Run: 2026-05-10-01KR91WV31E5TYVSKFHQ5T06V6

Molly adjusted her tactical goggles, which were actually just oversized swimming goggles she had scavenged from a clearance bin. Beside her, Bill struggled to pull a neon-pink tutu over his bulky frame, his face a mask of professional concentration. The target sat ahead: a suburban backyard festooned with primary-colored streamers and the distant, rhythmic screams of toddlers. This wasn't a bank vault, but the stakes felt higher; the sheer volume of wrapped cardboard promised a windfall of plastic gadgets and high-end educational toys. Bill checked his utility belt, which consisted mostly of juice boxes and a handful of stolen party poppers. He nudged Molly and whispered, "Do we go for the pile by the bouncy castle first?" Molly scanned the perimeter, noting a distracted clown performing mediocre balloon animal magic near the buffet. She tapped her earpiece, which was actually a disconnected Bluetooth headset. "Focus, Bill. We strike when the cake is served," she hissed. Bill nodded, his eyes narrowing at a pile of shiny gift bags. "The sugar rush will be our cover," he agreed. They crouched low in the hydrangeas, waiting for the inevitable distraction of a birthday song.