Run: 2026-05-20-01KS260MSTC2FEE2C55K07JMPS

The humid air inside the stakeout van smelled of stale corn chips and cheap glitter makeup. From their vantage point behind the rose bushes, Molly and Bill stared at the suburban backyard, which currently resembled a war zone of sugar-crazed eight-year-olds and inflatable obstacles. Between them sat a blueprint of the bounce house, meticulously annotated with purple crayon. Molly adjusted her oversized clown nose, her expression grim as she watched the target: a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes guarded by a terrifying clown who was currently losing a sword fight to a toddler. Bill checked his watch, his fingers twitching near a bag of tactical smoke bombs shaped like water balloons. The stakes were high, and the sugar crash was imminent. They had a three-minute window before the cake cutting. We go in high, Molly whispered. I hate bouncy castles, Bill complained. Molly glared at him, taping a plastic spork to her wrist like a hidden blade. Just grab the giant blue box and run.