Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ09S7H9NJ6ETDC16QW2CYCQ

Molly tapped the crayon-drawn map on the sticky laminated diner table in the deserted corner booth, her eyes narrowing at the layout. The purple jelly stain represented the bouncy castle, and the french fry grease smear was the snack table. Bill squinted at the blueprints, scratching his chin and leaving a trail of powdered sugar from his cruller onto the critical infrastructure. "So the primary entry point is the side gate," Molly whispered, glancing around for eavesdroppers. "We go in during the piñata. It’s the optimal window. Total sensory overload." "I don't know, Moll. The piñata is high risk. What if the kid gets a lucky swing? My cousin lost a molar that way." She rolled her eyes so hard it looked physically painful and pointed the blue crayon at a square labeled Loot Drop. She tapped it twice for emphasis, leaving a waxy smudge on the cheap paper napkin. "Focus. While the toddlers are beating a paper donkey, we hit the present table. You take the shiny bags, I take the boxes." "What if they used that impossible Scotch tape? I hate it. My thumbs get red." Molly sighed deeply, rubbing her temples with both hands as if trying to keep her brain from exploding out of her ears while the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She took a slow, calming breath. "We don't unwrap them on site, Bill. We take the haul back to the safe house. Security is light but crafty. We have a bouncy castle monitor and a mom on photo duty." "What about the clown? We didn't factor in the clown." Bill shuddered visibly at the memory of a previous circus job. Molly consulted her napkin notes, adjusting her reading glasses and ignoring his trembling shoulders. She traced a line around the perimeter of the yard. "The clown is on a candy route. He’ll be making balloon animals by the sandbox. If you avoid eye contact, you're invisible." "I can do invisible. What's my cover if I get cornered by a parent?" She slid a crumpled paper bag across the table, the rustling sound loud in the empty diner. Her expression was completely serious. "Put on the apron. You're the caterer. If anyone asks, you're refilling the juice boxes. Just look stressed and complain." "I can do stressed. This is a big job, Molly. These are ruthless six-year-olds. They absolutely bite." Molly snapped her crayon in half, leaning across the table with a manic gleam in her eye, glaring at him. She grabbed Bill by the collar of his jacket, pulling him close enough to smell the donut. "Stick to the plan. We infiltrate, execute, exfiltrate. Nobody gets bitten, and we walk out with every Lego set and gift card. Are you in?" "I'm in. But if the dog chases me, I'm dropping the presents and climbing a tree." She nodded firmly, tucking the crumpled map into her leather jacket and leaving a crumpled dollar tip on the table. It was time to bring home the real birthday haul. "Deal. Eat, we move at noon."