Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ03YWCJKDDF9243FN37SDD5

The shimmering piñata taunted them from its perch. Molly adjusted her black balaclava, which clashed terribly with her sequined top. “I still say we go in through the bounce house,” Bill whispered, consulting a crumpled napkin with a crude map drawn on it. “We are *not* going in through the bounce house,” Molly hissed, pointing a gloved finger at the structure now filled with screaming children. “It’s a death trap. A sweaty, bouncy death trap.” “What about the petting zoo?” Bill asked, tapping a crudely drawn sheep. “They’re distracted by the baby goats. We could blend in.” “Blending in is for spies, Bill. We are professionals. We go in, we grab the loot, we get out. The presents are by the table, next to the sad-looking clown.” Just then, the clown honked a red nose directly at them. A small child pointed, giggling. “Alright, new plan,” Bill said, shoving the napkin in his pocket. “I’ll create a diversion with the face paint.” “You’re going to paint your face like a sad clown, aren’t you?” “The best kind of clown,” Bill said, already reaching for the glitter.