Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFH50DG9GZH98PGGW6KQ5PA

The azalea bush stuck to Bill’s wool coat like a wet green sponge, coating his black balaclava in yellow pollen that made him look like he’d robbed a bumblebee instead of plotting to rob a first birthday in the ranch house’s backyard. Molly elbowed him in the ribs, her own neon pink party hat tugged low over her eyes to blend in—she’d insisted it was “undercover crowd attire,” Bill had called it a death trap for stealth. A T-Rex piñata wailed as a seven-year-old whacked it with a plastic baseball bat, neon confetti spilling over the moonbounce that blocked the back porch, where a stack of wrapped presents sat draped in unicorn wrapping paper, guarded only by a half-empty bowl of fruit punch. Molly gaped, yanking the tattered notebook Bill had labeled “HEIST PLANS” out of his hands to flip to his scrawled to-do list, which had “steal all the chocolate cake” scribbled at the bottom in neon gel pen. She’d signed up for a rent-making heist, not a last-minute birthday supply run for a 5-year-old he’d barely remembered existed. “Quit squishing my binoculars,” Bill hissed, fumbling the cheap plastic pair out from between his stomach and the bush’s thorns. “You’re gonna blow our whole op before we even grab the big Lego Millennium Falcon set. That’s worth $300 on Facebook Marketplace, easy.” Molly snorted, swatting a stray mylar balloon that drifted into the bush, its string tangling in her hair. “Your op? I’m the one who remembered the dad leaves the back gate unlocked at 3pm sharp to let the pizza guy in. You were the one who brought a crowbar to a children’s party, genius. What were you gonna do, pry open an Elsa-themed gift bag? The tape’s not that strong.” Bill frowned, wiping ketchup from his notebook’s cover, left over from his pre-heist chili dog. “A professional needs tools! What if there’s a locked present? Anyway, I didn’t just come for the Lego. My cousin’s kid’s birthday is this weekend, I need to grab that giant stuffed sloth over there too, and the bag of unicorn lollipops, and that glittery art set—my niece goes crazy for glitter.” “You dragged me out here on my only day off to restock your niece’s birthday pile? I thought we were doing this for the back rent! Also, you can’t steal that sloth, it’s as big as you are. How’re you gonna sneak it past the mom who’s currently FaceTiming her sister by the grill? You gonna hold it over your head and yell ‘IT’S A TALL CHILD’?” Bill opened his mouth to argue, when a little girl in a sparkly tutu wandered toward the bush, tilting her head. Molly froze, shoving Bill down into the thorns as she pasted on a wobbly grin, waving. “Hi, sweetie! We’re… the clown’s assistants! He sent us to find his missing rubber chicken!” The little girl blinked, pointing at Bill’s pollen-strewn face peeking over the bush’s leaves. “That’s not a clown assistant. That’s a moldy tennis ball.” She turned and ran back to the party, and Bill groaned, sinking further into the azaleas, thorns pricking his cheeks. “See? This is exactly why you never bring a party hat to a heist. Your dumb camouflage blew our cover.”