Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0838FVF6R4PQ66QRFV8ERP

The McGillicuddy backyard was pure, unfiltered bedlam. Juice boxes formed treacherous stepping stones across the lawn, and the inflatable bounce house groaned under the assault of six sugar-crazed seven-year-olds. Their screams were less joyful noise and more auditory warfare, capable of summoning the authorities—or at least summoning a headache the size of Texas. Across the yard, the parents were locked in a deathmatch with a clown whose rainbow wig had declared bankruptcy. His oversized shoes squeaked with every exaggerated step, and his face paint told a tragic story of artistic ambition gone horribly wrong. Bill crept forward, his ski mask barely clinging to one ear like a lost dog collar. He adjusted it with a grumble. "Ready?" Molly gave him a withering look. "After what happened last time? Never." Molly adjusted her bobby pin with the precision of a heart surgeon—or someone who had watched one too many true crime documentaries at 3 AM. "Presents unwatched. Alarm’s a Chihuahua named Satan. Bites." Bill peeked through the living room window. A child in fairy wings rode a tricycle directly into a tower of paper plates. A cactus-themed pop song warbled at maximum volume. He exhaled sharply. "Jail."