Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ056161QYC0XX4PYQD987TN

Molly adjusted her ski mask, eyeing the suburban house through the van window. "Okay, Bill. Operation Pinata Punch. Briefing time. The objective: extract maximum payload. Target: the birthday party presents. Estimated value: approximately three hundred dollars in plastic crap." Bill fiddled with a balaclava that kept slipping over his eyes. "Payload? Molly, it’s kid stuff! We’re talking Lego, maybe some action figures, possibly a slightly melted chocolate bar. It’s adorable!" "Adorable doesn't pay the rent, Bill. Plus, the real haul is the cash envelopes. Grandma usually slips a fifty or two inside a card. Low profile, high reward." She clicked a pen on her clipboard. "Phases. One: Infiltration. During the piñata blindfold chaos. Distraction point: you. Code name: Mr. Bozo." Bill puffed out his chest. "Bozo? I can do Bozo! My red nose is legendary! What’s the plan?" "Simple. You, as Mr. Bozo, trip spectacularly into the bounce house. Ensure maximum airtime, maximum noise. Parents will be busy checking if Bozo’s okay. Clowns always get sympathy." "Got it. Tripping. Bounce house. Sympathy. Easy." Bill nodded vigorously, the balaclava sliding down further. "Phase Two?" "Extraction. I slip in the back door – it’s unlocked, kid’s birthday parties are terrible security – and head straight for the pile of opened gifts. Grab the envelopes first, then anything shiny or boxed. Fast. Under three minutes." Bill finally got his balaclava straight. "Three minutes? That’s tight! What if little Timmy spots me? He has laser vision from eating too much candy." "He won’t. He’ll be mesmerized by Bozo’s aerial acrobatics. Remember, Bill: subtlety. Don’t announce your presence. Just… fall. Gracefully." "Gracefully falling? That’s an oxymoron, Molly." Bill sighed dramatically. "Phase Three?" "Exfil. Once I’ve got the swag, I meet you back at the van via the garden gate. You disengage from Bozo mode – surprisingly quick, actually – and we scram. Disappear into the sunset. Or at least, the next cul-de-sac." Bill peered out the window again. "The cake looks good. Maybe grab a slice? For morale?" Molly leveled her pen at him. "No, Bill. No cake. No taking the leftover party favors. No high-fiving the balloon animal guy. We are ghosts. Silent, professional ghosts who steal children’s presents. Got it?" "Got it. Ghosts. Silent. Professional. Stealing presents." Bill paused. "What if the clown shoes make noise?" Molly groaned and started the engine. "Just trip, Bill. Try to land softly."