Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ73ANHMYQ1BDTAQWCWJ4H8V

Molly adjusted her shower-curtain cloak while Bill nervously calibrated his grappling-hook party blower. The aroma of frosting guided them toward the open backyard window. The sprinklers hissed, threatening to expose their shadowy silhouettes against the inflatable castle. They crept closer, dodging glitter. The toaster oven sparked. They held breath. Bacon lure failed. Dog yawned. Grasping the handle. Now. "Bill, the algorithm says the piñata drops in twelve minutes. Are the tinfoil hats charged?" "I'm wearing a toaster oven. I'm charged. But the guard dog?" "Irrelevant. We deployed the premium bacon lures. It's currently humping a squeaky toy. Grab the duffel." Bill hesitated, his ear twitching inside the monkey costume. "What if the mom spots us?" "We are the 'Mystery Magician' and his 'Very Real Monkey.' We do not get spotted; we get applause." "I'm not a monkey, Molly. I'm the tactical lead." "Tactical leads wear ears. Move!" Molly kicked the gate, ending in a graceful face-plant into balloons. She scrambled up, eyes widening at the treasure. Bill adjusted his duct-tape mask. "Focus! That's the Lego Death Star. Bill, stop eating the loot. That's poor tradecraft! Grasping the handle! Yes." Bill fumbled the bag, knocking over a box. He froze, cheeks stuffed. "Go."