why we need the climbing gear, Bill? Molly asked without moving her eyes from the lens. Verticality is the soul of any professional heist, Molly, Bill replied, testing the snap of a carabiner. You never know when you need to scale a chimney or navigate a treacherous gutter system to avoid detection. Preparation is what separates us from common shoplifters. She checked her watch, a rugged piece of plastic designed for deep-sea diving but currently being used to time a suburban nap schedule. The sun beat down on the roof, creating an oven-like atmosphere that made the clown makeup on Bill’s face begin to run in tragic streaks of white and red. He grabbed a printed map of the neighborhood, highlighting the quickest escape route past the cul-de-sac. Molly handed him a crumpled piece of paper she had been hiding in her vest pocket. I drew the floor plans on a napkin while I was pretending to be a city surveyor this morning, she said. The gift table is positioned in the sunroom, directly adjacent to the primary cake station. It is a high-traffic zone with zero cover. High traffic means high risk, Bill muttered, squinting at the napkin. What about the perimeter defenses? I assume they have the usual security measures in place for a suburban fortress. Molly shifted her weight, the surveillance chair creaking under her. She pulled a bag of beef jerky from the dashboard and tossed it to Bill, who was now struggling with a pair of oversized red shoes. The shoes had bells on the toes that jingled with every frantic movement. A golden retriever named Sparky and about twelve toddlers on a sugar high, Molly reported. The dog is a pushover for premium jerky, but the toddlers are unpredictable. They bite, Bill. They bite hard and they always aim for the shins. I packed the tactical distraction units, Bill said, gesturing to a mesh bag filled with organic juice boxes. Once they see the apple-mango blend, they will swarm like piranhas. It will create a three-minute window of pure topographical chaos. Molly finally turned around, her expression deadpan. She looked at Bill’s curly blue wig and the squeaky red nose sitting on the dashboard next to a canister of pepper spray. We are stealing two Lego sets, a chemistry kit, and a remote-controlled drone, Bill. We are not infiltrating the vaults of the Louvre. To Kevin, that drone is the Mona Lisa, Bill argued. To us, it is a three-hundred-dollar resale on the digital black market. Does the nose have to squeak every time I move? It is an operational necessity, Molly said. The high-pitched squeak masks the sound of your heavy footsteps on the hardwood floors. Now, check your comms. Bill tapped the tiny earpiece nestled in his earlobe. Testing. One, two. Can you hear me over the sound of my professional dignity evaporating? Loud and clear, Molly said. Look at the target. The bouncy castle is at full capacity. The suburbanites are distracted by grilled meats and craft beer. This is our moment. Bill pulled on the wig. For the loot, Molly. For the loot, Bill. Just try not to get stuck in the plastic slide this time. Molly watched him descend the van steps, his oversized shoes slapping against the asphalt with a rhythmic, melancholy sound. She adjusted her headset, her fingers hovering over the laptop keys to monitor the local police scanner. The mission was officially live, and the scent of suburban barbecue filled the air like the smell of impending victory. She watched the back door of the target house swing open, signaling the arrival of the first wave of guests. It was time to go.