Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HP384CDMTCGPYMSG337YR

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the table, smoothing its crumpled edges. "The bouncy castle is our main obstacle," she said, tapping the wobbly blue rectangle. "Security's tight." Bill squinted. "Security? They're six-year-olds." "Six-year-olds with sugar-fueled reflexes, Bill. Don't underestimate them." He scratched his chin, considering this. "And the presents?" "Stacked by the gift table. We grab them during the piñata frenzy." She mimed swinging a bat. "Total chaos. Nobody watches the loot." "Brilliant," Bill whispered. "But what about the clown?" Molly's face darkened. "Pickles the Clown. He's the wildcard. Trained in balloon animals and, allegedly, hand-to-hand combat." "You're joking." "I never joke about clowns." Bill swallowed nervously. "So what's the plan if Pickles spots us?" "You distract him." Molly handed Bill a single red nose. "Blend in. Become one of them." "Become a clown?" He held the nose like it was radioactive. "Absolutely not." "It's that or face the parents, Bill. Have you ever seen a mother whose child's gift got stolen? They're feral." He sighed, defeated, and snapped the nose onto his face. "How do I look?" Molly studied him seriously. "Terrifying. The children will weep." "Perfect," Bill muttered. "Let's go ruin a birthday."