Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8VDDSMVZMQMBMSY75GA13

The warehouse smelled of stale popcorn and desperation, which suited Bill just fine since he smelled roughly the same after three days without a shower. He spread the blueprints across a crate, jabbing a finger at a crudely drawn bounce house. "Timmy Fletcher turns seven Saturday," Molly said, tapping her cigarette against an ashtray shaped like a clown's head, which she found deeply unsettling but refused to throw away. "Forty-three presents on the registry. We're talking Xboxes, drones, some ungodly amount of Legos." Bill squinted at the diagram. "This says there's a magician." "Ronald the Magnificent. Booked for two to three." "That's our window." "That's our window." Bill straightened, adjusting his fake mustache for the ninth time that hour. "We go in as balloon animal specialists. Nobody questions a man with a mustache and a bag of balloons." "Everyone questions that man, Bill." "Fine. Face painters, then." Molly stared at him. "You can't draw a straight line." "I'll do abstract art. Tell the kids it's 'expressive.'" She sighed, crushing her cigarette into the clown's forehead. "We stick to the plan. You distract the parents. I load the presents into the van disguised as the ice cream truck." "And if someone notices forty-three presents missing?" "They'll blame Ronald." Bill grinned. "Poor bastard."