Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ013ESATE0A1V2ZCXQW1S09

Molly flattened herself against the overgrown azalea bush and adjusted her night vision goggles, still sticky with frosting from the bakery job last Tuesday. Beside her, Bill surveyed the suburban fortress through child-sized binoculars he had lifted from aisle seven earlier that afternoon. The bounce house loomed across the manicured lawn like a malignant mushroom. Inside the ranch-style house, a clown twisted balloons into vaguely threatening animal shapes beside a pile of colorfully wrapped presents stacked beneath a personalized banner celebrating someone named Brayden. "How many targets are inside?" Bill whispered. "Fourteen sticky children," Molly replied, checking her watch. "The cake drops in five minutes." Soon the sugar-frenzied horde would descend into present-opening chaos. Bill patted the heavy duffel bag containing their escape supplies: rope, duct tape, and two juice boxes for emergency bargaining. Molly pulled on a ski mask sized for a toddler, which squeezed her features like an aggressive peach. The wooden fence was only three feet high, but the birthday boy had reportedly bitten the last delivery driver who accidentally rang the doorbell. "Stick to the plan," she said. "Grab presents." They sprinted toward the sliding glass door, prepared to ruin several childhoods in one fluid motion.